ould not be in it; and no one was
left out who should be in. The number was about a dozen. For twenty
years the club met in Dyonnet's studio, and afterwards, as the result
of some convulsion, in K. R. Macpherson's. A ceremonial supper was eaten
once a year, at which one dressed the salad, one made the coffee, and
Harris sang a song. Here all pictures were first shown, and writings
read--if they were not too long. If they were, there was in an adjoining
room a tin chest, which in these austere days one remembers with
refreshment. When John McCrae was offered membership he "grabbed at
it", and the place was a home for the spirit wearied by the week's work.
There Brymner and the other artists would discourse upon writings, and
Burgess and the other writers would discourse upon pictures.

It is only with the greatest of resolution, fortified by lack of time
and space, that I have kept myself to the main lines of his career, and
refrained from following him into by-paths and secret, pleasant places;
but I shall not be denied just one indulgence. In the great days when
Lord Grey was Governor-General he formed a party to visit Prince Edward
Island. The route was a circuitous one. It began at Ottawa; it extended
to Winnipeg, down the Nelson River to York Factory, across Hudson Bay,
down the Strait, by Belle Isle and Newfoundland, and across the Gulf
of St. Lawrence to a place called Orwell. Lord Grey in the matter of
company had the reputation of doing himself well. John McCrae was of the
party. It also included John Macnaughton, L. S. Amery, Lord Percy, Lord
Lanesborough, and one or two others. The ship had called at North Sydney
where Lady Grey and the Lady Evelyn joined.

Through the place in a deep ravine runs an innocent stream which
broadens out into still pools, dark under the alders. There was a rod--a
very beautiful rod in two pieces. It excited his suspicion. It was put
into his hand, the first stranger hand that ever held it; and the first
cast showed that it was a worthy hand. The sea-trout were running that
afternoon. Thirty years before, in that memorable visit to Scotland,
he had been taken aside by "an old friend of his grandfather's". It was
there he learned "to love the trooties". The love and the art never left
him. It was at this same Orwell his brother first heard the world called
to arms on that early August morning in 1914.

In those civil years there were, of course, diversions: visits to the
United St