For one so romantic in the expression of his art, I should say his
literary and artistic tastes were severely classic, though you would
have expected them to be bizarre. He was ambitious of literary success,
but any aspirations were wisely discouraged by his admirers. His
writings, however brilliant--and they often were brilliant--shewed a
dangerous cleverness, which on cultivation might have proved disastrous
to the realization of his true genius. "Under the Hill" is a delightful
experiment in a rococo style of literature, and it would be difficult to
praise sufficiently the rhythm and metrical adroitness of the two poems
in the Savoy Magazine. Though I cannot speak of his musical attainments,
it may be regarded as fortunate that so remarkable a genius was directed
to a more permanent form of executive power.

His knowledge of life, art, and literature seemed the result of instinct
rather than study; for no one has ever discovered where he found the
time or opportunity for assimilating all he did. Gregarious and sociable
by nature, he was amusingly secretive about his methods and times of
work. Like other industrious men, he never pretended to be busy or
pressed for time. He never denied his door to callers, nor refused to
go anywhere on the plea of "work."

He disliked anyone being in the room when he was drawing, and hastily
hid all his materials if a stranger entered the room. He would rarely
exhibit an unfinished sketch, and carefully destroyed any he was not
thoroughly satisfied with himself. He carried this sensitive spirit
of selection and self-criticism rather far. Calling on friends who
possessed primitives, he would destroy these early relics and leave a
more mature and approved specimen of his art, or the _edition de luxe_
of some book he had illustrated. Some of us were so annoyed that we were
eventually obliged to lock up all early examples. For though friends
thus victimized were endowed with a more valuable acquisition, they had
a natural sentiment and affection for the unsophisticated designs of
his earlier years.

[Illustration: TAILPIECE
_From "Salome"_]

His life, though many-sided and successful, was outwardly uneventful.
In the early summer of 1892 he entered Professor Brown's night school
at Westminster, but during the day continued his work at the Guardian
Fire Insurance until August, when, by his sister's advice, he resigned
his post. In December he acquainted with Mr Pennell, from who