I read a little, played cricket a good deal,
stuck out three or four London Seasons, travelled a bit, shot a bit
in East Africa (Oh, I forgot to say I'd put in a year in the South
African War); climbed a bit, in Switzerland, and afterwards in the
Himalayas; come home to write a paper for the Geographical Society;
got bitten with Socialism and certain Fabian notions, and put in some
time with an East-End Settlement besides attending many crowded and
unsavoury public meetings to urge what was vaguely known as
Betterment. When I took courage and made a clean breast of my new
opinions to my father, the old man answered very composedly that he
too had been a Radical in his time, and had come out of it all right.
. . . By all means let me go on with my spouting: capital practice
for public life: hoped I should take my place one of these days in
the County Council at home: wouldn't even mind seeing me in
Parliament, etc.--all with the wise calm of one who has passed his
three-score years and ten, found the world good, made it a little
better, hunted his own harriers and learnt, long since, every way in
which hares run.
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