s had all for himself, mother. He does not know what it
is to share."

"Malcom! be yourself."

The mother's eyes looked straight up into those of her tall boy, and her
hand sought his with a firm, warm pressure that made him fling back his
noble young head with an emphatic "I am ashamed of myself! Thank you,
mother dear."

That evening, as all were sitting on the balcony watching the soft, rosy
afterglow that was creeping over the hills and turning to glowing points
the domes and spires of the fair city, Mr. Sumner said:--

"If you are willing, I would like to talk with you a little before we
make our visits to Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce to-morrow. You
will understand better the old pictures we shall see there if we
consider beforehand what we ought to look for in any picture or other
work of art. Too many go to them as to some sort of recreation,--simply
for amusement,--simply to gratify their love for beautiful color and
form, and so, to these, the most beautiful picture is always the best.
But this is a low estimate of the great art of painting, for it is
simply one of man's means of expression, just as music or poetry is. The
artist learns to compose his pictures, to draw his forms, to lay on his
colors, just as the poet learns the meanings of words, rhetorical
figures, and the laws of harmony and rhythm, or the musician his notes
and scales and harmonies of sound."

"I see this is a new thought to you," continued he, after a moment spent
in studying the faces about him. "Let us follow it. What is the use of
this preparation of study in art, poetry, or music? Is it solely for the
perfection of itself? We often hear nowadays the expression, 'art for
art's sake,' and by some it is accounted a grand thought and a noble
rallying-cry for artists. And so it truly is if the very broadest and
highest possible meaning is given to the word 'art.' If it means the
embodying of some noble, beautiful, soul-moving thought in a form that
can be seen and understood, and means nothing less than this, then it is
indeed a worthy motto. But to too many, I fear, it means only the
painting of beauty for beauty's sake. That is, the thought embodied, the
message to some soul, which every picture ought to contain, and which
every noble picture that is worthy to live _must_ contain, becomes of
little or no value compared with the play of color and light and form.

"Let me explain further," he went on, even more earnestly. "Imag