DELOS. WE came to an isle of flowers That lay in a trance of sleep, In a world forgotten of ours, Far out on a sapphire deep. Dwellers were none on the island, Long, long had her fields lain fallow, And the drought had dried her rills, But the vetch and the gourd and mallow Ran riot on all her hills. The length of her shoreward level, Were red with a scarlet revel Of poppies down to the sea; Each bloom pressed close on its fellow, Was it here, that heart of a nation, This garden of desolation, This ruin of red, of gold? Should leave His flock all shepherdless to From The Contemporary Review. satirist of "gentility " has himself become 'genteel." 66 LITERARY and artistic society in En- These social developments have had a gland has, within the last thirty or forty marked influence upon the conditions unyears, undergone a notable change-a der which the fine arts are professionally change which has been concurrent with pursued. They have rendered the artist a corresponding movement among other at once more prosperous and more fasclasses of the community. During this tidious. The sphere of employment space of time those persons, especially, opened to him- that is, to the author, who are engaged in the professional and the painter, the musician, and the actor superior commercial pursuits, have shown has been immensely widened of late years. an ever-advancing tendency in the direc- The circulating library system has been tion of greater luxury and refinement - a largely extended; illustrated books and constantly increasing desire to surround periodicals have been multiplied almost bethemselves with the elegancies of life, and, yond computation; journalism has grown as the phrase goes, to "live up to them." to gigantic dimensions, and has thrown Their houses are more handsomely and out new offshoots in many different direc- tastefully furnished and decorated than in tions; while there are more than twice as the past; walls once disfigured with pic- many art-exhibitions, theatres, and other torial monstrosities are now hung with places of entertainment open to the public works pleasing to the æsthetic sense; the as existed a generation since. The conhand of art has touched and beautified sequence is that not a few of the profesevery article of domestic use; antique sions which minister to the popular love fashions have been revived to give new of culture, amusement, and recreation, grace to modern ornament. Simultane- now offer prizes that might tempt the most ously we have to note a growing disposi- ambitious aspirant to fame and fortune. tion among the upper-middle classes to cultivate the fine arts. There is, in these days, more art-work · more painting, singing, and playing - executed in our homes than there was a generation ago; while persons well-to do, and even of moderate means, in larger numbers than ever, buy pictures, engravings, books, periodical publications, and so forth; throng the artgalleries and frequent the theatres and concert-rooms. At the same time our upper-middle classes have come more and more to affect the ways of the orders immediately above them in the social scale. They aspire to be "in the fashion;" and have migrated from the west central and northern districts to the West End, in the endeavor to creep nearer to the outer ring of that magic circle known as the beau monde. That love of "appearances which so provoked the scorn of Michael Angelo Titmarsh has shown no sign of diminution since his time. Indeed, it has become so common and so general, that it has almost ceased to be an object of ridicule to the censors of the age. And for good reason. The censors themselves have adopted the same mode of life-the The gains of successful dramatists and novelists in our days would indeed have been thought impossible some years ago. Larger prices are paid for pictures than were ever known before, while for those artists who prefer to work in "black and white," and who excel in that branch of graphics, there is an abundance of wellremunerated employment. Again, the salaries now earned by actors and actresses, not by any means of the first rank, would have been beyond the reach of the most eminent performers in the earlier part of the present reign. No doubt the ranks of the army of art are greatly overcrowded, and the number of desperately struggling competitors is larger than ever. Yet never before was there such a chance for superior ability as is offered now. Even industrious mediocrity has fair ground for hope, while a starving genius-except in extraordinary cases of individual perversity—ought in these days to be regarded as an anomaly of the age. This remarkable change in the conditions under which the artistic professions are practised has worked a corresponding change in the circumstances of that strange, fascinating microcosm known as Bohemia. Of its gay, careless, picturesque life, which shines so brightly in the pages of Henri Murger and Edward Whitty, there is now little left. The old Bohemian, as he used to be- not to go so far back as the days of Goldsmith and Grub Street, but only to a period when men still living were young has almost ceased to exist. The poor man of genius often drunken, dirty, and disreputable - is well-nigh as extinct as the dodo. He is a reformed character nowadays, and dictates terms to publishers, managers, and dealers, from his villa residence in a fashionable suburb, or his mansion in South Kensington. He is clothed no longer in rags, but in "purple and fine linen;" he lives not upon chop-house fare and gin and water, but on dainty dishes and champagne, while between his lips cigars of the choicest brands take the place once occupied by the humble cutty pipe. Even if he still wears some of the insignia of the old order of Bohemians, it is "with a difference." If he is careless in his attire, it is with the consciousness that he could dress better if he liked; if he is simple in his habits, it is under a sense that he can amply afford luxuries. The genius in art or letters who is still Bohemian is so from choice, not from necessity. Under these circumstances it is interesting to know that there is still left among us a small strip of that charming land of Bohemia, even