Masques & Phases

A CASE AT THE MUSEUM.

It is a common error to confuse the archaeologist with the mere collector of ignoble trifles, equally pleased with an unusual postage stamp or a scarce example of an Italian primitive.  Nor should the impertinent curiosity of local antiquaries, which sees in every disused chalk-pit traces of Roman civilisation, be compared with the rare predilection

requisite for a nobler pursuit.  The archaeologist preserves for us those objects which time has forgotten and passing fashion rejected; in the museums he buries our ancient eikons, where they become impervious to neglect, praise, or criticism; while the collector--a malicious atavist unless he possess accidental perceptions--merely rescues the mistakes of his forefathers, to crowd public galleries with an inconsequent lumber which a better taste has taught as to despise.

In the magic of escaped conventions surely none is more powerful than the Greek, and even now, though we yawn over the enthusiasm of the Renaissance mirrored in our more cadenced prose, there are some who can still catch the delightful contagion which seized the princes and philosophers of Europe in that Martin's Summer of Middle Age.

Of the New Learning already become old, Professor Lachsyrma is reputed a master. Scarcely any one in holds a like position.  He is sixty,  and, though his youth is said to have been eventful, he hardly looks his age.  He speaks English with a delightful accent, and there always hangs about his presence a melancholy halo of mystery and .  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.