tly deprecate the
polished indignation of your Fifth Avenue dandies--were the Western
miners. Their wide-brimmed hats, which shaded their faces from the sun
and protected them from the rain, and the cloak, which is by far the most
beautiful piece of drapery ever invented, may well be dwelt on with
admiration. Their high boots, too, were sensible and practical. They
wore only what was comfortable, and therefore beautiful. As I looked at
them I could not help thinking with regret of the time when these
picturesque miners would have made their fortunes and would go East to
assume again all the abominations of modern fashionable attire. Indeed,
so concerned was I that I made some of them promise that when they again
appeared in the more crowded scenes of Eastern civilisation they would
still continue to wear their lovely costume. But I do not believe they
will.

Now, what America wants today is a school of rational art. Bad art is a
great deal worse than no art at all. You must show your workmen
specimens of good work so that they come to know what is simple and true
and beautiful. To that end I would have you have a museum attached to
these schools--not one of those dreadful modern institutions where there
is a stuffed and very dusty giraffe, and a case or two of fossils, but a
place where there are gathered examples of art decoration from various
periods and countries. Such a place is the South Kensington Museum in
London whereon we build greater hopes for the future than on any other
one thing. There I go every Saturday night, when the museum is open
later than usual, to see the handicraftsman, the wood-worker, the glass-
blower and the worker in metals. And it is here that the man of
refinement and culture comes face to face with the workman who ministers
to his joy. He comes to know more of the nobility of the workman, and
the workman, feeling the appreciation, comes to know more of the nobility
of his work.

You have too many white walls. More colour is wanted. You should have
such men as Whistler among you to teach you the beauty and joy of colour.
Take Mr. Whistler's 'Symphony in White,' which you no doubt have imagined
to be something quite bizarre. It is nothing of the sort. Think of a
cool grey sky flecked here and there with white clouds, a grey ocean and
three wonderfully beautiful figures robed in white, leaning over the
water and dropping white flowers from their fingers. Here is no
extens