o call it Rottingdean).
Hark, the hunt, (not the Holman Hunt) is up in Caledon (Glasgow); they
have started the shy wilson steer: they have wound the hornel; the lords
of the International, who love not Mordred overmuch, are galloping nearer
and nearer. Sir Bedivere can see their insolent pencils waving black and
white flags: and the game-keepers and beaters (critics) chant in low
vulgar tones:

When we came out of Glasgow town
There was really nothing at all to see
Except Legros and Professor Brown,
But _now_ there is Guthrie and Lavery.

Undaunted Sir Bedivere drags his burden to a hermitage near Coniston; but
he finds it ruined; he bars the door in order to administer refreshment
to the wounded Pre-Raphaelite; there is a knocking at the wicket-gate; is
it the younger generation? No, he can hear the tread of the royal
sargent-at-arms; his spurs and sword are clanking on the pavement. Sir
Bedivere feels his palette parched; his tongue cleaves to the roof of St.
Paul's; but he is undaunted. 'We are surely betrayed if that is really
Sargent,' he says. Through the broken tracery of the Italian Gothic
window a breeze or draught comes softly and fans his strong academic
arms; he feels a twinge. Some Merlin told him he would suffer from
ricketts with shannon complications. Seizing Excalibur, he opens the
door cautiously. 'Draw, caitiffs,' he cries; 'draw.' 'Perhaps they
cannot draw; perhaps they are impressionists,' said a raven on the hill;
and he flew away.

(1906.)

_To_ SIR WILLIAM BLAKE RICHMOND, R.A., K.C.B.

THE ECLECTIC AT LARGE.

In _The Education of an Artist_, Mr. Lewis Hind invented a new kind of
art criticism--a pleasing blend of the Morelli narrative (minus the
scientific method) and _Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour_. He contrives a
young man, ignorant like the Russian, Lermoliev, who receives certain
artistic impressions, faithfully recorded by Mr. Hind and visualised for
the reader in a series of engaging half-tone illustrations. The hero's
name is itself suggestive--Claude Williamson Shaw. By the end of the
book he is nearly as learned as Mr. Claude Phillips: he might edit a
series of art-books with all the skill of Dr. Williamson, and his power
of racy criticism rivals that of Mr. George Bernard Shaw. You can hardly
escape the belief that these three immortals came from the north and
south, gathered as unto strife, breathed upon his mouth and filled his
body--with ideas: