This is the place. Even here the dauntless soul, The unflinching hand, wrought on; till in that nook, As on that very bed, his life partook New birth and passed. Yon river's dusky shoal, Whereto the close-built coiling lanes unroll, Faced his work window, whence his eyes would stare, Thought wandering, unto nought that met them there, But to the unfettered irreversible goal. This cupboard, Holy of Holies, held the cloud Of his soul writ and limned; this other one, His true wife's charge, full oft to their abode Yielded for daily bread, the martyr's stone, Ere yet their food might be that Bread alone, The words now home-speech of the mouth of God. The house in Fountain Court has been pulled down lately. The footprints of the great and gentle soul in his passage through this world to the "unfettered irreversible goal" have almost all disappeared in the dust and scurry of the last century. We can still think of him, and of those long rapt mornings he spent in our glorious Abbey. Full as it is--pent up and overflowing--with the associations of centuries, it will henceforth hold this one more--Blake worked there, Blake dreamed there, Blake caught inspiration from the enchanted forests of its aisles. We may think of him, too, as standing in the Diploma Gallery of Burlington House, gazing with all his flaming spirit in his eyes at Marco d'Oggione's beautiful copy of Da Vinci's "Last Supper." Of the apostles he said, "Every one of them save Judas looks as if he had conquered the natural man." Mr. Linnell, always during this period Blake's truest, closest friend, introduced him to a rich and cultivated gentleman, a collector of pictures of the German school, a Mr. Aders, at whose table Blake met Crabb Robinson and Coleridge. Crabb Robinson thus describes our artist's appearance: "He has a most interesting appearance. He is now old--sixty-eight--pale, with a Socratic countenance, and an expression of great sweetness, though with something of languor about it, except when animated, and then he has about him an air of inspiration." Lamb was an habitue at the house also. Gotzenburger, the German painter, met Blake at Mr. Aders, and he declared on his return to Germany that he saw but three men of genius in England--Coleridge, Flaxman and Blake, and the greatest of these was Blake. Much happy time was spent by the old man among the Linnell family at the painter's house, Collins Farm, at North End, Hampstead. Here he often went of a Saturday, and was always welcomed with keen delight by the children and glad affection by their parents. Mrs. Linnell sang his favourite Scotch songs to him, John Linnell talked to him of art and listened appreciatively to his wild poetic conversation. The latter made happy the last few years of his life by a commission to engrave a set of plates after water-colour drawings, already executed, illustrating the Book of Job.