very useful to men of genius, in virtue of qualities they lacked, but
the secret of his hold on them was in his own rich nature. He was not
only a born man of letters, he was a deeply emotional human being
whose appeal was as much to the heart as to the head. The romantic
Celtic mysticism of `Aylwin,' with its lack of fashionable Celtic
nebulosity, lends itself, if you will, to laughter, though personally
I saw nothing funny in it: it seemed to me, before I was in touch with
the author, a work of genuine expression from within; and that it
truly was so I presently knew. The mysticism of Watts-Dunton (who,
once comfortably settled at the fireside, knew no reserve) was in
contrast with the frock-coat and the practical abilities; but it was
essential, and they were of the surface. For humorous Rossetti, I
daresay, the very contrast made Theodore's company the more precious.
He himself had assuredly been, and the memory of him still was, the
master-fact in Watts-Dunton's life. `Algernon' was as an adopted
child, `Gabriel' as a long-lost only brother. As he was to the outer
world of his own day, so too to posterity Rossetti, the man, is
conjectural and mysterious. We know that he was in his prime the most
inspiring and splendid of companions. But we know this only by faith.
The evidence is as vague as it is emphatic. Of the style and substance
of not a few great talkers in the past we can piece together some more
or less vivid and probably erroneous notion. But about Rossetti
nothing has been recorded in such a way as to make him even faintly
emerge. I suppose he had in him what reviewers seem to find so often
in books a quality that defies analysis. Listening to Watts-Dunton, I
was always in hope that when next the long-lost turned up--for he was
continually doing so--in the talk, I should see him, hear him, and
share the rapture. But the revelation was not to be. You might think
that to hear him called `Gabriel' would have given me a sense of
propinquity. But I felt no nearer to him than you feel to the