terior.

I was rather vexed, as I wanted to ask Ricketts his opinions about
various things and people and to see his wonderful collection. Shannon,
however, presented me with a lithograph and a copy of 'Memorable
Fancies,' by C. R.

How sweet I roamed from school to school,
But I attached myself to none;
I sat upon my ancient Dial
And watched the other artists' fun.

Will Rothenstein can guard the faith,
Safe for the Academic fold;
'Twas very wise of William Strang,
What need have I of Chantrey's gold?

Let the old masters be my share,
And let them fall on B. B.'s corn;
Let the Uffizi take to Steer--
What do I care for Herbert Horne

Or the stately Holmes of England,
Whose glories never fade;
The Constable of Burlington,
Who holds the Oxford Slade.

It's Titian here and Titian there,
And come to have a look;
But 'thanks of course Giorgione,'
With Mr. Herbert Cook.

For MacColl is an intellectual thing,
And Hugh P. Lane keeps Dublin awake,
And Fry to New York has taken wing,
And Charles Holroyd has got the cake.

After turning round a rather sharp corner I began to ask Theodormon if
John Addington Symonds was anywhere to be found. He smiled, and said: 'I
know why you are asking. Of course he _is_ here, but we don't see much
of him. He published, at the Kelmscott, the other day, "An Ode to a
Grecian Urning." The proceeds of the sale went to the Arts and Krafts
Ebbing Guild, but the issue of "Aretino's Bosom, and other Poems," has
been postponed.'

We now reached a graceful Renaissance building covered with blossoms; on
each side of the door were two blue-breeched gondoliers smoking calamus.
Theodormon hurried on, whispering: '_That_ is where he lives. If you
want to see Swinburne you had better make haste, as it is getting late,
and I want you to inspect the Castalian spring.'

The walking became very rough just here; it was really climbing. Suddenly
I became aware of dense smoke emerging with a rumbling sound from an
overhanging rock.

'I had no idea Parnassus was volcanic now,' I remarked.

'No more had we,' said Theodormon; 'it is quite a recent eruption due to
the Celtic movement. The rock you see, however, is not a real rock, but
a sham rock. Mr. George Moore has been turned out of the cave, and is
still hovering about the entrance.'

Looming through the smoke, which hung like