between reality and appearance, as well as between appearance and reality. If we pass along the street and see a bay window project squarely out from the wall, some one may tell us that it is built of iron and is strong, and we ourselves may know that it is strong; nevertheless, it is unpleasant, it lacks repose; there is no expression of the support. Nature not only is, but appears; it manifests in appearance what is at the heart.

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Decorative painting is an expression of the spirit and meaning of a building in such a way as not to destroy its strength or interfere with its dignity and repose. "Art," it has been said, "is play reduced to the principle of order." An easel picture gets its order more or less from the frame. It leads the mind into great depths, and holds it upon a theme for its own sake, to awaken the imagination and feelings of the beholder. The decorative painting gets its order from the wall upon which it is placed. Its frame is the building upon which it is painted. It must express thought; it must be beautiful; it must attract us and win our attention; but it must remind us primarily of the whole building and its meaning.

Happily, as we stand on the landing of the stairs in the Public Library the painting of this great French master gives a refreshing coolness and restfulness which makes all its surroundings more beautiful. There is no artificiality, no conventionality; all is perfectly simple, even to the verge of crudeness that suggests the stone; but at the same time, all is pleasing, artistic, and inspiring. As we gaze, we cannot help thinking what marvellous need for decorative painting the bare walls of our school-houses afford to our artists! What an infinite number of such pictures must be painted before our

country becomes the home of art! As we stand and look at the young figure of Enlightenment above the door, we can but hope that he is pointing us forward to an art which will dawn in beauty upon the walls of the public buildings over the whole country.

It seems incredible that some of our artists have been prejudiced against decorative painting. The owner of a Boston restaurant once persuaded a prominent Italian artist to paint a picture upon the wall of one of his rooms. A leading portrait painter reproached him for doing so. "Such work as that," he said, "is not work for an artist, but for a house painter." "Oh, yes," the other replied in his Italian brogue, which cannot be reproduced, "I am no artist, I am only a house painter; but I tell you what you are, you are a painter of still life." Those who have studied this artist's portraits of public men feel that the criticism was not wholly unmerited.

When art has taken its true place as a vital part of our national life, as one of the expressions of the ideals of our country, then our artists will consider it an honor to give their most earnest thought, and their hardest technical study, to decorate the walls of the school-houses and the public buildings of our humblest town.

MOVEMENT is the artistic manifestation of the pulsation of the fundamental spirit of an object. The great artist must be able to give the most characteristic element of an animal in a single line. The reader must reach the central life of a poem.

EVERY man must have faults. If every imperfect feather was taken from the proudest rooster, there would not be a tail feather left.

ESOP'S FABLES FOR SPEAKERS AND ARTISTS.

PROBABLY SPURIOUS, ESPECIALLY THE MORALS.

A SWANHERD drew a string from tree to tree, a few inches above the ground, and enclosed a space where an old goose was standing. If she had stooped she could have easily passed beneath the cord, but she was too proud or stupid. Hence when she endeavored to pass beyond the bounds, she held her head so high that she struck her breast against the rope and felt that she was in prison.

An old hen passing by said to her, " Why do you not put down your head toward the ground?" The old goose replied in disdain, "To do so would require some stooping, and I choose never to stoop.”

This fable explains why so many who have great scholarship and ability, but who are too proud to deal with their faults, or to take the common-sense advice of plain people, remain all their lives in an obscure corner.

A WOLF saw a goat feeding on the edge of a steep rock where he could not reach her. Come down lower," said he, "the grass is much richer where I am. "Thank you, good sir," said the goat, "you are not inviting me down to eat but to be eaten.

"

This fable warns artists and public readers who listen

to the popular clamor for trash.

A WOLF once clad himself in the skin of a sheep, and so succeeded in entering the flock and catching many of At last the shepherd found him out and hung

them.

him upon a tree. Some neighbors passing thought the wolf a sheep, and asked the shepherd to explain. He answered, "I hang a wolf when I catch him, even though dressed in sheep's clothing.

Imitation, aggregation, and elocutionary tricks may seem to succeed for a short time, but the end thereof are the ways of death.

AN old man and his little boy were driving their ass to the fair to sell him. They met a troop of laughing girls. "Look at the fools," cried one, " trudging along on foot when they might be riding." The old man then placed his boy on the ass and walked along merrily by his side. Soon they met a group of old men talking gravely. "There," said one of them, "that proves my point. These degenerate times show no respect for old age. Look at that lazy young rogue riding while his father has to walk. Get down, you scapegrace, and let your father ride." The boy got down from the ass, and the father mounted. met some women.

They had not gone far when they "Why, you lazy old man," cried several at once, "how can you ride when your little boy can hardly keep up with you?" So the good-natured old man took the boy up behind him. "My friend," said the next man they met, " is that ass your own? "Yes," said the old man. I should not have thought so by the way you load him. Why, you are better able to carry the beast than he is to carry you. you," said the miller;

"

Anything to please

we can try." So they laid the ass down and tied his legs together, and taking a pole tried to carry him over the bridge that led to the town. Crowds rushed out and laughed at the odd sight. The ass, constrained by his position, began to kick furiously,

broke the cords, and tumbled off the bridge into the water and was drowned.

This fable shows the fate of those artists who, as they take their art to the market of their race, listen to every quibbling criticism, or rather fault-finding, from people who cannot appreciate their point of view. Instead of being carried by their art across the bridge of time into communion with their race, their poor art, as the poor ass, begins to kick under the constraint and dies, and the artists return to obscurity.

A MAN once had a goose that laid a golden egg every day. He thought she must be gold inside, so he wrung her neck and cut her open, but found she was exactly like all other geese.

This fable teaches how many students, instead of devoting patient practice to simple steps and exercises, waste all their time and power in searching for some trick that will explain everything and give them a key to power without hard work.

A STAG, drinking in a clear pool, saw his reflection, and admired his spreading horns, but was greatly displeased at his thin legs. "What a glorious pair of horns!" said he; "how gracefully they hang over my forehead! What a beautiful expression they give my face! But, oh! my spindle-shanks of legs, I am heartily ashamed of them!" While contemplating himself, a lion sprung out and began to chase him. He gained greatly upon his pursuer; but entering a thick wood, his horns became entangled in the branches of the trees, and the lion overtook him. What a wretch was I!" he cried. I scorned that which was my greatest aid, and what was my boast is my ruin."