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Chapter 13

           Henearlydeafenedmewithhisinstructions,beingsomewhatexcitableandloud-voiced—butonfindingmeanaptpupil,hedrewbackhiswavestohimselfwithsomuchdelicacyamongthepebblesandsand,thatatonceImasteredthesecretofplayingarpeggi.OncetooIhadafinishinglessonfromaDream—amysticthingwithwildhairandwings—itsangonewordinmyears,andthewordwasunpronounceableinmortalspeech—butaftermanyeffortsIdiscovereditlurkinginthescaleofsound.Thebestpartofitallwas,thatmyinstructorsaskednofees!"

           "Ithinkyouareapoetaswellasamusician,"—saidLadySibyl.

           "Apoet!Spareme!—mydearyounglady,whyareyousocruelastoloadmewithsovileanimputation!Betterbeamurdererthanapoet—oneistreatedwithmuchmorerespectandcourteousconsideration—bythepressatanyrate.Themurderer’sbreakfast-menuwillbegivendueplaceinmanyofthemostestimablejournals—butthepoet’slackofbothbreakfastanddinnerwillbedeemedhisfittingreward.Callmealive-stockproducer,ahorse-breeder,atimber-merchant—anythingbutapoet!WhyevenTennysonbecameanamateurmilkmantosomewhatconcealandexcusetheshameanddegradationofwritingverse!"

           Wealllaughed.

           "Well,youmustadmit,"saidLordElton,"thatwe’vehadrathertoomuchofpoetslately.It’snowonderwe’resickofthem,andthatpoetryhasfallenintodisrepute.

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