and armchairs, and with
exquisite design, and dainty diaper, the useful things of life were made
lovely; and the hunter and the warrior lay on the couch when they were
tired, and, when they were thirsty, drank from the bowl, and never cared
to lose the exquisite proportion of the one, or the delightful ornament
of the other; and this attitude of the primitive anthropophagous
Philistine formed the text of the lecture and was the attitude which Mr.
Whistler entreated his audience to adopt towards art. Remembering, no
doubt, many charming invitations to wonderful private views, this
fashionable assemblage seemed somewhat aghast, and not a little amused,
at being told that the slightest appearance among a civilised people of
any joy in beautiful things is a grave impertinence to all painters; but
Mr. Whistler was relentless, and, with charming ease and much grace of
manner, explained to the public that the only thing they should cultivate
was ugliness, and that on their permanent stupidity rested all the hopes
of art in the future.

The scene was in every way delightful; he stood there, a miniature
Mephistopheles, mocking the majority! He was like a brilliant surgeon
lecturing to a class composed of subjects destined ultimately for
dissection, and solemnly assuring them how valuable to science their
maladies were, and how absolutely uninteresting the slightest symptoms of
health on their part would be. In fairness to the audience, however, I
must say that they seemed extremely gratified at being rid of the
dreadful responsibility of admiring anything, and nothing could have
exceeded their enthusiasm when they were told by Mr. Whistler that no
matter how vulgar their dresses were, or how hideous their surroundings
at home, still it was possible that a great painter, if there was such a
thing, could, by contemplating them in the twilight and half closing his
eyes, see them under really picturesque conditions, and produce a picture
which they were not to attempt to understand, much less dare to enjoy.
Then there were some arrows, barbed and brilliant, shot off, with all the
speed and splendour of fireworks, and the archaeologists, who spend their
lives in verifying the birthplaces of nobodies, and estimate the value of
a work of art by its date or its decay; at the art critics who always
treat a picture as if it were a novel, and try and find out the plot; at
dilettanti in general and amateurs in particular; and (O mea culp