d　to　be；　“Walk　down　Cromwell　Road　till　you　drop；　then　turn　to　the　right！”

I　found　the　house　shut　up；　and　the　Scotch　girl；　arriving　from　the　lower　regions；　informed　me　that　her　master　had　left　for　Scotland　on　Tuesday。　I　gave　my　card；　asking　her　to　forward　it；　then　called　to　the　girl　as　she　was　shutting　the　door　to　ask　how　Lang　was。　She　replied　that　he　had　been　unwell；　but　was　much　better。　So；　perhaps　for　the　last　time；　I　departed　from　that　house　with　which　I　used　to　be　so　familiar　in　the　old　days；　filled　with　such　sad　thoughts　and　apprehensions　that　on　my　return　home　I　mentioned　them　to　Miss　Hector；　my　secretary。

Perhaps　these　were　due　to　the　drawn；　death…suggesting　blinds；　perhaps　to　the　knowledge　that　Lang　had　suffered　much　from　melancholy　of　late　—　contrary　to　the　general　idea；　his　was　always　a　nature　full　of　sadness　—　perhaps　to　some　more　subtle　reason。　At　any　rate；　it　was　so。

I　have　not　seen　much　of　Andrew　Lang　of　late　years；　for　the　reason　that　we　lived　totally　different　lives　in　totally　different　localities。　The　last　time　we　met　was　about　a　year　ago　at　a　meeting　of　the　Dickens　Centenary　Fund　mittee；　after　which　I　walked　far　with　him　on　his　homeward　way；　and　we　talked　as　we　used　to　talk　in　the　days　when　we　were　so　much　together。　The　time　before　that　was　about　two　years　ago；　when　I　dined　alone　with　him　and　Mrs。　Lang　at　Marloes　Road；　and　we　passed　a　delightful　evening。

Letters；　too；　have　been　scarce　between　us　for　some　years；　though　I　have　hundreds　of　the　earlier　times。　Here　are　extracts　from　one　or　two　of　the　last　which　have　a　melancholy　interest　now。

October　18；　1911。

Dear　Rider；　—　Thanks　for　the　Hare　＇this　refers　to　my　tale　of　“The　Mahatma　and　the　Hare”＇。　。　。　。　I　bar　chevying　hares；　but　we　are　all　hunted　from　birth　to　deat