* *

[Sidenote: Mrs. Panton considers it a fantastic demon.]

Personally speaking, I consider the possession of the artistic
temperament a distinct curse to those unfortunate folk who have to live
with the owner of this fantastic demon; while if the possessor knows how
to deal with his old Man of the Sea he has a most powerful engine at his
command: for once let the world at large know that the "artistic
temperament" has entered into him, his strangest freaks become more than
put-up-able with, and the brighter he is in company, and the more
irritable and offensive he is at home, the more law is given him, and
the less work, and, may I add, decency, is expected of him, until he
appears to agree with his compeers or followers, and begins to be as
eccentric as he likes. Commencing with long hair touching his shoulders,
and with an absence of the use of Someone's soap, he passes on through
mystic moonlight glances to a still more artistic appreciation of the
charms of Nature at her simplest, until Mrs. Grundy looks askance, and
duchesses and other leaders of Society squabble over him, and try one
against the other for the honour and pleasure of his society. So far,
then, the artistic temperament is for its possessor a fine thing, for it
cannot put up with indifferent fare and lodging: it can only prove its
existence by the manner in which it annexes all that is richest, most
beautiful, and, to use a byegone slang word, most Precious. For it is
reserved the luxurious Chesterfield or Divan, heaped with rainbow-like
cushions, and placed in the most becoming light, until the quick,
unhappy day dawns when another "artistic temperament" comes to the fore,
and the first retires perforce, if not a better, certainly a sadder,
man, for all that has been happening unto him. Now comes the time when
one sees the slow-witted creature sinking gradually into the mere
haunter of the Gaiety bar: when the sacred lamp burns brightly, and
causes him to recollect, sadly indeed, the days that are no more. Or we
find the man who has learned his bitter lesson, and recognising that
_he_ still exists--albeit the beast is dead--turns to the work he was
meant to do, and does that nobly, though the mad and beautiful days of
his youth have done, and all that caused life to be lovely has faded
slowly into the _ewigkeit_.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: But that, if true, it must often be a delight.]

If the "artistic t