He speaks English with a delightful accent, and there always hangs
about his presence a melancholy halo of mystery and Italy. His quiet
unassumed familiarity with every museum and library on the Continent
astonishes even the most erudite Teuton. Among archaeologists he is
thought a pre-eminent palaeographer, among palaeographers a great
archaeologist. I have heard him called the Furtwangler of Britain. His
facsimiles and collated texts of the classics are familiar throughout the
world. He has independent means, and from time to time entertains
English and foreign _cognoscenti_ with elegant simplicity at his
wonderful house in Kensington. His conversation is more informing than
brilliant. Yet you may detect an unaccountable melancholy in his voice
and manner, attributed by the irreverent to his constant visits to the
Museum. Religious people, of course, refer to his loss of faith at
Oxford; for I regret to say the Professor has been an habitual
freethinker these many years.
However it may be, Professor Lachsyrma is sad, and has not yet issued his
edition of the newly discovered poems of Sappho unearthed in Egypt some
time since--an edition awaited so impatiently by poets and scholars.
Some years ago, on retiring from his official appointment, Professor
Lachsyrma, being a married man, searched for some apartment remote from
his home, where he might work undisturbed at labours long since become
important pleasures.
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