y might, as
reasonably as they may tell you to be bold in the present state of your
knowledge. Bold, in the sense of being undaunted, yes; but bold in the
sense of being careless, confident, or exhibitory,--no,--no, and a
thousand times no; for, even if you were not a beginner, it would be bad
advice that made you bold. Mischief may easily be done quickly, but good
and beautiful work is generally done slowly; you will find no boldness
in the way a flower or a bird's wing is painted; and if Nature is not
bold at _her_ work, do you think you ought to be at _yours_? So never
mind what people say, but work with your pencil point very patiently;
and if you can trust me in anything, trust me when I tell you, that
though there are all kinds and ways of art,--large work for large
places, small work for narrow places, slow work for people who can wait,
and quick work for people who cannot,--there is one quality, and, I
think, only one, in which all great and good art agrees;--it is all
_delicate_ art. Coarse art is always bad art. You cannot understand this
at present, because you do not know yet how much tender thought, and
subtle care, the great painters put into touches that at first look
coarse; but, believe me, it is true, and you will find it is so in due
time.

You will be perhaps also troubled, in these first essays at pencil
drawing, by noticing that more delicate gradations are got in an instant
by a chance touch of the India-rubber, than by an hour's labour with the
point; and you may wonder why I tell you to produce tints so painfully,
which might, it appears, be obtained with ease. But there are two
reasons: the first, that when you come to draw forms, you must be able
to gradate with absolute precision, in whatever place and direction you
wish; not in any wise vaguely, as the India-rubber does it; and,
secondly, that all natural shadows are more or less mingled with gleams
of light. In the darkness of ground there is the light of the little
pebbles or dust; in the darkness of foliage, the glitter of the leaves;
in the darkness of flesh, transparency; in that of a stone, granulation:
in every case there is some mingling of light, which cannot be
represented by the leaden tone which you get by rubbing, or by an
instrument known to artists as the "stump." When you can manage the
point properly, you will indeed be able to do much also with this
instrument, or with your fingers; but then you will have to retouch the
fl