CHAPTER IV. A COLLEGE MAGAZINE


I


ALL through my boyhood and youth, I was known and pointed out for
the pattern of an idler; and yet I was always busy on my own
private end, which was to learn to write. I kept always two books
in my pocket, one to read, one to write in. As I walked, my mind
was busy fitting what I saw with appropriate words; when I sat by
the roadside, I would either read, or a pencil and a penny version-
book would be in my hand, to note down the features of the scene or
commemorate some halting stanzas. Thus I lived with words. And
what I thus wrote was for no ulterior use, it was written
consciously for practice. It was not so much that I wished to be
an author (though I wished that too) as that I had vowed that I
would learn to write. That was a proficiency that tempted me; and
I practised to acquire it, as men learn to whittle, in a wager with
myself. Description was the principal field of my exercise; for to
any one with senses there is always something worth describing, and
town and country are but one continuous subject. But I worked in
other ways also; often accompanied my walks with dramatic
dialogues, in which I played many parts; and often exercised myself
in writing down conversations from memory.

This was all excellent, no doubt; so were the diaries I sometimes
tried to keep, but always and very speedily discarded, finding them