olding up triumphantly
the exact number of francs the Parisian on foot then had to pay for
venturing rashly to get in the way of the Paris driver. And Harland told
it all with such eloquence that it was some minutes before those who
listened realised he was laughing and began to laugh with him. And the
tale was typical of many others he loved to tell. As his talk led the
way to the Land of Nonsense, so he himself could of a sudden whirl us
all off to a restaurant, or a park, or an excursion we had not thought
of an hour, a minute before. Many a time, instead of sitting solemnly
at home reading or working as we had meant to, we would be going down
the river in a penny steamboat, or drinking coffee at the _Cafe Royal_
or tea in Kensington Gardens--but Harland as an inspired guide was at
his best in Paris I always thought, perhaps because in Paris he had so
much larger scope than in London.

He impressed one as a man who never tired, or who never gave in to being
tired, either at work or at play--a man who, knowing his days would be
few on this earth, found each fair as it passed and, if he could not bid
it stay, was at least determined to fill it as full as it would hold.
There was no resisting his restless energy when with him, and it was
because he could so little resist it himself, that he was continually
seeking new outlets--new forms for its expression. He had just the
temperament to take up with the mode of the Nineties that drove the
Young Men to asserting themselves and upholding their doctrines in
papers and magazines of their own. The pedant may trace the fashion back
to the _Hobby-horse_ of the Eighties, or, in a further access of
pedantry to the _Germ_ of the early Fifties. He may follow its growth as
late as the _Blast_ of yesterday and _The Gypsy_ of to-day. But I do
not have to go further than my book shelves, I have only to look and see
there the _Dial_ and the _Yellow Book_ and the _Savoy_ and the
_Butterfly_ and the _Pageant_ and the _Dome_ and the _Evergreen_, each
with its special train of memories and associations, and I know better
than the greatest pedant of them all that the fashion, no matter when it
began, no matter when it may end, belongs as essentially to the Nineties
as the fashion for the crinoline belongs to the Sixties. Harland was not
original in wanting to set up a pulpit for himself--the originality was
in the design for it. The _Yellow Book_ was not like any other quarterly
from which