d it, "The Dance of the Nymphs, Evening."

Corot is often spoken of as the "happy one," and many stories are told
of him and how surprising it was to hear him singing lustily as he
painted. Seated on his camp stool before his easel, wearing his blue
calico blouse and painter's hat, he was indeed happy. He is described
as adding the finishing touches to one of his landscapes in this way:

"Let us put that there--tra, la, tra, la,--a little boy,--ding dong,
ding dong! Oh, a little boy, he wants a cap--la, la, la, la, tra la!"

People always smiled when they saw Corot start out, carrying his
easel, paints, and brushes, and singing or whistling like a care-free
boy. But it happened more often that they saw him going toward home
in the evening, for he had a way of starting out before sunrise when
nobody was about and seating himself in some lovely spot in the woods,
waiting breathlessly to see what would happen next.

That is what he did the morning he sketched this picture. The grass
was heavy with dew, the birds were still asleep, all was quiet and
covered with the veil of night. As the mist slowly lifted, the great
trees gradually assumed definite shapes, the birds awoke, the sun
shone forth, and all was bright and fresh as the early mornings in
spring always are. Look at this picture, then close your eyes and open
them slowly, and you yourself can see just such an awakening to life.

Is it any wonder then that, as Corot sat, pencil in hand, this lovely
spring morning and watched the trees gradually take shape against the
slowly lightening sky, and listened to the birds singing their morning
greeting, he should fancy he saw the fairy wood nymphs come out from
their secret hiding places and dance joyously about in the bright
morning sunlight? It seems most natural indeed that they should be
there, and dancing, too. The mere fact of being alive on such a
morning as this fills us too with delight.

When Corot began to paint his large picture from the small sketch he
made in the woods that morning, he must have sung his merriest tunes.
The picture seems full of music, from the quivering leaves, the waving
grass, and the shifting clouds to the dancing figures. Although there
is not a bird in sight, we know that they are there, and it takes very
little imagination to hear them singing.

At the right-hand side of the picture one of the wood nymphs has
seized the hand of a timid companion, urging her to come and join in
th