2. A Society

    t all came about. Six or seven of us ting one day after tea. Some reet into t still sly upon scarlet feattle toea tray. After a time, so far as I can remember, o praise men—rong, , iful to get attaco one for life—o tears. Poll, I must tell you, range man.  une in  on condition t sed   y; leaves ied; and must  not one of to marry  last sears. For some time  srange enoug , as  of ime in terature on top floor; and eadily imes on ttom. And noerrible t  to  and speaking ensity of desolation  part unutterably bad!”

    Of course  t Se books, and Milton and Shelley.

    “Oerrupted us. “You’ve been aug you are not members of t lengttle, s  it  ten by a man called Benton or  kind. S feened in silence. “But t’s not a book,” someone said. So sime it  I ten ter’s name. Our trepidation increased as s on. Not a  seemed to be true, and tyle in ten was execrable.

    “Poetry! Poetry!” iently.

    “Read us poetry!” I cannot describe tion  timental foolery ained.

    “It must ten by a  no. Sold us t it ten by a young man, one of t famous poets of to imagine o read no more, sed and read us extracts from t and  of us, rose to  and said t s convinced.

    “e suced to the world?”

    e ; and, in t, “eaco read?”

    Clorinda  to come to ’s all our fault,” so read. But no one, save Poll, aken trouble to do it. I, for one, aken it for granted t it y to spend ed my moten; still more my grandmoteen; it ion to bear ty. e  men rious, and t t. ures. e ed t.