yet I don't suppose that ten per cent. of the
proletariat live correctly."

"I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more,
Harry, I feel sure you don't either."

Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the toe of his
patent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane. "How English you are,
Basil! That is the second time you have made that observation. If one
puts forward an idea to a true Englishman--always a rash thing to do--he
never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only
thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it oneself.
Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the
sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are
that the more insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will
the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured by either his
wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don't propose to
discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons
better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better
than anything else in the world. Tell me more about Mr. Dorian Gray. How
often do you see him?"

"Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is
absolutely necessary to me."

"How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but your
art."

"He is all my art to me now," said the painter, gravely. "I sometimes
think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the
world's history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art,
and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What
the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinoues
was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day
be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, sketch
from him. Of course I have done all that. But he is much more to me
than a model or a sitter. I won't tell you that I am dissatisfied with
what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that Art cannot
express it. There is nothing that Art cannot express, and I know that
the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good work, is the best
work of my life. But in some curious way--I wonder will you understand
me?--his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art,
an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them
differently. I can now