It was there I met Mrs. Lynn-Linton, whose articles in the _Saturday Review_ on “The Girl of the Period” were at the time attracting a considerable amount of attention. Afterwards I got to know her well, and learnt to discover in her earnest, enthusiastic nature qualities that struck much deeper than the superficial satire which she had exercised in this series of papers exploiting the foibles of her sex. Another house where artists and men of letters were warmly welcomed was that of Dr. Schlesinger, who was for many years the valued English correspondent of the _Cologne Gazette_. Dr. Max Schlesinger, in virtue of very considerable gifts both as a politician and as a man of letters, and even more perhaps by qualities of personal character that made him widely trusted, occupied an exceptional position in the world of journalism in London. His known discretion as a publicist won for him the confidence of the most eminent of our statesmen, but the associations of this kind which belonged to his life as a journalist, never led him to desert or to neglect that purely artistic environment to which by inclination and culture he naturally belonged. Nothing could have been more simple, more entirely unostentatious than the hospitality offered on those pleasant weekly evenings in Dr. Schlesinger’s house. It was, I think, a valued rendezvous to all who considered themselves welcome, for it was Dr. Schlesinger’s privilege, partly due perhaps to the exceptional position he occupied, that he was able to make his house a delightful meeting-place for the leaders of thought in many departments, and for the most prominent artists of every nationality. It was there I first met Mr. G. H. Boughton, then a young and struggling painter, who, if not American by birth, was at any rate American by long association, and who afterwards achieved in England a deservedly high place among his comrades. Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, before they built their house upon Campden Hill, had begun to be known as accepted hosts by a large body of artistic society, and in later days the big studio at Campden Hill became the scene of many joyous entertainments, which occasionally took the form of fancy dress. Mr. Boughton, whatever may be the final verdict on his own artistic achievement, was a man of fine taste and delicate perception, both in the region of art and in the wider field of literature. It was there I first met Robert Browning, a constant guest at the Boughtons’ dinners, which, with the larger parties they sometimes entertained, became for many years an accepted meeting-place for nearly all who were interested in art.