but t itself ion and met but stony silence. Conversation constantly do Do you like so and sos last book? No, I prefer t, and I t but for its Irisever came into t s first difficult mont I t like a man of letters, noed at to t Sennyson in a t I called impurities, curiosities about politics, about science, about ory, about religion; and t  create once more the pure work.

    Our clot part unadventurous like our conversation, teen coat, a loose tie and a very old Inverness cape, discarded by my faty years before and preserved by my Sligo?born motions  no ot Le Gallienne, e ne fasume but t of an Englisleman. One se unnoticeable, Joo me. t carefully to ted furt from it in ting, udied, one poet??o knoter in later years ision, t from t I devoted myself to Lionel Jo and an old te Street, Fitzroy Square, typical figures of transition, doing as an ac of learning and of exquisite taste e, and sometimes one mig in ty, Simeon Solomon, te painter, once tti and of S freso a long term of imprisonment for a criminal offence, o drunkenness and misery. Introduced one nigo some man er and R. A., arted to  in a rage o mistake me for t mountebank? t one o t catered by t dropping from any yndall, Carolus Duran, Bastien?Lepage bundle of old ting t to t suspicion t I never became intimate o become test Englisy upon Italian life in teentury and to e tandard ticelli. Connoisseur in several arts, tle che Marble Arch.

    ttle cerpiece, its style ury too late to  my fancy at ty; and I accused o ei