though it may not be so wild and weed-grown as of yore; that there is still one little nook remaining where the gay, careless artist may foregather with his brethren in the good old-fashioned style, and keep up the traditions of his race. The Savage Club claims to be the one coterie of men cultivating the fine arts that has preserved, as nearly as possible in its integrity, the last vestige of the old Bohemia. Many other clubs which began by being Bohemian have ended by becoming fashionable in Douglas Jerrold's phrase, "They have gone westward and caught coronets." Others, again, have been started in a spirit of somewhat ostentatious defiance of the conventionalities of society, but these artificial attempts to revive the Bohemianism of the past have usually resulted in failure. It may at least be said of the Savage Club that its growth has been spontaneous and natural, and that it has from first to last clung faithfully to the ancient ways. As such it should supply an interesting study, since its progress corresponds with, and illustrates in a marked manner, those changes in the social condition of the artist to which we have adverted. The history of the Savage Club from the date of its foundation to the present period is, in fact, the history of the literary and artistic society of Those who have had experience of the "seamy side" of Bohemianism its mire and meanness, both moral and physical-its time. may rejoice that the old days are no more. But, while we have lost much that we are glad to have got rid of, there was still something in the simple, picturesque bygone life which those who knew it once must miss with regret. Gone are the pleasant symposia in humble taverns, where wit and whiskey gaily commingled; gone are the merry supper-parties of the old Newman Street days immortalized by Thackeray. Our successful authors, actors, and painters have lost touch of such unpretending conviviality, and have deserted their old haunts for those gilded salons and sumptuous dinner-tables of the great where they are now welcome and habitual guests. When the club first came into existence, that simple old Bohemian life was at its best and gayest. Then men of talent and genius were content to smoke their pipes and refresh themselves, and engage in pleasant, friendly intercourse, in dingy lit tle taverns or chop-houses in Fleet Street and the Strand and their neighborhood, in unadorned rooms with sanded floors and wooden "boxes," and with only John, the old-fashioned cockney waiter, greasy but civil, to minister to their needs. Famous novelists, successful dramatists, popular actors, and Royal Academicians might be seen any day or night taking their glass of beer or of grog together in hostelries now almost wholly abandoned to the sport ing reporter and the barrister's clerk. It was the last scene of the old tavern days of Johnson and Goldsmith, of Boswell and Topham Beauclerk, and the curtain has fallen upon it, never to rise again. It was at this period that the Savage Club became established. Its earliest history is characteristically nebulous. Of the very few surviving original members, no two exactly agree as to the circumstances of its genesis. Indeed, the Savages, like the true Bohemians that they are, may actually be said not to know when they were born or who was their father. There is a record extant that the club was founded in October, 1857, but there are those who assert that it was formed at least some months prior to that date. Still greater uncertainty envelops the origin of the title of the club itself. Here is the account given by Andrew Halliday, its first and only president: ing that name. If we accept Richard Savage as our godfather, it shows that there is no pride about us; if we mean that we are sævi, why then it will be a pleasant surprise for those who may join us to find the wigwam a lucus a non lucendo." And so, in a frolicsome humor, our little Society was christened the "Savage Club." On the other hand, another original member, Mr. George Augustus Sala-a high authority on any question of literary history-differs widely from Mr. Halliday. He says: The name originally given to that pleasant and now prosperous symposium had nothing whatever to do with the pseudo-son of the Countess of Macclesfield. . We dubbed ourselves Savages for mere fun; just as the convivial club, which is an offshoot from one of the learned societies, calls itself the "Roaring Lions." Somebody who had travelled in savage regions made us a present of some old tomahawks and moccasins, spear-heads and wampum-belts, and something resembling a circular disc cut from a horsehair-bottomed chair, but which was understood to be a human scalp; and these trophies were duly displayed on the walls of our wigwam- that is to say, a room on the first floor of the Crown Tavern, Vinegar Yard, over against the gallery entrance of Drury Lane Theatre, on the occasion of our first anniversary dinMore than this, to keep up our character of "Savages," we sedulously practised a shrill shriek or war-whoop, which was given ner. Yet another version of the story is supplied by a third original member, Dr. Strauss, "The Old Bohemian." He writes: The Savage Club was founded to supply the want which Dr. Samuel Johnson and his friends experienced when they founded the Literary Club. A little band of authors, journalists, and artists felt the need of a place of reunion where, in their hours of leisure, they might gather together and enjoy each other's society, apart from the publicity of that which was known in Johnson's time as the "coffeehouse," and equally apart from the chilling splendor of the modern club. When about a dozen of the original members were assembled in the place selected for their meetings, it be-in unison at stated intervals. came a question what the club should be called. Every one in the room suggested a title. One said the "Addison," another the "Johnson," a third the "Goldsmith," and so forth; and at last, after we had run the whole gamut of famous literary names of the modern period, a modest member in the corner suggested the " "Shakespeare." This was too much for the gravity of one of the company (the late Robert Brough), whose keen sense of humor enabled him, in the midst of our enthusiasm, to perceive that we were bent on making ourselves ridiculous. 