rty in Ireland.

At the same time it must be admitted he was still indefatigably intent
on bettering his mind, and in London he found more original teachers
than in Oxford, notably Morris and Whistler. Morris, though greatly
overpraised during his life, had hardly any message for the men of his
time. He went for his ideals to an imaginary past and what he taught
and praised was often totally unsuited to modern conditions. Whistler
on the other hand was a modern of the moderns, and a great artist to
boot: he had not only assimilated all the newest thought of the day,
but with the alchemy of genius had transmuted it and made it his own.
Before even the de Goncourts he had admired Chinese porcelain and
Japanese prints and his own exquisite intuition strengthened by
Japanese example had shown that his impression of life was more
valuable than any mere transcript of it. Modern art he felt should be
an interpretation and not a representment of reality, and he taught
the golden rule of the artist that the half is usually more expressive
than the whole. He went about London preaching new schemes of
decoration and another Renaissance of art. Had he only been a painter
he would never have exercised an extraordinary influence; but he was a
singularly interesting appearance as well and an admirable talker
gifted with picturesque phrases and a most caustic wit.

Oscar sat at his feet and imbibed as much as he could of the new
aesthetic gospel. He even ventured to annex some of the master's most
telling stories and thus came into conflict with his teacher.

One incident may find a place here.

The art critic of _The Times_, Mr. Humphry Ward, had come to see an
exhibition of Whistler's pictures. Filled with an undue sense of his
own importance, he buttonholed the master and pointing to one picture
said:

"That's good, first-rate, a lovely bit of colour; but that, you know,"
he went on, jerking his finger over his shoulder at another picture,
"that's bad, drawing all wrong ... bad!"

"My dear fellow," cried Whistler, "you must never say that this
painting's good or that bad, never! Good and bad are not terms to be
used by you; but say, I like this, and I dislike that, and you'll be
within your right. And now come and have a whiskey for you're sure to
like that."

Carried away by the witty fling, Oscar cried:

"I wish I had said that."

"You will, Oscar, you will," came Whistler's lightning thrust.

Of all the personal infl