The Hudson River School culminated in the work of Wyant, Martin and Inness. Wyant was limited in his scope, liking best to paint rolling country meadows flanked by tall, slender trees. Martin's best work was done in the Adirondacks. Greater than either was Inness, varied in his themes, versatile in his treatment.

George Inness (1825-1894) was born on the Hudson. As a child and youth he was delicate in health and for this reason the more easily gained his father's consent to his study of art. Although he was sent to a teacher for instruction he was never able to follow others or work in ways other than his own. He loved the meadows and lived for some time near the marshes of New Jersey, in sight of flat, moist districts frequented by wild fowl. He went to Europe several times, less to study than to compare methods and styles of painting and thus better arrive at conclusions regarding his own work. The second time he visited France he fell under the charm of the Barbizon painters, who influenced him, although he never imitated them.

Inness was a deep thinker and subject to the artist's moods of intense power and corresponding despair. When under the spell of his possibilities he could paint ceaselessly for fifteen hours together-talking often with congenial friends as he worked. At other times he was restless and at war with prevailing ideas of the age, scoffing at the folly of attaching value to medals and prizes bestowed by juries and committees.

"Work, work, do your best. If the world does not then appreciate you, what satisfaction can a diploma or a medal bring? They are only the recognition of a few men who appreciate you anyhow, and they go to so many who are not worthy of them that they do not carry any real significance to those who may deserve them. Pass your verdict upon yourself if you are capable of criticising yourself. The verdict of the world will be passed in due time, and it will be a just one, evèn if it does not sustain that of prize committees and juries of award."

This man of moods found his unfailing relief in nature, and his health was improved and his years prolonged by his tramps over hill and dale, by river and mountain. The public did not at once understand him and inferior ability was valued

above his own. Yet before his life closed he had won his way and his pictures met a ready demand.

Just as he himself could not be taught by others, neither could he instruct those who would have chosen to come to him. Indeed, he did not believe in the teaching of art. He held that "the purpose of the painter is simply to reproduce in other minds the impression which a scene has made upon him. A work of art does not appeal to the intellect. It does not appeal to the moral sense. Its aim is not to instruct, not to edify, but to awaken an emotion."

A friend whose studio was near his own relates that upon many occasions Inness would drop in upon him, feverish in his attempt to fathom the mystery of art, or better, perhaps, the mystery of life. "What is it all about-art, painting? For what reason do men paint away their lives?" And then some ray of light would dawn upon him and thus did he once define art under similar circumstances. "Art is the endeavor on the part of Mind (Mind being the creative faculty) to express, through the senses, ideas of the great principles of unity."

Inness' work falls into two periods. In his earlier years he was painstaking and careful of details. Afterwards he strove for general effects. His later work is more generally prized, indicating deeper thought, broader knowledge and maturity.

While he painted in all seasons and every hour of the day, he was most fond of the rich colors of regal autumn. The names of his pictures give but slight indication of his work, being indefinite for the most part: An Old Roadway; A Summer Morning; A Sunset; A Day in June-these are important among them. Sometimes they are merely called A Landscape.

CHAPTER XX.

RECENT AMERICAN PAINTERS.

THERE having been as yet no schools of art developed and generally recognized in this country, it is necessary to consider modern painters individually. Certain of them have been associated with others of lesser ability who have sympathized with their conceptions and adhered to their principles, but not in sufficient numbers to give rise to a school of painting. This is to be explained in part by the fact that several of our most gifted painters have felt obliged to spend their years in the art centers of the Old World, because these supplied an atmosphere stimulating to them, and unfortunately, too, because America has often been tardy in recognizing home talent and left her artists to seek commissions and patronage in other lands. Beyond these reasons, it must never be forgotten that the traditions and associations of old countries are lacking here and, although this is advantageous when viewed from certain standpoints, it presents corresponding disadvantages.

