at twenty miles an
hour, we caught a glimpse of a signpost pointing to the left and
reading, "To Sound Beach." The name reminded us of friends who
were spending a few weeks there; we turned back and made them a
flying call.

Again a little farther on we stopped for gasoline in a dilapidated
little village, and found it was Mianus, which we recalled as the
home of an artist whose paintings, full of charm and tender
sentiment, have spread the fame of the locality and river. It was
only a short run of two or three miles to the orchard and hill
where he has his summer home, and we renewed an acquaintance made
several years before.

It is interesting to follow an artist's career and note the
changes in manner and methods; for changes are inevitable; they
come to high and low alike. The artist may not be conscious that
he no longer sees things and paints things as he did, but time
tells and the truth is patent to others. But changes of manner and
changes of method are fundamentally unlike. Furthermore, changes
of either manner or method may be unconscious and natural, or
conscious and forced.

For the most part, an artist's manner changes naturally and
unconsciously with his environment and advancing years; but in the
majority of instances changes in method are conscious and forced,
made deliberately with the intention--frequently missed--of doing
better. One painter is impressed with the success of another and
strives to imitate, adopts his methods, his palette, his key, his
color scheme, his brush work, and so on;--these conscious efforts
of imitation usually result in failures which, if not immediately
conspicuous, soon make their shortcomings felt; the note being
forced and unnatural, it does not ring true.

A man may visit Madrid without imitating Velasquez; he may live in
Harlem without consciously yielding to Franz Hals; he may spend
days with Monet without surrendering his independence; but these
strong contacts will work their subtle effects upon all
impressionable natures; the effects, however, may be wrought
unconsciously and frequently against the sturdy opposition of an
original nature.

No painter could live for a season in Madrid without being
affected by the work of Velasquez; he might strive against the
influence, fight to preserve his own eccentric originality and
independence, but the very fact that for the time being he is
confronted with a force, an influence, is sufficient to affect his
own wo