Mr. George Howard, the late Lord Carlisle, was tireless in helping us see the best ancient and modern art. He was at that time devoting himself to painting, exhibiting with the rebels of the Grosvenor Gallery. He was a man of exquisite refinement and great reserve, ill fitted, it appeared, to take part in political life. He had married Rosamond, daughter of Lord Stanley of Alderley, who inherited the family gift for politics and was already prominent as a reformer, though still very young, with a nursery full of children. I date my lifelong passion for sight-seeing from those hours spent with Mr. Howard at the British Museum, the National Gallery, and other picture galleries and studios. He introduced us to his friend Burne-Jones, who asked me to sit for him. I remember those mornings at Burne-Jones’s house very clearly. The walls of the passage leading to the studio were hung with the cartoons of the artist’s beautiful decoration, “The Briar Rose.” Burne-Jones was one of the most sensitive and interesting artists I have known. He complimented me on being a good sitter,--“You can hold the pose as well as many professional models.” He did not show me the canvas for which I sat, but told me later that my portrait appeared in a group of nymphs in the decoration he was then working upon. One day William Morris came in during the sitting and said a few words to his friend. Morris, in his plain, rough blue linen shirt and picturesque homespun clothes, looked the poet and the artist he was. Most of the men and women of this artistic group were very individual in dress. Mrs. Burne-Jones and her daughter looked like the ladies in Walter Crane’s lovely illustrations. It was from them that I first learned of the charming Liberty fabrics to which I have remained faithful all these years. This I believe was the first year of the Grosvenor Gallery, whose exhibitions represented a revolt of some of the leading artists against the formal traditions of the Royal Academy. There was a battle royal as to the relative merits of the two exhibitions and the rights and wrongs of the quarrel. The leading lights of the Grosvenor Gallery were Burne-Jones, George Watts, and Whistler. Like most such defections the movement proved useful; all the bitter words written and spoken had the happy effect of giving a fresh impulse to British art. Sir Frederick Leighton was then president of the Royal Academy. On the night of the opening reception at Burlington House, all London flocked to the Academy. The guests were received by Sir Frederick, standing at the head of the main stairway. He was a commanding figure in his silk robes of office, his orders, and decorations. We had for our escorts the Greek Minister, M. Gennadius, and a young artist named John Elliott. The servant who announced the guests mixed the cards and read the Ambassador’s name as the artist advanced. He was received with great cordiality, while the Ambassador got the curtest imaginable nod.