As the country becomes more settled and the pioneering of a continent belongs to the past instead of the present, beyond doubt the spirit of the American people will foster the fine arts to a degree unknown in the world for centuries. The last twenty-five years have witnessed a remarkable change in the general attitude toward the arts of peace and the next twentyfive are likely to show marked advance over anything so far indicated in our civilization. Generally diffused prosperity is likely to provide the means for home adornment and civic embellishment beyond that ordinarily found in European countries. Once the desire for such manifestations of culture be aroused, it may easily entail surprising results.

Elihu Vedder was born in New York in 1836, of Dutch parentage. It was expected that he would become a merchant, or perhaps follow the profession of his father-a dentist. However, the young Elihu gave evidence of no liking for either career. It was soon observed that he "chewed sticks into paint brushes" and invested all his spending money in

paints. Finally his father reluctantly consented to his receiving instruction in drawing and he made fair progress. Thrown largely upon his own initiative by the death of his mother and withdrawal of his father to Cuba, as a youth Vedder traveled in Europe, spending several years in Italy. He returned home to enlist in the army upon the outbreak of the Civil War, but owing to a slight disability resulting from an accidental discharge of a gun in his arm years before, he was not accepted for field service.

His sketches and paintings did not attract particular attention until he painted the "Lair of the Sea-Serpent" during a visit to his father-then in Florida. The mysterious creature was felt by all who viewed it to be symbolic of the subtle ocean, unfathomable, direful, alluring. Another early and characteristic painting was the Questioner of the Sphinx, with a meaning but half revealed.

Perhaps his greatest work has been his illustrations for the Rubaiyat produced in 1884. Lacking color, merely drawings in black and white, these give proof of Vedder's originality and creative genius. They also possess the strange fascination peculiar to his work, always appealing to the mind, always as vague and mysterious as life itself. Never have illustrations blended more perfectly with the spirit of a production than his. First Omar, the Persian poet, is pictured with his friends, gazing down at the student, the theologian, the warrior, and the miser-these typifying humanity. Those insistent lines:

"For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before
And one by one crept silently to rest!"

are accompanied by a figure sinking into unconsciousness deeper than that of sleep. The needless poppies fall from the lifeless hand, the lamps but one are all gone out. That last deep and unbreaking rest could scarcely be more eloquently symbolized.

All the vain searchings, the feverish, ceaseless study of philosopher and sage summarized by those potent words:

"There was a Door for which I found no Key;
There was a Veil through which I could not see.

Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee

There was, and then no more of Thee and Me."

-these are to be found as well in the illustration of the alchemist trying to find the secret of life; and in the skulls mingled with old tomes.

Finding no solace in learning, Omar gazes at the bowl fascinated, enchanted, and words are scarcely needed: the genius of the wine looks into his eyes and whispers to him:

"Then to the lip of the poor earthen Urn

I leaned, the Secret of my Life to learn:

And Lip to Lip it murmured, 'While you live,
Drink!-for once dead, you never shall return!'"

The Present listening to the Past, a youth intently holding a seashell to his ear, suggests the inarticulate murmur-the futile questioning of what Eternity shall reveal.

"Strange, is it not, that of the myriads who
Before us passed the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road
Which to discover we must travel, too?"

Best known in America are the panels and the mosaic executed for the Congressional Library. The Enemy Sowing Tares, the Cumaean Sibyl, and the Keeper of the Threshold are conspicuous among his productions.

In late years Vedder has maintained his studio in Rome, but from its confines he loves well to escape to his old favorite, the sea, or to the spirit of the hills.

Utterly different has been the life of Winslow Homer. No painter has been more American, less influenced by European art, less imbued with European tenets.

Winslow Homer (1836-1910) was born in Boston. Like many another embryo artist, he spent more time in school decorating his books than in assimilating their contents. It is gratifying to find that he did not have to struggle against parental opposition before satisfying his soul for drawing. His father provided substitutes for the margins of his books and allowed him to expand as Nature prompted. It was thought best for