But when this unkempt Adonis had demoralized our maid, smashed our pretty wedding gifts in fits of gloom, during which he would shake his fist at the fog and say: “Goo’ nigh’,” and finally taunted us with not providing sufficient wine at a humble entertainment to excuse one of the guests for having left his hat behind, we felt it best he should return to his native land--though not before he had inadvertently half poisoned us with dried mushrooms sent by his relatives. Well, badly as Mario behaved subsequently in Great Russell Street he was one of the features of our happy Florence holiday and directed our steps towards many out-of-the-way places which Joe thirsted to explore in search of Art treasures unknown to guide-books. My husband’s knowledge culled from many old books was of great value to him, and with his bump of locality, joined to my knowledge of the speech of the people, we penetrated into many lovely corners and met with as many amusing adventures. Strange food did we eat too on that weird trip, for here, as elsewhere, Joe insisted on exploring. “Tell him I’m a judge of the _cuisine_,” he would say, “and only want the best.” And--with an instinct that the rewarding tip would not be wanting--as it never was--cooks hastened to concoct the spiciest of their national dishes for his criticism. The publication of Joe’s first book was quickly followed by an illustrated volume on the Abbey Church of St. Albans from articles written for the _Art Journal_; plenty of study on architecture and on monkish lore was done for this in the Reading Room of the British Museum. Later in life Joe used to say that, after the period of ravenous and enthusiastic boyhood, he might never have opened a serious book again--so much more enthralling to him was the daily intercourse for work or play with living men and women--had it not been for the necessity of boiling the pot; and that all that he read for a special purpose stuck to him as no desultory reading did and became stored in his mind for use and pleasure for the rest of his life. I can see myself how true this was in respect of the whole range of Arthurian legend, on which subject he became an authority; he devoured everything in English and French that he could find when he was writing his plays of _King Arthur_ and _Tristram_, and never forgot any of it. The _Abbey of St. Albans_ was too special a subject to make a popular book, and the first volume of Joe’s work which attracted attention was _Essays on Art_, gathered together in 1879.