and the fops and the distinguished foreigners, half a score of
comely ragamuffins in velveteen, murmuring sonnets, posturing, waving
their hands. Beauty was sought in the most unlikely places. Young
painters found her mobled in the fogs, and bank-clerks, versed in the
writings of Mr. Hamerton, were heard to declare, as they sped home from
the City, that the Underground Railway was beautiful from London Bridge
to Westminster, but not from Sloane Square to Notting Hill Gate.

Aestheticism (for so they named the movement,) did indeed permeate, in
a manner, all classes. But it was to the haut monde that its primary
appeal was made. The sacred emblems of Chelsea were sold in the
fashionable toy-shops, its reverently chanted creeds became the patter
of the boudoirs. The old Grosvenor Gallery, that stronghold of the few,
was verily invaded. Never was such a fusion of delightful folk as at its
Private Views. There was Robert Browning, the philosopher, doffing his
hat with a courtly sweep to more than one Duchess. There, too, was
Theo Marzials, poet and eccentric, and Charles Colnaghi, the hero of a
hundred tea-fights, and young Brookfield, the comedian, and many another
good fellow. My Lord of Dudley, the virtuoso, came there, leaning
for support upon the arm of his fair young wife. Disraeli, with his
lustreless eyes and face like some seamed Hebraic parchment, came also,
and whispered behind his hand to the faithful Corry. And Walter Sickert
spread the latest mot of 'the Master,' who, with monocle, cane and
tilted hat, flashed through the gay mob anon.

Autrement, there was Coombe Wood, in whose shade the Lady Archibald
Campbell suffered more than one of Shakespeares plays to be enacted.
Hither, from the garish, indelicate theatre that held her languishing,
Thalia was bidden, if haply, under the open sky, she might resume her
old charm. All Fashion came to marvel and so did all the Aesthetes, in
the heart of one of whose leaders, Godwin, that superb architect, the
idea was first conceived. Real Pastoral Plays! Lest the invited guests
should get any noxious scent of the footlights across the grass, only
amateurs were accorded parts. They roved through a real wood, these
jerkined amateurs, with the poet's music upon their lips. Never under
such dark and griddled elms had the outlaws feasted upon their venison.
Never had any Rosalind traced with such shy wonder the writing of her
lover upon the bark, nor any Orlando won such lau