nature; the line as originally written was intended to express the rather sad, brooding manner the Master had of giving his oracles, as though he were a spectator of all time and existence, and had penetrated into the mystery of things.  Of course, the last line expressed, with necessary exaggeration, what, as a fact, was his attitude to certain subjects in which he refused to be interested, such as modern German metaphysics, philology, and Greek inscriptions.”

When I met the Master in 1887, I was young and he was old; but, whether from insolence or insight, I never felt this difference.  I do not think I was a good judge of age, as I have always liked older people than myself; and I imagine it was because of this unconsciousness that we became such wonderful friends.  Jowett was younger than half the young people I know now and we understood each other perfectly.  If I am hasty in making friends and skip the preface, I always read it afterwards.

A good deal of controversy has arisen over the Master’s claim to greatness by some of the younger generation.  It is not denied that Jowett was a man of influence.  Men as different as Huxley, Symonds, Lord Lansdowne, Lord Bowen, Lord Milner, Sir Robert Morier and others have told me in reverent and affectionate terms how much they owed to him and to his influence.  It is not denied that he was a kind man; infinitely generous, considerate and good about money.  It may be denied that he was a fine scholar of the first rank, such as Munro or Jebb, although no one denies his contributions to scholarship; but the real question remains:  was he a great man?  There are big men, men of intellect, intellectual men, men of talent and men of action; but the great man is difficult to find, and it needs—­apart from discernment—­a certain greatness to find him.  The Almighty is a wonderful handicapper:  He will not give us everything.  I have never met a woman of supreme beauty with more than a mediocre intellect, by which I do not mean intelligence.  There may be some, but I am only writing my own life, and I have not met them.  A person of magnetism, temperament and quick intelligence may have neither intellect nor character.  I have known one man whose genius lay in his rapid and sensitive understanding, real wit, amazing charm and apparent candour, But whose meanness, ingratitude and instability injured everything he touched.  You can only discover ingratitude or instability after years of experience, and few of us, I am glad to think, ever suspect meanness in our fellow-creatures; the discovery is as painful when you find it as the discovery of a worm in the heart of a rose.  A man may have a fine character and be taciturn, stubborn and stupid.  Another may be brilliant, sunny and generous, but self-indulgent, heartless and a liar.  There is no contradiction I have not met with in men and women:  the rarest combination is to find fundamental humbleness, freedom from self, intrepid courage and the power to love;