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 Meredith. He occupied it for the rest of his life. For the seven years following his wife's death Rossetti was an ardent collector of old furniture, blue china, and Japanese bric-à-brac. The same period proved one of great pictorial productiveness, and his partiality for single figures, generally more or less idealised portraits, increased. The place in this department which had been held by his wife and the beautiful actress, Miss Herbert, was now to a large extent filled by Mrs. William Morris; but many beauties in all ranks of society were proud to sit to him, as appears from the list given by his brother (Letters and Memoirs, i. 242–3). He hardly ever attempted ordinary portraiture, except of himself or some very intimate friend or near connection. Among the most famous of the single figures painted about this time may be mentioned ‘Beata Beatrix,’ ‘Monna Vanna,’ ‘Monna Pomona,’ ‘Il Ramoscello,’ ‘Venus Verticordia,’ and ‘Sibylla Palmifera.’ Of work on a grander scale there is little to notice, though some previous works were repeated with improvements. ‘The Return of Tibullus to Delia,’ one of the most dramatic of his productions of this period, exists only as a drawing; and he never carried out the intention he now entertained of making a finished picture from his magnificent drawing of ‘Cassandra.’ A work of still more importance fortunately was accomplished, the publication of his collected ‘Poems’ in 1870 (new edit. 1881). The new pieces fully supported the reputation of those which had already appeared in magazines; and the entire volume gave him, in the eyes of competent judges, a reputation second to that of no contemporary English poet after Tennyson and Browning.

Much of the remainder of Rossetti's life is a tragedy which may be summed up in a phrase: ‘chloral and its consequences.’ Weak in health, suffering from neuralgic agony and consequent insomnia, he had been introduced to the drug by a compassionate but injudicious friend. Whatever Rossetti did was in an extreme, and he soon became entirely enslaved to the potion, whose ill effects were augmented by the whisky he took to relieve its nauseousness. His conduct under the next trouble that visited him attested the disastrously enfeebling effect of the drug upon his character. In October 1871 an article entitled ‘The Fleshly School of Poetry,’ and signed Thomas Maitland (soon ascertained to be a pseudonym for Mr. Robert Buchanan), appeared in the ‘Contemporary Review.’ In this some of Rossetti's sonnets were stigmatised as indecent. Rossetti at first contented himself with a calm reply in the ‘Athenæum,’ headed ‘The Stealthy School of Criticism,’ and with a stinging ‘nonsense-verse’ hurled at the offender when he discovered his identity. But the republication of the article in pamphlet form, with additions, early in 1872, threw him completely off his balance. He fancied himself the subject of universal obloquy, and detected poisoned arrows in ‘Fifine at the Fair’ and the ‘Hunting of the Snark.’ On 2 June his brother was compelled to question his sanity, and he was removed to the house of Dr. Hake, ‘the earthly Providence of the Rossetti family in those dark days.’ Left alone at night, he swallowed laudanum, which he had secretly brought with him, and his condition was not ascertained until the following afternoon. Rossetti's recovery was due to the presence of mind of Ford Madox Brown, who, when summoned, brought with him the surgeon, John Marshall (1818–1891) [q. v.], who saved Rossetti's life. He was still in the deepest prostration of spirits, and suffered from a partial paralysis, which gradually wore off. He sought change and repose, first in Scotland, afterwards with William Morris at Kelmscott Manor House in Oxfordshire, and on other trips and visits. The history of them all is nearly the same sad story of groundless jealousy, morbid suspicion, fitful passion, and what but for his irresponsible condition would have been inexcusable selfishness. At last he wore out the patience and charity of many of his most faithful friends. Those less severely tried, such as Madox Brown and Marshall, preserved their loyalty; Theodore Watts-Dunton, a new friend, proved himself invaluable; William Sharp, Frederick Shields, and others cheered the invalid by frequent visits; and his own family showed devoted affection. But the chloral dosing went on, forbidding all hope of real amendment.

The most astonishing fact in Rossetti's history is the sudden rekindling of his poetical faculty in these dismal years, almost in greater force than ever. ‘Chloral,’ says his brother, ‘had little or no power over that part of his mind which was purely intellectual or inventive.’ The magnificent ballad-epic of ‘Rose Mary’ had been written in 1871, just before the clouds darkened round him. To this, in 1880, were added, partly under the friendly pressure of Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘The White Ship’ and ‘The King's Tragedy,’ ballads even superior in force, if less potent in imagination. The three were published towards the end of 1881, together with other new poems, chiefly sonnets, in a volume entitled ‘