The next morning my poem was the first thought in my mind, and I read it carefully through before getting up. The glow had rather gone out of it; still, it was good. And I considered whether I should read it at the office to Mr. Blades and others. But, strangely enough, though my affection for Mr. Blades was deep and lasting, as well it might be, considering all his goodness, something seemed to whisper to me that he would not much like “The Witches’ Sabbath.” I had a wild idea of asking Wardle to set it to music, but second thoughts proved best, as so often happens, and I just kept the poem in my desk and waited till the next lesson at the Dramatic School. For I felt that in the genial atmosphere of tragic art my poem would be more at ease than in a hive of industry. I improved it a great deal before the time came for the next meeting with Mr. Merridew. Not, of course, that I was going to show it to him; but I felt I should have courage to submit it to my fellow-pupil, Brightwin, and ask him for his can-did opinion upon it. Of course, measured according to Aristotle, it might have been found wanting; because there was simply not a spark of pity about it. But the terror was there all right. To close this rather painful chapter, I may mention that I stuck to the resolve to work overtime for a week, but was not rewarded by inventing another poem. However, the result seemed highly favourable, for Mr. Westonshaugh complimented me on my work in the account, and showed a manly inclination to let the dead past bury its dead, as they say. X The rehearsal of the first scene of _Hamlet_, conducted by Mr. Montgomery Merridew, went off with great verve. We were all very eager to please him and there was naturally a good deal of excitement among us to know how he would cast the parts. He decided that Leonard Brightwin should be Horatio and George Dexter Marcellus. I was Bernardo, and Harold Crowe took the rather minor part of Francisco. Mr. Henry Smith had the honour of playing the ghost, and it was very valuable to him for stage deportment and gesture; but not much use in the way of his _h’s_, because the ghost does not make a single remark in the first scene. Nevertheless, after Horatio, who was easily the best, came Mr. Smith. In fact, he quite suggested “the Majesty of buried Denmark,” in my opinion, though he didn’t manage his hands well, and put rather too much expression into his face for a ghost. Dexter as Marcellus was bad. He made Marcellus a bounder, and when he said, referring to the ghost, “Shall I strike at it with my partisan?” you felt it was just the sort of utterly caddish idea that Dexter would have had. My rendering of Bernardo was not well thought of, I regret to say. Mr. Merridew explained that I must avoid the sin of overacting. He said: