"I think," said Thyrsis, "it's because I can't bring myself to write
in cold blood. I have to be interested. I'm sure that is the
trouble."

"I'm sure," said the other, "that the trouble is that you think you
know too much."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Thyrsis, humbly. "I've tried my best---"

"It is my business to teach students to write. I've given my life to
that, and I think I know something about it. But you think you know
more than I do. That's all."

And so they parted. Thyrsis kept a vivid recollection of this
interview, for the reason that at a later stage of his career he
came into contact with Prof. Osborne again, and got another glimpse
of the authoritarian attitude towards the art of letters.

Section 15. Thyrsis had not many friends at college, and none at all
at the university. He had no time to make any; and besides, there
was a certain facetious senior who had caught him hurrying through
the corridors one day, declaring in excitement that---

"Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow!"

But he had long ago ceased to hope for a friend, or to care what
anybody thought about him; it was clear to him by this time that he
had made himself into a poet, and was doomed to be unhappy. His
mother had given up all hope of seeing him a bishop, and they had