Pagans, Hebrews, Christians and Moslems, was nothing
but a keen financial syndicate or trust to keep sacerdotal sharpers in
place and power at the expense of plodding ignorance, hope and bigotry!

The night we started back for London, by jaunting car, on the road to
Oxford, the Bard was in a mood of lofty contemplation. He had stowed away
in the bottom of the car, a mass of school-day and strolling-player
compositions, evolved in the rush of vanished years.

"William," said I, "can you tell me anything about the silence of those
sparkling, eternal stars and planets?"

He instantly replied:

_I question the infinite silence,
And endeavor to fathom the deep
That rests in the ocean of knowledge
And dreams in the heaven of sleep;
And I soar with the wing of science,
Its mysterious realm to explore,
But the wail of the wild sea breakers
Drowns my soul in the Nevermore;
For the answer of finite wisdom
Is as fickle as ambient air,
And my wreckage of hopes are scattered
On the rocks and shores of despair!_

Arriving at the Crown Tavern, in Oxford, we were, as usual, received by the
old Boniface Devanant and his handsome wife, with warm words and luxurious
table cheer. After a day and night of reasonable revelry, we proceeded on
our way to London, and in due course found our sunny lodgings at the home
of Maggie Mellow.

The night after our arrival Sir Walter Raleigh gave a grand banquet at the
Mermaid Club to the principal wits of London.

Burbage, Florio, Field, William and myself were invited as special guests,
in honor of the poetic and dramatic association.

Representative authors and actors of the various theatrical companies were
present at the festive war of wits.

The Queen's men, and those who played under the patronage of Leicester,
Pembroke, Burleigh, and the Lord Admiral were there, while Henslowe, the
owner of the Rose Theatre on Bankside, with his son-in-law, Edward Alleyn,
the noted actor, shone in all their borrowed glory.

Spenser, Drayton, Marlowe, Kyd, Nash, Chettle, Peele, Greene, and a young
author, Ben Jonson, were a few of the literary luminaries present.

A contingent of London lords, patrons of authors and actors graced the
scene. Essex, Southampton, Pembroke, Cecil, Mortimer, Burleigh and Lord
Bacon occupied prominent places at the angle table of the club, where
Raleigh sat as master of ceremonies.

Promptly at eleven o'clock,