l, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of
the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and the horses
of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could
scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory.

"He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name
and an example which are at this hour inspiring hundreds of the
youth of England; a name which is our pride, and an example which
will continue to be our shield and our strength."

Nelson left England the Queen of the Sea, and the great war with
Germany has failed to displace her from that splendid throne. For the
plain fact of history remains that, after the battle of Jutland, the
German High Seas Fleet never ventured out of port again till the end of
the war; and when it did emerge from its ignominious security, it sailed
to captivity at Scapa Flow, there ultimately to repose on the bottom of
the sea.

Your loving old
G.P.

19

MY DEAR ANTONY,

There are four very celebrated lines written by Walter Savage Landor
which you may have heard quoted; they were written towards the close
of his life, and are certainly distinguished and memorable:--

"I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I loved, and next to Nature Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart."

It does not detract from the merit of the lines that as a fact Landor was
of a fiery disposition, and strove a great deal with many adversaries,
often of his own creation, throughout his long life[1]; and although he
was of a fierce and combative nature he displayed in his writings a
classical restraint and tender beauty hardly achieved by his
contemporaries.

In the form of an imaginary conversation between AEsop and Rhodope,
Landor makes the latter describe how her father, in the famine,
unbeknown to her, starved that she might have plenty, and, when all
was gone, took her to the market-place to sell her that she might live.
There is an exquisite delicacy in this dialogue that places it among the
wonders of literature:--

"_Rhodope_. Never shall I forget the morning when my father,
sitting in the coolest part of the house, exchanged his last
measure of grain for a chlamys of scarlet cloth, fringed with
silver. He watched the merchant out of the door, and then looked
wistfully into the cornchest. I, who thought there was some