stick with the more ignorant and the populace, though men of wisdom may smile at
it; and the reputation won with many will amply countervail the disdain of a
few. . . . . And surely no small number of those who are of solid nature, and
who, from the want of this ventosity, cannot spread all sail in pursuit of their
own honour, suffer some prejudice and lose dignity by their moderation."

Many of Oscar's letters to the papers in these years were amusing, some of them
full of humour. For example, when he was asked to give a list of the hundred
best books, as Lord Avebury and other mediocrities had done, he wrote saying
that "he could not give a list of the hundred best books, as he had only written
five."

Winged words of his were always passing from mouth to mouth in town.
Some theatre was opened which was found horribly ugly: one spoke of it as
"Early Victorian."

"No, no," replied Oscar, "nothing so distinctive. 'Early Maple,' rather."

Even his impertinences made echoes. At a great reception, a friend asked him
in passing, how the hostess, Lady S----, could be recognized. Lady S---- being
short and stout, Oscar replied, smiling:

"Go through this room, my dear fellow, and the next and so on till you come to
someone looking like a public monument, say the effigy of Britannia or Victoria
--that's Lady S----."

Though he used to pretend that all this self-advertisement was premeditated
and planned, I could hardly believe him. He was eager to write about himself
because of his exaggerated vanity and reflection afterwards found grounds to
justify his inclination. But whatever the motive may have been the effect