Henley

Abstract

MOST of us sometimes, I suppose, observe some small boy engrossed upon his youthful affairs and wonder what he'll become, what he'll make of himself or what life will make of him, and what sort of man he will be to look upon, after forty years. W. E. Henley has left us a self‐portrait of himself when young, topped by a broad‐ribanded leghorn, “antic in girlish broideries” and wearing “silly little shoes with straps,” carrying home a great treasure, a book—a Book with “agitating cuts of ghouls and genies;” and, for back‐ground to that picture from memory of the boy he was, are the docks of Gloucester thronged with galliots and luggers, brigantines and barques that came in those days “to her very doorsteps and geraniums.”