The complimentary type to the storied Duchess at art exhibitions is
represented by yonder portly blood, in this case a replica of the late
King Edward. The fruitful spectacle of art exhibitions, I think,
presents nothing which gives one a more gratifying sense of their dignity
and of the imperial character of Art than the presence there of these
patently highly solvent, ruddy joweled, admirably tailored, and
impressively worldly looking connoisseurs of painting to be seen
scrutinising the pictures at close range, in a near-sighted way, and
rather grimly, as though somewhat sceptically appraising possibly dubious
merchandise.

Hello, there's Mr. Chase! And that's a fortunate thing, too, as no
sympathetic picture of a representative American art exhibition should
omit Mr. Chase. Whether or not we think of him as our premier painter,
we should be inordinately proud of him. Undoubtedly he is a great
artist. He has wrought himself in the grand manner. In person he
delights the eye, and satisfies the imagination. With his inevitable
top-hat, his heavy eye-glasses cord, his military moustaches and upward
pointing beard, his pouter-pigeon carriage, his glowing spats and his
boutonniere, his aroma of distinction, and his ruddy consciousness of his
prestige, he is our great tour-de-force as a figure in the artistic
scene. He is here, naturally, now the target of popular interest.

The practice of having artists shown at their own exhibitions is one too
little cultivated. The Napoleonic brow and the Napoleonic forelock
(famous in their circle) of George Luks, the torrential Luksean mirth,
how would not their actual presence open the spiritual eyes of visiting
school-children to the humane qualities of the works of the Luksean
genius! And why should we who procure for our better perception of their