ness," said Patching. "Now let me convince you
practically. Be good enough to stand near this window with me."

Marcus moved to the spot indicated by the artist.

"Here," said Patching, "you are at about the same distance from the
desert as the front row of spectators will be. Now look at it
critically."

Marcus shaded his eyes with his left hand, cocked his head over his
right shoulder, in the true critical style, and gazed on the scene.

"Do you see the harmony--the TONE, I may say--in the desert?" asked
Patching, after a short pause.

"I think I do," responded Marcus, willing to oblige the artist.

"And the spiritual, or INNER meaning of the sky?"

"Ye-yes. It is quite perceptible."

"These are the effects of severe simplicity. But you must understand
that a single mis-stroke of the brush would have spoiled all the harmony
in the desert, or reduced the sky to a mere inexpressive field of blue
vapor. Why? Genius alone can achieve such grand results by such
apparently simple means. You comprehend?"

"Perfectly," said Marcus Wilkeson.

"Then I shall take a real pleasure in showing you more of the panorama
which is already completed and rolled up. With this idea of severe
simplicity in your mind, you will be prepared to appreciate the work,"

"I believe I have already remarked, that Mr. Wilkeson is a capitalist,
and comes here expressly to look at the panorama," said Tiffles; with a
wink at the artist.

"With every respect for him as a capitalist," returned Patching, "I see
in him only the ingenuous student of Art, whom it is a happiness
to teach."

The first instalment was a continuation of the desert with which Marcus
had been already regaled. Patching begged him to observe the unfaltering
harmony of the sand, and the protracted spirituality of the sky. Then
came a jungle.

"You will note the severe simplicity here," observed Patching, "No
meretricious effects. Nothing but strokes of green paint, up and down,
representing the density of an African jungle. Yet how admirably these
seemingly careless strokes, laid on by the hand of genius, convey the
idea of DEPTH! You do not fail to notice the DEPTH, I presume?"

"I see it," said Marcus.

"_That_ is severe simplicity," replied the artist.

At this point, Marcus noticed a brown something bearing a strong
resemblance to the swamp stalk, known among boys as the cattail. "Excuse
my ignorance of African plants," said he; "but what is that?"

The artist