The Unclassed

h 187-, that is to chapter, ap

age. He is a student of ancient and modern literatures, a free-thinker in religion, a lover of art in all its forms

he outcome of an idle whim, or the despairing cry of a hungry heart. It

eepers. He had rather long black hair, which arranged itself in silky ripples about a face of perfectly clear, though rather dark, complexion. When he smiled, as he frequently did, the effect was very pleasant. He spoke, too, with that musical intonation which is always more or

ets, a few Italian books, and some English classics. Not a trace anywhere of the habits and predilections not unfairly associated with the youth of the shop, not even a pipe or a cigar-holder. It was while sitting alone here one evening, half musing, half engaged in glancing over the advertisements in a paper two days old, that the assistant had been attracted by the insertion just quoted. He read and re-read it, became more thoughtful, sighed slightly. Then he moved to the table and took som

t at once

needs. He was a teacher in a school in South London, living in lodgings, with his evenings mostly unoccupied. His habits, he declared, were Bohemian. Suppose, by way of testing each other's dispo

o'clock. The house he sought proved to be one of very modest appearance; small, apparently not too clean, generally uninviting. But a decent-looking woman opened the door, and said that Mr

pure linen and general tone of cleanliness were reassuring; the hand, too, which he extended, was soft, delicate, and finely formed. The head was striking, strongly individual, set solidly on a rather long and shapely neck; a fine forehead, irregular nose, rather prominent jaw-bones, lips just a little sensual, but speaking good-humour and intellectual character. A heavy moustache; no beard. Eyes dark, keen, very capable of tenderness, but perhaps more often shrewdly discerning or cynically speculative. One felt that the present expression of genia

med in some degree to be aware of it. Waymark seemed more rugged than in ordinary companionship; the slightly effeminate beauty of Casti, and his diffident, shyly graceful manners, were more n

ved heads of the great in art and science, and a few reproductions in pencil or chalk of known subjects, perchance their possessor's own work. On the table lay tra

tion by offering a cup of c

asked, reaching some cig

his head, w

?-At all events, you don't, as the railway

e scent, but was never

range over very various topics, Waymark leading the way, his visitor only gradually venturing to take the initiative. Theatres were mentione

very name of Parliament, and could as soon read Todhunter on Conic Sections a

ortunities have been small. I left a very ordinary school at fourteen, and what knowledge I have since got has come from my own ef

ir type of the middle-class commercial 'academy;' the headmaster a nincompoop and charlatan, my fellow-assistants poor creatures, who must live, I suppose,-though one doesn't well understand why. I had always a liking for Greek and Latin and can make shift to read both in a way satisfactory to myself, though I dare say it wouldn't go for much with college examiners. Then, as for my scribbling

d up with a

ment, eh?" cried Waymark, with a sudden burs

was so like a frequent thought

that same desperate nee

ght have suffered much. The young fellows I see every day haven't much intellect, it must be confessed. I used to try to get them under the influe

g that advertisement; I was, I firmly believe, on the verge of lunacy! For two or three days I had come back home from the school only to pace up and down the room in an indescribable condition. I get often like that, but this time things seemed reaching a head. Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd as it may sound. My blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out the veins beyond endurance. As a rule I get over these m

ed?" inquired Julian

going from magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into furious spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, dran

en the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the effect of all his frankn

o you think me rather too much of an

can well understan

English poetry, which was quite as extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure. He had

Italy?" asked Waym

lancholy; his fine eyes gleamed as was their wont eight years ago, in th

. I think most of classical Italy. I am no scholar, but I love the Latin writers, and can forget myself for hours, working through Livy or Tacitus. I want to see the ruins of Rome; I want to see the Tiber, the Clitumnus, the Aufidus, the Alba

d the glowing face

idly. Who knows? We may see Italy together, and look back upon these

ddened, l

ried to,"

do st

etim

o furious to be anything like poetry; I know that well enough. I have long since made up my mind to stick to prose; it is the true medium for a polemical egotist. I want to find some new

ome supper before setting out on his walk home; he brought out of a cupboard a tin of Australian mutton, which, with bread and pickles, afforded

t you so far at this hour,"

ly. "London streets at night are my element.

aughing and w