Circumstances connected with the increasing delicacy of Lady Ripon’s health brought me into nearer relations with the family, and although I kept up my own establishment, I lived much at Putney Heath. I may say I was made a friend of by this good lady, whom it was a pleasure to serve, and was engaged by her often in matters pertaining to her private life. She liked me sometimes to visit Nocton, her paternal home, and report to her of people and things which, on account of her inability to visit the place herself, were drifting from her, though her interest in them was unbroken.

She was gifted with a very fine intellect: she had been carefully trained in her childhood, and given all the knowledge that is becoming in a woman. She had a natural wit, and her conversation was much to be desired, full of anecdotes on past events in which she had taken part. When I came to know her she lived retired, at the same time exercising hospitality without limit towards many pleasant guests. When she returned from Carlton Gardens to Putney Heath for the winter, I found it difficult to go to and fro from town, so I settled down at Roehampton, which was near. Among those who visited her were Sir Charles and Lady Douglas and Mrs. Charles Lushington, sister of Sir Stafford Northcote, all very old friends, and these would be with her for the week or month together. Lord and Lady de Grey, too, were, of course, much with her.

At this time George Borrow, having sickened, like myself, of the charm of country life, was living in Hereford Square; so we met again and had many dinners together, and as many pleasant walks; these chiefly in Richmond Park, which my home overlooked, being close to the Robinhood Gate.

While at Roehampton I accidentally made the acquaintance of Dr. Robert Latham, the grammarian; not exactly a nice person to see much of, though a good companion, and one overflowing with every sort of knowledge.

While at Roehampton, too, it was that I called on Rossetti. I saw him then for the first time, and was received by him very warmly, so much so that he accepted my invitation to dine with me the next day, and many hours were passed in conversation of the most exhilarating kind.

A generation before, Rossetti had written to me regarding my “Valdarno, or the Ordeal of Art Worship,” then appearing in Ainsworth’s Magazine.

Before that visit to him I had returned to Poetry, my first and last love, having plenty of leisure, with my imagination unemployed. Spending some weeks at Nocton, where I went by Lady Ripon’s request, to look over her beautiful estate and visit the tomb of the late earl, I was often of a morning in the ancient wood, revelling in it for hours, the ground covered with hyacinths and lilies of the valley, the stock doves pouring out their sweet notes from every bough. It was there, to commemorate my visit, that I committed to paper my pastoral poem of “The Lily of the Valley,” which will take any one who reads it into Nocton Wood.

“Old Souls” I wrote while staying in Lady Ripon’s house at Putney: Mrs. Lushington and her beautiful family of daughters were guests. One Sunday, on returning from church with her to lunch, the idea of that poem crossed my mind, impressed by the finely dressed crowd that was chatting and laughing on the way to the fashionable villas in Wimbledon Park.

These two poems were the beginning of a volume named “The World’s Epitaph,” which was printed anonymously and distributed at random among friends and strangers, as well as editors of the press, and apparently it attracted no sort of notice, except from the librarian of a Cambridge college, who said that he had made it his companion during a pleasant tour.

I have forgotten the name of this gentleman, and of his college, but I will one day try to recall it. I must have distributed over a hundred copies.

One copy, sold at W. B. Scott’s sale, the words “D. G. Rossetti, with the author’s compliments,” written on the title-page, found its way into a bookseller’s, who advertised it in his catalogue, price eight shillings and sixpence. A relative of mine, who called to see it, was informed that it had been purchased for the library of the British Museum.

Evidently Rossetti had lent the volume to Scott; in his keeping it shared the lot of so many borrowed books, in being never returned.

A literary celebrity once pointed out to me four hundred books on his shelves, all of which, he said, had been borrowed.

Mr. Buxton Forman told me only the other day (Nov. ’91), that he was one evening at Madox Brown’s, when Rossetti entered in a state of excitement, with the “World’s Epitaph” in his pocket, which he produced, and did little but talk about “Old Souls.” It must have been the copy of which I have spoken, dated 1866, a beautifully printed little book from the press of Woodfall and Kinder.

Dr. R. Latham was good enough to send some copies of the book to his friends, and they took it as his in their reply, which he regarded as too good a joke to disturb.