given me an hour of notoriety in a class of work that is born of the moment and of my necessities, I am none the less wounded in my hopes, which were nigher, while I have been unable thus far to assure myself a life of decent comfort. Every moment of the artist's life should moreover be given to perfect himself in his art if he would attain real excellence. Everyone to-day has talent, but how few can live by its exercise. To do so needs not only energy, unflagging effort, but in addition social relations, good luck, and the means of living and paying for your studies. Remain therefore an amateur. If you find happiness in the exercise of your talent, give to it your hour of leisure, but do not let your life and your future depend upon it.

In this way you can have all the little satisfactions of an artist's gratified vanity without encountering the anguish and the disillusions of the career. A man of good social position knowing something of art is easily a person of importance in the circle in which he moves. A poor devil with the hunger of the ideal, solitary, enamoured of his folly and without fortune, seldom escapes the ridicule of the philistine and still more rarely misery and privation. It is in this strain, my dear Sir, that I feel obliged in all sincerity to answer your letter. If, however, it is only a question with you of solving simple technical problems, I put myself quite at your disposition. Come to see me and bring me what you have done. ANDRÉ GILL.

Here we have a third answer to the question and one which at the first blush controverts much that goes before. But poor Gill, the comedian who would have wished to play Tragedy, nourished along with the "higher hopes" to which he refers, a desire to be part of that Tout Paris which goes the pace that kills. He failed in the quality of frugality, living the life of a great city and scattering time, health, and talents to the four winds of Heaven. Here was the flaw in his armor, here we are far from the single-hearted aim of greater men. Millet's quiet home at Barbizon, Delacroix's modest studio in the rue Furstenberg, or Corot's maisonette at Ville d'Avray harbored men whose pleasure was in their art, and who so arranged their life that little but their work and the recompense it brought entered into it. I do not doubt (indeed in the case of Millet I know) that their advice to aspiring youth would have taken on another tone than that of Gill He, poor fellow, sought the temporary success of the Salon, where year after year (despite the solicitation of subjects that were desperate bids for popular recog nition) success was denied him until his career found its logical conclusion. One day his friends found him in his studio, happy at last. Honor, Fame, Riches were all his. They took him thence to a mad-house. Fate, at the end, was kind; for with the folie des grandeurs with which he was afflicted he was happy in his belief that the prize long sought was his at length-il était arrivé.