Mr. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, who died last Sunday, was a.
remarkable personality—poet and firebrand, student and adventurer. Although English in every fibre by birth and breeding he was strangely un-English in his outlook upon life. That may have been because in his various mind the artistic Pons prevailed. He was a very considerable poet. Readers of poetry who are no longer young can remember now the Pleasure they experienced in recognizing a fresh and original note when Mr. Blunt published the Love Sonnets of Proteus some forty years ago. We prefer to remember Mr. Blunt hi
his poetry and his breeding of Arab horses. His politica might be summed up by saying that he thought that every picturesque and strange foreign being was right and ought to be encouraged, particularly if he had a grievance against Great Britain. He would swallow almost anything that was told to him by a child of the desert who wore flowing robes and looked splendid on an Arab horse.
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