's Court to luxurious chambers off Jermyn Street, from
which he poured out article after article on the deceased poet.

Then suddenly, without warning, probably from overstrain, his memory gave
way. Everything in the past, Rodman included, vanished from his mind. A
greater calamity one could not conceive. It was as though a violinist had
lost a hand, a popular preacher his voice. His livelihood was gone. Much as
his babble about Rodman had bored me I could not but feel some sorrow for
him, fallen from his little pinnacle of fame and affluence. Judge, then, of
my surprise when I passed him about a fortnight ago faultlessly dressed and
wearing an air of great prosperity. He showed of course not the smallest
recollection of me.

"How does Toller manage to live?" I asked Cardew, who knows him better than
I do.

"He still writes," was the reply.

"What--without a memory?"

"Yes, he finds it an advantage. You see, since the fusion of the old
parties and the formation of new ones, the possession of a memory is often
a source of considerable embarrassment to a leader writer. Toller now does
the political articles for a prominent morning paper. The proprietors
consider him a wonderful find."

* * * * *

BUCKLER'S.

To acquire an estate is, even in these days of inflated prices and
competitive house-hunters, an easy matter compared with finding a name for
it when it is yours. It is then that the real trouble sets in.

Take the case of my friend Buckler.

A little while ago he purchased a property, a few acres on the very top of
a hill not too far from London and only half-a-mile from his present
habitation, and there he is now building a home. At least the plans are
done and the ground has been pegged out. "Here," he will say, quite
unmindful of the clouds emptying themselves all over us--with all an
enthusiast's disregard for others, and an enthusiast, moreover, who has his
abode close by, full of changes of raiment--"here," setting his foot firmly
in the mud, "is where the dining-room will be. Here," moving away a few
yards through the slush, "is the billiard-room." Then, pointing towards the
zenith with his stick, "Above it"--here you look up into the pitiless sky
as well as the deluge will permit--"are two spare rooms, one of which will
be yours when you come to see us." And so forth.

He then leads the way round the place, through brake fern wetter than
waves, to indicate the posit