chary of talking shop to the uninitiated, hardworking,
conscientious, half luring, half scoffing at the glorious visions of the
creative imagination granted them chiefly of all men, wonder workers,
world reformers, recorders of the past and prophets of the future,
comforters of prose-ridden humanity, stewards of some of God's best
gifts, openers of the gates of the beautiful, and hence ushers into the
vestibule of the glorious 'Land of the Hereafter.' May they _all_
remember their lofty calling, and never diminish their usefulness by
unworthy contests among themselves, or by sacrificing their own better
judgment to the exigencies of popular requirement!

Next in order come the connoisseurs. Unmistakably one is that young man
with near-sighted eyeglass, with Dundreary whiskers and jaunty air, who
talks of breadth, handling, foreshortening, perspective, etc.; who
perhaps quotes Ruskin, has seen galleries abroad, is devoted to _genre_
pictures, and, after rattling through an exhibition for a half hour,
pronounces definitely upon the merits of the entire collection, singly
and _en masse_.

Equally recognizable is the older picture-fancier. He talks, if
possible, even more learnedly, discoursing of balance, tone,
chiaroscuro; he despises innovations, judges in accordance with _names_;
is of course convinced the present can bear no comparison with the past;
will look through a whole gallery, and finally be captivated by some
well-executed conceit--a sun shining through a hole--three different
sorts of light, of fire, candle, and moon, mixed in with monstrous
shadows and commonplace figures--some meaningless countenance
surmounting a satin whose every shining thread is distinguishable, and
the pattern of whose lace trimming could be copied for a fashion plate;
he is, in short, a fussy, loud individual, with money to buy and some
out-of-the-way place to hang pictures.

Then there is the man who knows but one, or at most two or three
artists, and will look at the works of none other; who sees, as
travellers generally do, not that which _is_, but that which he had made
up his mind to see before he left his own threshold. There are those
attracted by nothing except brilliant color, and others who have heard
so much of the vulgarity of 'high lights' and gaudy hues, that they will
tolerate nothing but brown trees, russet grass, gray skies, slate rocks,
drab gowns, copper skins, and shadows so deep that the discovery of the
object