before he says, like a shampooer in a Turkish bath, “Next man!” Mr. Herkomer’s art is, ’if not a catch-penny art, at all events a catch-many-pounds art,’ and Mr. W. B. Richmond is a ‘clever trifler,’ who ‘might do really good work’ ’if he would employ his time in learning to paint.’  It is obviously unnecessary for us to point out how luminous these criticisms are, how delicate in expression.  The remarks on Sir Joshua Reynolds alone exemplify the truth of Sententia No. 19, ’From a picture we gain but little more than we bring.’  On the general principles of art Mr. Quilter writes with equal lucidity.  That there is a difference between colour and colours, that an artist, be he portrait-painter or dramatist, always reveals himself in his manner, are ideas that can hardly be said to occur to him; but Mr. Quilter really does his best and bravely faces every difficulty in modern art, with the exception of Mr. Whistler.  Painting, he tells us, is ’of a different quality to mathematics,’ and finish in art is ’adding more fact’!  Portrait painting is a bad pursuit for an emotional artist as it destroys his personality and his sympathy; however, even for the emotional artist there is hope, as a portrait can be converted into a picture ’by adding to the likeness of the sitter some dramatic interest or some picturesque adjunct’!  As for etchings, they are of two kinds—­British and foreign.  The latter fail in ‘propriety.’  Yet, ’really fine etching is as free and easy as is the chat between old chums at midnight over a smoking-room fire.’  Consonant with these rollicking views of art is Mr. Quilter’s healthy admiration for ’the three primary colours:  red, blue, and yellow.’  Any one, he points out, ’can paint in good tone who paints only in black and white,’ and ’the great sign of a good decorator’ is ‘his capability of doing without neutral tints.’  Indeed, on decoration Mr. Quilter is almost eloquent.  He laments most bitterly the divorce that has been made between decorative art and ’what we usually call “pictures,"’ makes the customary appeal to the Last Judgment, and reminds us that in the great days of art Michael Angelo was the ‘furnishing upholsterer.’  With the present tendencies of decorative art in England Mr. Quilter, consequently, has but little sympathy, and he makes a gallant appeal to the British householder to stand no more nonsense.  Let the honest fellow, he says, on his return from his counting-house tear down the Persian hangings, put a chop on the Anatolian plate, mix some toddy in the Venetian glass, and carry his wife off to the National Gallery to look at ‘our own Mulready’!  And then the picture he draws of the ideal home, where everything, though ugly, is hallowed by domestic memories, and where beauty appeals not to the heartless eye but the family affections; ’baby’s chair there, and the mother’s work-basket . . . near the fire, and the ornaments Fred brought home from India on the mantel-board’!  It is really impossible not to be touched by so charming a description.  How valuable, also, in connection with house decoration is Sententia No. 351, ’There is nothing furnishes a room like a bookcase, and plenty of books in it.’  How cultivated the mind that thus raises literature to the position of upholstery and puts thought on a level with the antimacassar!