d heard much of cockney impudence before
now, but never expected to hear a coxcomb ask 200 guineas for flinging a
pot of paint in the public's face."

The Attorney-General of the day, as counsel for Mr. Ruskin, said that
this was a severe and slashing criticism, but perfectly fair and _bona
fide_.

Now, let us see. First, there is the expression, "the ill-educated
conceit of the artist nearly approached the aspect of wilful imposture."
That may be severe and slashing, but is it fair? If there _was_ a wilful
imposition, why not say so; but, of course, there was not, and could not
be; but it is most unfair to insinuate that there nearly was. The truth
is, the words "wilful imposture" are a gross exaggeration. The jury,
after retiring, came into court and asked the judge what was the meaning
of wilful imposture, and, being told that it meant nothing in particular,
they returned a verdict of damages one farthing, which meant to say that
they thought equally little of Whistler's picture and of Ruskin's
criticism. Next we come to "Cockney impudence" and "coxcomb." Surely
these terms must be grossly inappropriate to the subject in hand, which
is Whistler's painting, and not his personal qualities. Next, it seems
that Mr. Ruskin thinks it is an offence to ask 200 guineas for a picture,
but where the offence lies we are not told. It might be folly to _give_
200 guineas for one of Whistler's pictures, but why should he be abused
for asking it? The insinuation is that it is a false pretence, and such
an insinuation is not _bona fide_. Lastly, we are told that Mr. Whistler
has been flinging a pot of paint in the public's face. In the first
place, this is vulgar. In the next place, it is absurd. When Sydney
Smith said that someone's writing was like a spider having escaped from
the inkstand and wandered over the paper, it was an exaggerated
criticism, but it was appropriate. But if Mr. Whistler flung a pot of
paint anywhere, it was upon his own canvas, and not into the face of the
public. Now, let anybody think what is the effect of such criticism. Is
one enabled by the light of it to see the merits or faults of Whistler's
painting? And yet this was written by the greatest art critic in this
country, by the man who has done more to reveal the secrets of Nature and
of Art to us all than any man living, and, I had almost said, than any
living or dead. But passion and arrogance are not criticism; and, in the
sense in