Rossetti was introduced to Elizabeth by a brother artist, who had discovered her in a milliner’s shop in London. She consented to pose for Rossetti. His brother, in some charming reminiscences of her, writes that to fall in love with Elizabeth Siddal was a very easy performance, and that Dante Gabriel did it at an early date. The name Elizabeth, however, was never on Dante’s lips; but rather Lizzie or Liz, and fully as often Guggums, Guggum, or Gug. Mrs. Hueffer, the younger daughter of Ford Madox-Brown, says that when she was a small child she saw Rossetti at his easel in her father’s house uttering momentarily, in the absence of the beloved one, “Guggum, Guggum!” After awhile “Guggum” became a settled institution in Rossetti’s studio, and other people, his brother included, understood they were not wanted there. Dante was constantly drawing from Guggum, and she designing under his tuition. He was unconventional, and she, if not so originally, became so in the course of her companionship with him. In her appearance, as in her character, she was a remarkable young woman. THE BEAUTY OF ELIZABETH SIDDAL [Illustration: ELIZABETH SIDDAL, BY ROSSETTI] The artist’s brother writes of her that she was truly a beautiful girl,--tall, with a stately throat and fine carriage, pink and white complexion, and massive, straight, coppery golden hair. Her heavy-lidded eyes were large and greenish blue. But, as this narrator says, it is not necessary to speak much about her appearance, “as the designs of Dante Rossetti speak for it better than I could do.” Her whole manner, in spite of her great beauty, was reserved, self-controlling, and “alien from approach.” Rossetti’s brother says that her talk was, in his experience, scanty; slight and scattered, with some amusing turns, and little to seize hold upon; little clue to her real self, or anything determinate. But, alas! the beautiful Elizabeth was a sufferer from consumption, accompanied by neuralgia. For the neuralgia frequent doses of laudanum had been prescribed. Her condition was such toward the end that sometimes she was obliged to take one hundred drops at a time. On February 10, 1866, she dined at a hotel in London with her husband and Swinburne. She and Rossetti returned to their home about eight o’clock. She was about to go to bed at nine, when Dante Gabriel went out again. When he came back at half-past eleven the room was in darkness. He called to his wife; but received no reply. He found her in bed, unconscious. On the table was a vial. It had contained laudanum--it was empty. He paid her the tribute of burying his poems with her. He had already paid her the great tribute of painting her, and that often. Those large, greenish blue eyes of hers were his guiding stars. Let him who will say that he rides fastest who rides alone. There are six great artists--and many more--to say him nay. [Illustration: BEATA BEATRIX, BY ROSSETTI _A portrait of Elizabeth Siddal._] _SUPPLEMENTARY READING_