to Fleet Street ideals were voted un-English; Byron, Shelley, Keats, Swinburne, the Pre-Raphaelites, and, in course of good time, those artists who formed the New English Art Club.  There was some ground for suspicion of foreign intrigue.  They regarded Mr. Whistler, an American, who flirted with French impressionism, as a pioneer.  Some of their names suggest the magic Orient or the romantic scenery of the Rhine.  But it is not extravagant to assert that if Mr. Rothenstein had chosen to be born in France or Germany, instead of in Bradford, his art would have come to us in another form.  In his strength and his weakness he is more English than the English.  Art may have cosmopolitan relations (it is usually a hybrid), but it must take on the features of the country and people where it grows; or it may change them, or change the vision of the people of its adoption.  Yet Ruth must not look too foreign in the alien corn, or her values will get wrong.  When an English artist airs his foreign accent and his smattering of French pigment his work has no permanent significance.  Even Professor Legros unconsciously assimilated British subjectivity:  his Latin rein has been slackened; his experiments are often literary.

It is an error however to regard the exhibitions of the New English Art Club as a homogeneous movement, such as that of Barbizon and the Pre-Raphaelite—­inspired by a single idea or similar group of ideas.  The members have not even the cohesion of Glasgow or defunct Newlyn.  The only thing they have in common, in common originally with Glasgow, was a distaste for the tenets and ideals of Burlington House.  The serpent (or was it the animated rod?) of the Academy soon swallowed the sentimentalities of Newlyn, just as the International boa-constrictor made short work of Glasgow.  And the forbidden fruit of an official Eden has tempted many members of the Club.  Others have resigned from time to time, but with no ill result—­to the Club.  Now, the reason for this is that the members have no dependence on each other, except for the executive organization of Mr. Francis Bate.  It may be doubted if in their heart of hearts they admire each other’s works.  They are intense individualists (personal friends, maybe, in private life) artistically speaking, on terms of cutting acquaintance at the Slade.

The mannerism of Professor Legros is still, of course, a common denominator for the older men, and the younger artists evince a familiarity with drawing unusual in England, due to the admirable training of Professor Brown and Mr. Henry Tonks.  The Spartan Mr. Tonks may not be able to make geniuses, but he has the faculty of turning out efficient workmen.  Whether they become members of the Club or drift into the haven of Burlington House, at all events they can fly and wear their aureoles with propriety.  A society, however, which contains such distinctive and assertive personalities as Mr. Wilson Steer, Mr.