Sir John Squire, in his review of Mr. Osbert Burdett's book on Robert Browning, is right in suggesting that there must be “someone alive,” besides Mr. Thomas Wise, “who has broken bread at the poet's table.” I did so, but it was at his tea-table, and it was cake we broke. The table was round and of the old pivotal kind, that lurched dangerously when anyone pragmatic, say Mr. Kenyon, made his points—leaning heavily, threatening to upset Miss Sarianna's silver teapot, which she would wave occasionally so as to get her word in. The conversation was sometimes interesting and sometimes not, to the listening pitcher of schoolgirl that I was.