cricket, and of lifting the ball high over the trees beyond the
boundaries of a great cricket-field. Perhaps Mr. Leslie Balfour-
Melville will pardon me for mentioning his name, linked as it is
with so many common memories. 'One is taken and another left.'

A different sort of memory attaches itself to A Ballade of Dead
Cities. It was written in a Theocritean amoebean way, in
competition with Mr. Edmund Gosse; he need not be ashamed of the
circumstance, for another shepherd, who was umpire, awarded the
prize (two kids just severed from their dams) to his victorious
muse.

The Ballade of the Midnight Forest, the Ballade of the Huntress
Artemis, was translated from Theodore de Banville, whose beautiful
poem came so near the Greek, that when the late Provost of Oriel
translated a part of its English shadow into Greek hexameters, you
might suppose, as you read, that they were part of a lost Homeric
Hymn.

I never wrote a double ballade, and stanzas four and five of the
Double Ballade of Primitive Man were contributed by the learned
doyen of Anthropology, Mr. E. B. Tylor, author of Primitive Culture.

A tout seigneur tout honneur!

In Ballade of his Choice of a Sepulchre, the Windburg is a hill in
Teviotdale. A Portrait of 1783 was written on a French engraving
after Morland, and Benedetta Ramus was addressed to a mezzotint (an
artist's proof, 'very rare'). It is after Romney and is 'My
Beauty,' as Charles Lamb said (once, unluckily, to a Scot) of an