pers of the
beautiful, and that in the fifteenth century Art was engrained in the
multitude.

That the great masters lived in common understanding with their
patrons--that the early Italians were artists--all--and that the
demand for the lovely thing produced it.

That we, of to-day, in gross contrast to this Arcadian purity, call
for the ungainly, and obtain the ugly.

That, could we but change our habits and climate--were we willing to
wander in groves--could we be roasted out of broadcloth--were we
to do without haste, and journey without speed, we should again
_require_ the spoon of Queen Anne, and pick at our peas with the fork
of two prongs. And so, for the flock, little hamlets grow near
Hammersmith, and the steam horse is scorned.

Useless! quite hopeless and false is the effort!--built upon fable,
and all because "a wise man has uttered a vain thing and filled his
belly with the East wind."

Listen! There never was an artistic period.

There never was an Art-loving nation.

In the beginning, man went forth each day--some to do battle, some to
the chase; others, again, to dig and to delve in the field--all that
they might gain and live, or lose and die. Until there was found among
them one, differing from the rest, whose pursuits attracted him not,
and so he stayed by the tents with the women, and traced strange
devices with a burnt stick upon a gourd.

This man, who took no joy in the ways of his brethren--who cared not
for conquest, and fretted in the field--this designer of quaint
patterns--this deviser of the beautiful--who perceived in Nature about
him curious curvings, as faces are seen in the fire--this dreamer
apart, was the first artist.

And when, from the field and from afar, there came back the
people, they took the gourd--and drank from out of it.

And presently there came to this man another--and, in time, others--of
like nature, chosen by the Gods--and so they worked together; and soon
they fashioned, from the moistened earth, forms resembling the gourd.
And with the power of creation, the heirloom of the artist, presently
they went beyond the slovenly suggestion of Nature, and the first vase
was born, in beautiful proportion.

And the toilers tilled, and were athirst; and the heroes returned from
fresh victories, to rejoice and to feast; and all drank alike from the
artists' goblets, fashioned cunningly, taking no note the while of the
craftsman's pride, and understanding not his g