Between us we founded 'The Rhymers' Club' which for some years was
to meet every night in an upper room with a sanded floor in an
ancient eating house in the Strand called 'The Cheshire Cheese.'
Lionel Johnson, Ernest Dowson, Victor Plarr, Ernest Radford, John
Davidson, Richard le Gallienne, T. W. Rolleston, Selwyn Image and
two men of an older generation, Edwin Ellis and John Todhunter,
came constantly for a time, Arthur Symons and Herbert Home less
constantly, while William Watson joined but never came and Francis
Thompson came once but never joined; and sometimes, if we met in a
private house, which we did occasionally, Oscar Wilde came. It had
been useless to invite him to the 'Cheshire Cheese' for he hated
Bohemia. 'Olive Schreiner,' he said once to me, 'is staying in the
East End because that is the only place where people do not wear
masks upon their faces, but I have told her that I live in the
West End because nothing in life interests me but the mask.'
We read our poems to one another and talked criticism and drank a
little wine. I sometimes say when I speak of the club, 'We had
such and such ideas, such and such a quarrel with the great
Victorians, we set before us such and such aims,' as though we had
many philosophical ideas.
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