The very essence of artistic imitation is mimicry; and what child is entirely destitute of this? When men arrive at maturity, the artistic mind, as distinguished from the scientific, continues to form theories before it reasons them out, and to imagine truth before it investigates. If one naturally of an artistic temperament ever does reach. results that are scientific, this term "scientific" cannot be applied to the movement of his mind preparatory to these. Instead of advancing step by step toward his end, he first jumps to his conclusions, as Newton is said to have done when, from the falling of an apple, he surmised the law of gravitation; and then turns backward to discover and reveal what might have been the intervening steps. Notice, nevertheless, that this method of mental action is that which is most allied to the method which the world usually attributes to genius. The artist works almost exclusively in this way, so the world supposes that he must be a genius necessarily. The scientific man has very much to do besides surmising and inventing; so the world confines the title genius to the few scientific minds pre-eminent in doing these latter.

However, all men have emotion. All may be strongly moved, and, in such circumstances, the minds of all may be subject to subconscious action. But when we try to answer the question,-To what extent may one as compared with another be subject to this? we find the dif ferences between men almost world-wide. We must conclude, therefore, that large numbers are by nature excluded from the sphere of action of the artist. They are too cautious, too much under the control of consciousness, or, as we say, self-consciousness, to give themselves up to the abandon of subconscious mental activity. They are like those whom Mozart had in mind when he said:

"If you think how you are to write, you will never write anything worth hearing. I write because I cannot help it." They are like orators-and, for that matter, sculptors and musicians-who never lose themselves in their subjects, and, therefore, never become effective. It might be almost said that faith in the results of that which is beyond the sphere of consciousness enables one to reach the æsthetic paradise no less than the heavenly. At the same time, it is easy to emphasise unduly the natural differences between men. It is easy to suppose that one has no artistic ability, when in reality he has a great deal of it. Very often, though latently present, it has merely not been brought to the light. It is easy, therefore, to ignore the methods through which whatever artistic possibilities one may possess may be cultivated. These methods may be best understood, if we start with a conception of the influence upon mental action of education in general. From this conception the transition will be easy to that of the particular effect upon education produced by art-study. The word education is composed of the two Latin words, e, meaning from or out of, and ducere, meaning to lead. But why should to educate mean to lead from or out of? Is it possible to ask this question without having suggested what was said on page 44? It was there noticed that all that we consciously experience through the agency either of the physical senses or of psychological intellection passes into the mind's regions of subconsciousness. Here, though much appears to be lost, probably nothing actually is lost. That it always remains seems to be abundantly proved by the results of abnormal excitation, as in fright, fever, and hypnotism. If this be so, the problem of education has to do not with the methods of obtaining

information from without, so much as of bringing back to consciousness information already stored within. The mind that is best able to bring this back at the right times and places, is the best educated.

Now on what does the ability of the mind to do this depend? There is reason to suppose that it depends largely upon the quality and comparative strength of the physical brain through which one does his work. It is said that the brains of Daniel Webster and of Amos Lawrence, a successful merchant of Boston, both of whom died about the same time, were compared, and were found to be of very nearly the same size and weight, but the convolutions in the brain of Webster were found to be more numerous. That is to say, his brain was of finer physical fibre. That mental ability depends upon the physical strength of the brain may be shown in another way. Give a small child a message to deliver, and he will bring it up to consciousness with difficulty, hesitating between almost every word. "My mother-wishes -wishes-me-to-to "-etc. But the same child after a year or two, when older and stronger physically, will experience little of this difficulty, and, after attaining manhood, none whatever, even though the communication to be recalled be a thousand times more complex.

It is not, however, merely the passage of time and its influence upon growth that can strengthen our physical powers. The same effect may be produced by training, especially by that form of it which we give to ourselves through practice. We know this to be true as applied to our hands and voices. Why should it not be true as applied to our brains? But notice that if it be true as applied to these, and if all that was said in the last paragraph be also true, then training can do much more for

artistic development than some suppose. It can produce facility not only in outward expression, giving the singer, orator, or actor a flexible voice or a graceful body, or the musician, painter, or sculptor dexterity in the use of fingers, brush, or chisel. It can produce facility in the processes of inward preparation for expression, enabling the mind to draw at will from the subconscious resources that which is the subject-matter of artistic invention and inspiration.

It is true, of course, that no amount of practice can enable some to become artists, and that in exceptional cases or upon extraordinary occasions some may produce genuine works of art who have practised little; but, as a rule, practice is indispensable if one wish to attain the characteristics supposed to be possessed habitually by the great artists. We find this fact illustrated almost universally. Of course, there are a few exceptional cases like that of Mozart, mentioned on page 47. For him, notwithstanding the instruction that he received, practice does not seem to have been absolutely indispensable. And it was not so, say some, because he was a genius. But let us think a moment. Might he not have been a genius, and also have been obliged to cultivate his powers? In fact, in later life, did he not cultivate them? Again, was not Beethoven a genius? Yet when he was three years old he knew nothing, so far as we are aware, of music; and very little when he was eight. But after he had practised many hours a day for ten or fifteen years, he could do as well as Mozart could in early manhood; and not only so, but a few years later he could do better than Mozart ever could. Not a few to-day consider Beethoven the greater genius of the two.

What is true of music is true of every art.

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