Royal Academy, for example, he personally
always bought a catalogue and confined his attention to the pictures of
the more famous artists. In this way he ensured a pleasant afternoon. If
there was still any doubt as to the merit of a picture, he inquired the
price and was guided by the size of that.

Sir FREDERICK WEDMORE said that to decry the value of Art criticism was
absurd. It was only through the efforts of their literary henchmen that
some painters could be known at all. The better the picture the more
words ought to be written about it, at so much a word. It was impossible
to over-estimate the importance of fitting every brush-mark with the
adequate epithet. He himself had devoted a long life to this task and he
intended to continue doing so. (Loud cheers.)

The Editors of the _Sketch_ and _Tatler_, speaking in unison, said that
not only was there too much talk about pictures, but there were far too
many pictures. Artists ought not to be encouraged in the way they are.
The world was never so happy as in the interval between the loss of the
"Monna Lisa" and its recovery. We should apply our enthusiasm to the
stage--to actors and, above all, to actresses.

The Editors of _The Daily Mirror_ and _The Daily Sketch_, also speaking
in unison, said they agreed to a large extent with the last speakers. It
would not really matter if every painting disappeared, so long as the
camera remained. One living photographer was better than a thousand dead
Masters.

Sir CLAUDE PHILLIPS asked how the Masters would ever have been called
Masters had it not been for the critics. Painters merely painted and
left it there; it was the critics who decided whether or not they should
be immortal, and whether their pictures should be worth tens or
thousands.

Mr. MARION SPIELMANN said that no one would deny that the contemplation
of pictures, even those of Saints or Holy Families, had given enormous
pleasure. But why? Not because the crowds that flocked to the galleries
really cared for them, but because gifted writers had for centuries been
setting up hypnotic suggestions that in this way was pleasure to be
obtained. He had often seen men and women standing before a canvas of
REMBRANDT, hating the grubby muddle of it in their hearts, but adoring
it in their heads--all because some well-known critic had told them to.
Their pleasure, however, was real, and therefore it should, in a world
of sadness, be encouraged, and consequently Art cr