There was an old sculptor named Phidias,

Whose knowledge of Art was invidious.

He carved Aphrodite

Without any nightie--

Which startled the purely fastidious.

--_Gilbert K. Chesterton_.

The friend had dropped in to see D'Auber, the great animal painter, put

the finishing touches on his latest painting. He was mystified, however,

when D'Au
er took some raw meat and rubbed it vigorously over the

painted rabbit in the foreground.

"Why on earth did you do that?" he asked.

"Why you see," explained D'Auber, "Mrs Millions is coming to see this

picture today. When she sees her pet poodle smell that rabbit, and get

excited over it, she'll buy it on the spot."

A young artist once persuaded Whistler to come and view his latest

effort. The two stood before the canvas for some moments in silence.

Finally the young man asked timidly, "Don't you think, sir, that this

painting of mine is--well--er--tolerable?"

Whistler's eyes twinkled dangerously.

"What is your opinion of a tolerable egg?" he asked.

The amateur artist was painting sunset, red with blue streaks and green


The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching.

"Ah," said the artist looking up suddenly, "perhaps to you, too, Nature

has opened her sky picture page by page! Have you seen the lambent flame

of dawn leaping across the livid east; the red-stained, sulphurous

islets floating in the lake of fire in the west; the ragged clouds at

midnight, black as a raven's wing, blotting out the shuddering moon?"

"No," replied the rustic, "not since I give up drink."

Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of life.--_Jean Paul Richter_.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being

both the servants of His providence. Art is the perfection of nature.

Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos.

Nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are

artificial; for nature is the art of God.--_Sir Thomas Browne_.