I was not in the library seeking help on the subject of Art, but the long row of books about pictures stopped me; and, not in the hope that I might learn to paint, I dipped into the volumes, and wondered. Would an artist who attended earnestly to the experts on the mortal parts of truth and beauty ever go near an easel? I think he might be in danger of paralysis through doubt. Perhaps he would turn to criticism. Of course the man who can do it, and knows he can, the fellow whose child‐like innocence is favoured now and then with what has been called the instant apprehension of totality (let nobody, please, ask what that means), that man, presumably, attends to the experts only on wet and blank days when he needs cheering up.
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