That evening, as all were sitting on the balcony watching the soft, rosy afterglow that was creeping over the hills and turning to glowing points the domes and spires of the fair city, Mr. Sumner said:—­

“If you are willing, I would like to talk with you a little before we make our visits to Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce to-morrow.  You will understand better the old pictures we shall see there if we consider beforehand what we ought to look for in any picture or other work of art.  Too many go to them as to some sort of recreation,—­simply for amusement,—­simply to gratify their love for beautiful color and form, and so, to these, the most beautiful picture is always the best.  But this is a low estimate of the great art of painting, for it is simply one of man’s means of expression, just as music or poetry is.  The artist learns to compose his pictures, to draw his forms, to lay on his colors, just as the poet learns the meanings of words, rhetorical figures, and the laws of harmony and rhythm, or the musician his notes and scales and harmonies of sound.”

“I see this is a new thought to you,” continued he, after a moment spent in studying the faces about him.  “Let us follow it.  What is the use of this preparation of study in art, poetry, or music?  Is it solely for the perfection of itself?  We often hear nowadays the expression, ’art for art’s sake,’ and by some it is accounted a grand thought and a noble rallying-cry for artists.  And so it truly is if the very broadest and highest possible meaning is given to the word ‘art.’  If it means the embodying of some noble, beautiful, soul-moving thought in a form that can be seen and understood, and means nothing less than this, then it is indeed a worthy motto.  But to too many, I fear, it means only the painting of beauty for beauty’s sake.  That is, the thought embodied, the message to some soul, which every picture ought to contain, and which every noble picture that is worthy to live must contain, becomes of little or no value compared with the play of color and light and form.

“Let me explain further,” he went on, even more earnestly.  “Imagine that we are looking at a picture, and we admire exceedingly the perfection of drawing its author has displayed,—­the wonderful breadth of composition,—­the harmony of color-masses.  The moment is full of keen enjoyment for us; but the vital thing, after all, is, what impression shall we take away with us.  Has the picture borne us any message?  Has it been either an interpretation or a revelation of something?  Shall we remember it?”

“But is not simple beauty sometimes a revelation, Mr. Sumner?” asked Barbara,—­“as in a landscape, or seascape, or the painting of a child’s face?”

“Certainly, if the artist has shown by his work that this beauty has stirred depths of feeling in himself, and his effort has been to reveal what he has felt to others.  If you seek to find this in pictures you will soon learn to distinguish between those (too many of which are painted to-day) whose only excellence lies in trick of handling or cunning disposition of color-masses,—­because these things are all of which the artist has thought,—­and those that have grown out of the highest art-desire, which is to bear some message of the restfulness, the power, the beauty, or the innocence of nature to the hearts of other men.