Some quarter of an hours walk from Bedford Park, out on the high road to Rid, lived W. E. Henley, and I, like many others, began under him my education. His portrait, a lithograph by Rothenstein, hangs over my mantlepiece among portraits of other friends. He is drawn standing, but, because doubtless of his crippled legs, he leans forward, resting his elbows upon some slightly suggested object??a table or a window?sill. His heavy figure and powerful head, the disordered hair standing upright, his short irregular beard and moustache, his lined and wrinkled face, his eyes steadily fixed upon some object, in plete fidend self?possession, a as in half?broken reverie, all are exactly as I remember him. I have seen other portraits and they too show him exactly as I remember him, as though he had but one appearand that seen fully at the first gland by all alike. He was most human??human, I used to say, like one of Shakespeares characters??a pressed and pummelle……（内容加载失败！）
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