'Who are we, he said, "that we should take these great names in vain? Don't let us be pretentious. If we must have a name, let it be a modest one-one that signifies as little as possible." Hereupon a member called out, in a pure spirit of wantonness, "The Savage!" That keen sense of humor was again tickled. "The very thing!" he exclaimed, "no one can say there is anything pretentious in assuming of the name. I remember distinctly that in one of my heart effusions in the midst of the small knot of authors, journalists, and artists who used to meet some twenty-six or twenty-seven years since at the White Hart Tavern, I said, looking around me: "I see Otways before me who have not yet felt the want of a penny loaf, Chattertons guiltless of literary forgeries and suicidal thoughts Savages, a great many Savages, who have never yet seen the inside of a gaol.". It was Robert Brough who, at a later period, when we contemplated forming ourselves into a club, suggested (not, as Halliday states, adopted) Richard Savage as our godfather. And it was John Deffett Francis who suggested the alternative meanFrancis also presented old Bohemian life. Thus it was resolved, also in May, 1858: "That every member of the committee who shall not be in his place, not having twelve hours previously excused himself to the secretary in writ the new "reunion" incontinently with a choice | fundamental qualification of the clubassortment of tomahawks, boomerangs, asse- that its members should be "working men gais, and other weapons of savage warfare. in literature and art." It seems odd that Who shall decide when such "doctors" this definition should have been worded disagree? Certain it is that the origin of in extraordinarily clumsy terms, and by the club's name is a point of dispute so accomplished a literary man as Robert among the members to this day, and it Brough himself. The queen's speech is will probably remain a mystery to the end notoriously never written in what may of time. However, it is not less certain properly be regarded as the queen's Enthat the Savages have always adhered to glish, but Savages need not necessarily their barbaric emblems. Savage weapons express themselves in barbarous language. and implements still adorn their walls; The exact terms of the definition were as some of their members assumed the garb follows: "That the description, working of North American Indians at the famous men in literature and art, is intended to fancy ball at the Albert Hall in 1883, and mean men who as a profession produce even the stranger within their gates is works in literature and art, and who, alallowed, without rebuke, to make playful though even if not being habitually and jests with reference to their uncivilized professionally engaged therein, have prodesignation. duced such works of acknowledged merit." Everything relating to the early his- Other entries in the early, and sometory of the Savage Club is quaint and what fitful, records of the club are strikcurious, and characteristic of the Bohe-ingly significant of the simplicity of the mian life of the times. The first records of the club contain entries which now sound as odd and old-fashioned as any thing in the domestic annals of the reign of Henry VIII. or Elizabeth. Thus, in May, 1858, we find the committee resolving, shall be fined one shilling, to go to ing: "That the sum of fifteen shillings, in the funds of the club." In November of respect of the annual supper and a frame the same year it was agreed, "That a lock for the purposes of the club, be paid to be put on the club door, and each member the landlord." A very significant motion be furnished with a key, and that another was passed on the same occasion - one key be given to the waiter with instruc too often renewed even in subsequent tions to admit none but members, and years: "That the secretary be ordered to further"-mark the touching pathos of request those members who have not paid this proviso!" that each member be their subscriptions to do so." That ques-requested to pay for his key." In the tion of subscriptions was long a sore point with the primitive Savages. At first, so tradition says, there was no subscription at all; then the privilege of being a Savage involved the tax of five shillings per annum, and afterwards of ten. The secretary, it is said, used in those early days to collect as many subscriptions as would pay expenses, and let the rest-in American parlance - "slide." Indeed, for some years it was a humorous suggestion that the member who paid his subscription regularly was liable to disqualification and expulsion. One esteemed secretary, hap. pily still living, was actually presented with a testimonial on the ground that he had successfully "embezzled the funds of the club," a delicate way of recognizing the fact that the kindly official in question, having found the subscriptions he had collected insufficient to meet the club's current expenses, had supplied the deficit out of his own pocket. Later in 1858, the committee endeavored to give more distinct definition to the following year a curious regulation was made. It was enacted, "That after any stranger has been introduced three times into the club, any member shall be at liberty privately to require the committee to call upon his introducer to propose the said stranger as a member, and that the committee shall be bound to act on this requisition." This rule, if ever enforced, did not long remain in operation. In view of the sumptuous annual banquets given by the club in after years, the next entry, so suggestive of the primitive habits of the aboriginal Savages, offers a striking contrast. It was resolved in 1860: "That the anniversary supper of the club be held on Friday, January 13, and that the tickets be 2s. 6d., including draught beer; that Robert Brough be invited to take the chair, and no one be entitled to bring a friend until he has received the approval of either the chairman or the secretary.' It was in that same year 1860, however, that in spite of its quiet, homely character, the Savage Club first exposed itself to the |