I cannot remember able beside Kelmscott  o tes  League. I tle group  at tantly alter Crane, Emery alker presently, in association er of many fine books, and less constantly Bernard S once or t Prince Krapotkin. too one al certain more or less educated o meet every turn. I old by one of t  I alked more nonsense in one evening t life. I  t of o Mict ional politics. e sat round a long unpolised trestle table of neis Pomegranate, a portrait of Mrs. Morris, and  Persian carpet. Morris  carpets  for people ered a  in place upon a tent floor. I tle disappointed in tent at last to gatiful to arrange a beautiful ion, founded upon ttis pictures, isfied by a big cupboard painted  even ts, pertle table, t seemed accidental, bougtle t, to make   opened eitime. t ales till my fato Keats, got angry about it and put me altoget of countenance. ioned  ceased to read; nor ten as yet t became, after  a joy t to read slo I mig come too quickly to t irred my interest, and I took to  because of some little tricks of speec reminded me of my old grandfat soon discovered aneity and joy and made o?day I do not set ry very  for an odd altoget; and yet, if some angel offered me to live ry and all, ration of rait by atts lepiece s grave , remind me of titians Ariosto,  ellect to remain sane, t give itself to every pasy, t is te European image t yet ionless meditation, and rait in common ion, t cannot but fill tain famous s of our stage. S semperament of t fat, and scant of breat between his fingers ag