llowed up with the idea that Rossetti should, after exhuming the
poems, have copies made and place these back in the coffin, and that the
performance of midnight digging was nothing less than petit larceny from
a dead woman, witnessed by the Blessed Damozel leaning over the bar of
Heaven--in all this we get an offense in literature and good taste which
in Kentucky or Arizona would surely have cost the penny-a-liner his
life.

If these poems had not been recovered, the world would have lost "The
House of Life," a sonnet series second not even to the "Sonnets From the
Portuguese," and the immortal sonnets of Shakespeare.

The way Rossetti kept the clothing and all the little nothings that had
once belonged to his wife revealed the depths of love--or the
foolishness of it, all depending upon your point of view. Mrs. Millais
tells of calling at Rossetti's house in Cheyne Walk in Eighteen Hundred
Seventy, nearly ten years after the death of Elizabeth Eleanor, and
having occasion to hang her wraps in a wardrobe, perceived the dresses
that had once belonged to Mrs. Rossetti hanging there on the same hooks
with Rossetti's raiment. Rossetti made apology for the seeming confusion
and said, "You see, if I did not find traces of her all over the house I
should surely die."

A year after the death of his wife Rossetti painted the wonderful "Beata
Beatrix," a portrait of Beatrice sitting in a balcony overlooking
Florence. The beautiful eyes filled with ache, dream and expectation are
closed as if in a transport of calm delight. An hourglass is at hand and
a dove is just dropping a poppy, the flower of sleep and death, into her
open hands. Of course the picture is a portrait of the dear, dead wife,
and so in all the pictures thereafter painted by Dante Gabriel for the
twenty years that he lived, you perceive that while he had various
models, in them all he traced resemblances to this first, last and only
passion of his life.

* * * * *

In William Sharp's fine little book, "A Record and a Study," I find
this:

As to the personality of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a great deal has
been written since his death, and it is now widely known that he was
a man who exercised an almost irresistible charm over those with
whom he was brought in contact. His manner could be peculiarly
winning, especially with those much younger than himself, and his
voice was alike notable for its sonorous