Rabelais, or his wild illustrator Gustave Doré, must have had something to do with the designing of the things called flats in England and America. There is something entirely Gargantuan in the idea o...

Basil Grant and I were talking one day in what is perhaps the most perfect place for talking on earth⁠—the top of a tolerably deserted tramcar. To talk on the top of a hill is superb, but to talk on t...

The revolt of Matter against Man (which I believe to exist) has now been reduced to a singular condition. It is the small things rather than the large things which make war against us and, I may add, ...

Lieutenant Drummond Keith was a man about whom conversation always burst like a thunderstorm the moment he left the room. This arose from many separate touches about him. He was a light, loose person,...

Basil Grant had comparatively few friends besides myself; yet he was the reverse of an unsociable man. He would talk to anyone anywhere, and talk not only well but with perfectly genuine concern and e...

The conversation of Rupert Grant had two great elements of interest⁠—first, the long fantasias of detective deduction in which he was engaged, and, second, his genuine romantic interest in the life of...