Gradually I came to perceive that they
were not as villainous-looking and uncleanly as at first sight I had
imagined. A great many of them took notes. When I came to the end of
my dissertation on Henry VIII, I went among them, as I discovered the
custom to be, and chatted, answering questions, explaining difficulties,
and advising as to a course of reading. The atmosphere of trust and
friendliness compensated for the lack of material sweetness. Here were
young men pathetically eager to learn, grateful for every crumb of
information that came from my lips. They reminded me of nothing more
than the ragged class of scholars around a teacher in a mediaeval
university. Some had vague dreams of eventually presenting themselves
for examinations, the Science and Art Department, the College of
Preceptors, the Matriculation of the University of London. Others
longed for education for its own sake, or rather as a means of raising
themselves in the social scale. Others, bitten by the crude Socialism of
their class, had been persuaded to learn something of past movements
of mankind so as to obtain some basis for their opinions.
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