the broken fragments of an upset dinner-table. Away up in that
convenient attic lie the desecrated splendors of the past, scattered
in confusion by charitable mice,--blue and crimson wax-flowers melt
underneath the eaves, all destitute of petals that would not fit on;
patchwork quilts and cushions, in silk and satin distractions, just
fall short of harmony in the arrangement of their squares and colors;
vivid buttercups and daisies mingle with bulky cat-o'-nine-tails,--all
on canvas covered with paint; blacking-jugs adorned with pictures,
embossed and otherwise; moth-eaten Kensington, partly outlined in
conventional lilies and conventional stitches; forlorn-looking cats
and dogs on half-made rugs and slippers,--all, all are there to point
out certain very unpleasant morals, referring chiefly to inability
and lack of perseverance.

Understand, to excel in worsted, in painting, in any of the arts which
afford so much pleasure, even in amateur work, is highly commendable.
Perhaps to dip into these occupations to pass time might be considered
better than laziness. But to do them simply because others are following
them is wholly unwarrantable. I do not believe in crazes,--do you?
What is worth doing is worth pursuing.

Intense interest may be necessary to success; but extremes make us
very abrupt, inconsistent, and fickle in our occupations. Test the
quality of your last attempt to make a tree on canvas before you buy
a full set of colors, and before you put out your sign as an artist.
Much study, hard work, aptitude, are required by art;--and the
phenomenal _debut_ of a fully fledged artist "after ten lessons" ("the
whole art taught in six weeks") will never be witnessed. I should say,
before passing further, that even a slight acquaintance with the
decorative arts as practised at present appears to be quite improving to