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cate perception of values, his feeling for nature, and his expert handling of the brush, are strongly shown. He has apparently succeeded in grasping at once the limitations as well as the advantages of the process, and he uses both with the most happy results.

His first exhibition of monotypes occurred last season at Goupil's, in New York City, and aroused great interest, particularly among artists and art critics, who could best understand the consummate skill revealed in these small impressions that yet conveyed so much of freedom and space, and were so vivid in color and fresh in subject. Since then Verbeek has experimented widely, and has achieved some remarkable successes.

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esting and original. Other men have contented themselves with woodland and water, hill and sky, as lending themselves more readily to the squeezing of the press. Verbeek does not hesitate to put his nymphlike nudes among his trees and beside his pools; and how charming is the result!

Few who look at these prints but will feel the Japanese quality they express, or will fail to sense the artist's touch of fantasy. That girl who rides her strange beast with so careless a serenity is skirting the very edge of fairy-land, and not a line in the picture but emphasizes the fancy warmed by humor that inspired the painter without losing a whit of beauty; for beauty is implicit in all Verbeek does.

Verbeek comes honestly enough by his

His work with figures is specially inter- Japanese perception. He was born in

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Japan, of Dutch parents, and first studied. art under native masters in Tokio. He has never lost the quality of that early training, though he is not obsessed by it. Doubtless his inerrant capacity for leaving out the inessential owes something to his Japanese masters; the rest belongs to his own temperament.

After leaving Japan, the young artist came to San Francisco, where he worked at the academy there, and then made his way to New York and the Art Students' League, where George De Forest Brush particularly attracted him. Next he went to Paris, and at Julian's studied under Constant and Laurens.

With such a groundwork it is no wonder that Verbeek's work is marked by splendid brushwork, sure knowledge, and brilliant color. Look at his hilltop sketch.

Those clouds are shaped by the wind itself, and windily they move across the sky. The trees are full of breezy stir, the atmosphere has the fresh, clean radiance of the blowing day. There is nothing thin or light. about the contour of hill and rock; the buildings are solid and belong where they stand. An amazing sense of breadth is felt in looking at the little picture. There is all the room in the world under that sky. So, too, with the other landscape, which has been reproduced here; how spacious is the impression derived from it! In these reproductions the particular print effect is partly lost, but fortunately the charm and vivacity persist undimmed. They are truly out of doors, and filled with light; and the effect is achieved with a refreshing simplicity, an entire absence of affectation.

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The multicolor monotype, the monotype as a real work of art, is new. Our Our collectors have never yet turned their attention to it. The man who seeks prints. is still occupied with soft-ground etchings, aquatints, and wood-blocks; but here is something that will hold for very many lovers of art an even greater attraction. Each print is a solitary product; by no chance. can there exist another exactly like it. In brilliance of color the monotype can be the equal of any other product of the painter's craft, and in its best expressions it must bespeak a dexterity that is little short of marvelous. It will be interesting to see how soon the monotype will take a recognized place with dealers and collectors, what its development is to be. In the short time during which Verbeek has been experimenting with its possibilities he has accomplished astonishing things; he is likely to give us other wonders.

Verbeek, whatever his ancestry or birthplace, is American, and this in the wide sense, for he is as much at home in California as along the Harlem River, where many of his paintings have been made. He is adept at snatching from a scene precisely what he needs, in getting the point of beauty, and eliminating the rest. He has put many a sky-scraper out of existence with a single stroke of his brush, but he loves the sharp contrasts and high color-key that belong to our American atmosphere. Whether he chooses a white farm-house with green shutters or a brick barge on blue water, or paints the windtossed boughs of trees against a radiant sky; whether he shows us a young girl dreaming or playing under the light and shadow of nature, he speaks as one of ourselves, not as a foreigner. And we may well be glad to claim this true and brilliant talent that is at once direct and reserved.

Children of Hope'

By STEPHEN WHITMAN

Author of "Predestined," "The Woman from Yonder," etc.

CHAPTER XIX

Illustrations by F. R. Gruger

FROSSIE FINDS THAT IT IS NOT UNPLEASANT TO FORGIVE

ROM Florence the train whirled the

FRO

Goodchilds and John Holland northward, past sunburned fields, shrunken rivers, baking towns, through Pistoia, Bologna, Modena, Parma, and Piacenza. In the heat of the afternoon they entered Milan, where, over a year before, Aurelius and the three Graces had made acquaintance with Italy.

They alighted before a hotel in the Corso Vittorio-in a street of awnings and balconies, noisy with tram-cars, but beautified at its western end by the pale, slender flutings and towers of the cathedral. They found themselves in a hostelry much finer than any to which they had ever aspired: the door-porter was an imposing creature with the beard of Belshazzar; the patrons, lounging about in brocade chairs, were undoubtedly persons of the utmost importance. John Holland, however, was not in the least disturbed by this elaborate scene. Could one. help admiring a man who was able to give such an unembarrassed smile to so grand a reception-clerk? He even had the aplomb to inform that magnate of his intention of dining outside the hotel!

In fact, they dined at a restaurant near the Scala Theater, where, in a pretty garden, a band played the music of Verdi. When the excellent dinner was finished, they went to the Galleria, there to sip coffee and sherbets while watching the dandies saunter beneath the vast vaults of glass. After that they viewed the cathe

dral and the castle by moonlight; toward midnight the girls were barely able to give their teeth a perfunctory brush before tumbling into bed.

From Frossie's pillow came the yawn: "He certainly does know how to entertain folks!"

She got no answer. Was Thallie already asleep?

Next morning they resumed the journey to Como.

The train curved down from the hills; the town of Como showed its red roofs at the foot of the lake. A drive over cobblestones, quick work at the quay with the baggage, and off they went on a clean, white steamboat to Cadenabbia.

From the little wharf they stepped upon an esplanade planted with planetrees. Directly behind the hotels that edged this thoroughfare the ground began to rise toward the heights. The only level traffic hereabouts was confined to this long, shady road, which ran between hillside and water. So far as could be seen, Cadenabbia was a village spread along one side of a street.

A gray-haired, intelligent-looking man in black stepped forward, hat in handJohn Holland's servant, who had come on ahead to put the house in order. Two carriages were waiting, and a wagon for the baggage. The whole party went rattling northward along the esplanade past fresh-looking villas and hotels.

The lake at this point was nearing its full width; the hills on each side were rising to their highest. From the far shore, where the hamlets lay along the road like pearls strung sparsely on a thread, the

1 Copyright, 1915, by STEPHEN WHITMAN. All rights reserved.

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