try his fortunes in England; and during the rest of his life
painting practically nothing but portraits.

By the end of the sixteenth century, if not earlier, painting had become
almost as much a business as an art, not only in Italy but in most other
countries in Europe, and was established in each country more or less
independently. So that making every allowance for the various foreign
influences that affected each different country, it is convenient to
trace the development of painting in each country separately, and we
arrange our chapters accordingly under the titles of Tuscan and Venetian
(the two main divisions of Italian painting), Spanish, Flemish, Dutch,
German, French, and British Schools. In each country, as might be
expected--and especially in Italy--there are subdivisions; but, broadly
speaking, the lover of pictures will be quite well enough equipped for
the enjoyment of them if he is able to recognise their country, and
roughly their period, without troubling about the particular district or
personal influence of their origin.

For while it is undoubtedly true that the more one knows about the
history of painting in general the greater will be the appreciation of
the various excellences which tend to perfection, it is absolutely
ridiculous to suppose that only the learned in such matters are capable
of deriving enjoyment from a beautiful picture, or of expressing an
opinion upon it. In the first place, the picture is intended for the
public, and the public have therefore the best right to say whether it
pleases them or not--and why. And it may be noted as a positive fact
that whenever the public, in any country, have a free choice in matters
of art, that choice generally turns out to be right, and is ultimately
endorsed by the best critics. Most of the vulgar art to be found in
advertisements and the illustrated papers is put there by ignorant and
vulgar providers, who imagine that the whole public are as ignorant and
vulgar as themselves; whereas whenever a better standard of taste is
given an opportunity, it never fails to find a welcome. Until Sir Henry
Wood inaugurated the present regime, the Promenade Concerts at Covent
Garden were popularly supposed to represent the national taste in music.
Until the Temple Classics and Every Man's Library were published it was
commonly supposed that the people at large cared for nothing but Bow
Bells, the Penny Novelette, or such unclassical if alluring provender