ttempted them at all, were not
worth speaking of. Besides, the least practised art-student of to-day
would not fail to notice that his careful drawing of hands, or the
graceful lines of his draperies, would monopolise attention, to the
detriment of the backgrounds, which had a way of receding, so that the
main interest of the picture could never be said to concentrate upon
them.

The enchantress, Art, is ever making new victims. Just now she is wedded
to the new master, the variety painter, and is on her wedding-trip,
fully equipped with new fashions of tone and colour, rich too in new
values; and she travels along happily unconscious--some ignorance is
bliss--over the treacherous roads designed by the "new" perspective,
past tottering towers, over warped planes, and down steep inclines,
pluckily standing her ground where those fallen angels, the old masters,
would have feared to tread.

It's the old suit once more before us; young folks versus old fogeys,
the traditional battle-royal, to be fought to-day, as it will be fought
to the end of all time. I say, Hurrah for the young ones! Perhaps they
are leading us a step or two backwards, but I verily believe it is only
to _reculer pour mieux sauter_, to back, we should say, the better to
jump. So let us keep the line clear for youth and strength; we can't do
without their vigorous onslaughts. Where would the old tree of art be,
if it were not for the new shoots?

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI

A TRIP TO AMERICA IN 1883

I well remember a chance remark of mine which led to my crossing the
ocean.

"Well, if I can get a cabin in your boat, we'll go too, but I'm afraid
it's too late now, at the eleventh hour."

That was said to Irving and Ellen Terry, who were preparing to leave on
their first visit to the States in 1883.

I had never given a trip to America a serious thought; a consultation at
Cook's office and subsequent trunk-packing usually meant a flight to the
sunny South or the glorious East; but a new country, and a civilised one
into the bargain, had failed to attract me. I had heard over and over
again that the Americans were a practical people, and that, to be sure,
meant inartistic, and I knew they could talk, build, and make
money-piles bigger than we can, and that again did not predispose me in
their favour. In fact I may say, without boasting, that I cherished
about as many prejudices as does the average Englishman when he seeks to
form his op