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john linnell； had many manuscripts。 the linnellswere narrow in their religious ideas & doubtful of blakes orthodoxy； whom they held； however； in great honour； and i remember a timid old lady who had known blake when a child saying： he had very wrong ideas； he did not believe in the historical jesus。 one old man sat always beside us ostensibly to sharpen our pencils； but perhaps really to see that we did not steal the manuscripts； and they gave us very old port at lunch and i have upon my dining room walls their present of blakes dante engravings。 going thither and returning ellis would entertain me by philosophical discussion； varied with improvised stories； at first folk tales which he professed to have picked up in scotland； and though i had read and collected many folk tales； i did not see through the deceit。 i have a partial memory of two more elaborate tales； one of an italian conspirator flying barefoot from i forget what adventure through i forget what italian city； in the early morning。 fearing to be recognised by his bare feet； he slipped past the sleepy porter at an hotel calling out number so and so as if he were some belated guest。 then passing from bedroom door to door he tried on the boots； and just as he got a pair to fit a voice cried from the room who is that？
merely me； sir； he called back； taking your boots。 the other was of a martyrs bible round which the cardinal virtues had taken personal form？？this a fragment of blakes philosophy。 it was in the possession of an old clergyman when a certain jockey called upon him； and the cardinal virtues； confused between jockey and clergyman； devoted themselves to the jockey。 as whenever he sinned a cardinal virtue interfered and turned him back to virtue； he lived in great credit and made； but for one sentence； a very holy death。 as his wife and family knelt round in admiration and grief； he suddenly said damn。 o my dear； said his wife； what a dreadful expression。 he answered； i am going to heaven and straightway died。 it was a long tale； for there were all the jockeys vain attempts to sin； as well as all the adventures of the clergyman； who became very sinful indeed； but it ended happily； for when the jockey died the cardinal virtues returned to the clergyman。 i think he would talk to any audience that offered； one audience being the same as another in his eyes； and itmay have been for this reason that my father called him unambitious。 when he was a young man he had befriended a reformed thief and had asked the grateful thief to take him round the thieves quarters of london。
the thief； however； hurried him away from the worst saying； another minute and they would have found you out。 if they were not the stupidest men in london； they had done so already。 ellis had gone through a no doubt romantic and witty account of all the houses he had robbed； and all the throats he had cut in one short life。
his conversation would often pass out of my prehension； or indeed i think of any mans； into a labyrinth of abstraction and subtilty； and then suddenly return with some verbal conceit or turn of wit。 the mind is known to attain； in certain conditions of trance； a quickness so extraordinary that we are pelled at times to imagine a condition of unendurable intellectual intensity； from which we are saved by the merciful stupidity of the body； & i think that the mind of edwin ellis was constantly upon the edge of trance。 once we were discussing the symbolism of sex； in the philosophy of blake； and had been in disagreement all the afternoon。 i began talking with a new sense of conviction； and after a moment ellis； who was at his easel； threw down his brush and said that he had just seen the same explanation in a series of symbolic visions。 in another moment；
he said； i should have been off。 we went into the open air and walked up and down to get rid of that feeling； but presently we came in again and i began again my explanation； ellis lying upon the sofa。 i had been talking some time when mrs。 ellis came into the room and said： why are you sitting in the dark？ ellis answered； but we are not； and then added in a voice of wonder； i thought the lamp was lit and that i was sitting up； and i find i am in the dark and lying down。 i had seen a flicker of light over the ceiling； but had thought it a reflection from some light outside the house； which may have been the case。
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Four YearsXV
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i had already met most of the poets of my generation。 i had said； soon after the publication of the wanderings of usheen； to the editor of a series of shilling reprints； who had set me to pile tales of the irish fairies； i am growing jealous of other poets； and we will all grow jealous of each other unless we know each other and so feel a share in each others triumph。 he was a welshman； lately a mining engineer； ernest rhys； a writer of welsh translations and original poems that have often moved me greatly though i can think of no one else who has read them。 he was seven or eight years older than myself and through his work as editor knew everybody who would pile a book for seven or eight pounds。 between us we founded the rhymers club which for some years was to meet every night in an upper room with a sanded floor in an ancient eating house in the strand called the cheshire cheese。 lionel johnson； ernest dowson； victor plarr； ernest radford； john davidson； richard le gallienne； t。 w。 rolleston； selwyn image and two men of an older generation； edwin ellis and john todhunter； came constantly for a time； arthur symons and herbert home less constantly； while william watson joined but never came and francis thompson came once but never joined； and sometimes； if we met in a private house； which we did occasionally； oscar wilde came。 it had been useless to invite him to the cheshire cheese for he hated bohemia。 olive schreiner； he said once to me； is staying in the east end because that is the only place where people do not wear masks upon their faces； but i have told her that i live in the west end because nothing in life interests me but the mask。
we read our poems to one another and talked criticism and drank a little wine。 i sometimes say when i speak of the club； we had such and such ideas； such and such a quarrel with the great victorians； we set before us such and such aims； as though we had many philosophical ideas。 i say this because i am ashamed to admit that i had these ideas and that whenever i began to talk of them a gloomy silence fell upon the room。 a young irish poet； who wrote excellently but had the worst manners； was to say a few years later； you do not talk like a poet； you talk like a man of letters； and if all the rhymers had not been polite； if most of them had not been to oxford or cambridge； they would have said the same thing。 i was full of thought； often very abstract thought； longing all the while to be full of images； because i had gone to the art school instead of a university。
yet even if i had gone to a university； and learned all the classical foundations of english literature and english culture； all that great erudition which； once accepted； frees the mind from restlessness； i should have had to give up my irish subject matter； or attempt