have by their generous support of the Metropolitan Museum's Art Schools, subscribed themselves genuine allies of education in that direction.

It needs but the mention of the names of the members of the Museum School's committee, Robert Hoe, John Taylor Johnston, D. O. Mills, J. W. Pinchot, and W. L. Andrews, as evidence of the high place that this subject of the education of the artist finds in the consideration of men of culture who have at heart the city's advancement as a true metropolis. Mr. Henry L. Marquand, another member of the Museum, imported last year at the expense of over $10,000, a collection of casts from the antique, which will be at the disposal of the students of these schools, as soon as the new addition to the Museum in Central Park is completed.

It is interesting to note that as early as 1801, Robert Livingston, then United States minister to France, wrote to his friends in New York urging the starting of subscriptions to a fund for the purchase of statues and paintings, the establishing of a public gallery, and a school for the instruction of art students. Thus through Minister Livingston's efforts, the institution which is now the Academy of Design, was founded. And he so far interested Napoleon in the Academy, that the Emperor presented to it several plaster casts from the antique, twenty-four volumes of rare Italian prints, and several portfolios of valuable engravings.

The "Elliott - Suydam" medals, the "Julius Hallgarten " prizes at the Academy schools, and the "A. A. Low" "Frederick A. Lane" and "Goodhue" prizes at the Woman's Art School, Cooper Union, are also among the tokens of the valuable assistance bestowed upon our academies by men of means.

The principa. art-schools in New York are those of the National Academy of Design, and Metropolitan Museum of Art; the Gotham Art Students; Woman's Art School, Cooper Union, and the Art Students' League.

In these schools are about 1,300 pupils. They have classes in painting, in drawing from the antique, from life, and with the exception of the Cooper Union,

have modeling classes also. The Cooper Union is a free school, although there are pay classes connected with it; the same is the case with the Academy Schools, save that a matricule card costs the student $10 a year. The Metropolitan Museum Schools and the Gotham Art Students are very moderate in their charges; about $20 being the cost of the season's instruction in the former, and from $2 to $6 a month the terms in the latter. In the Art Students' League a somewhat higher fee is charged in the regular classes, while to study all day in the painting class will cost $120 for the

season.

Students' life in New York to-day is entirely devoid of bohemianism. There is as much goodfellowship among the pupils of the school, as would be found at a medical or law school; no more and no less. They have no clannish attributes. There is no "Quartier Latin" in New York city for them to inhabit; the episodes of students' life in Paris, which we read of, have no counterpart here. They live no differently from the dry-goods clerk, and dress as they can afford, often as near the "dude" as possible. The velveteen jacket, slouch hat, and the long cloak, are no longer insignia of artistic proclivities.

The only mark of their identification that we can think of, is their decided tendency to cultivate a special parlance, to use an artist's vocabulary; a technology which to the uninitiated ear is equal to any Gipsy lingo, pigeon English or dog Latin. As a general thing the richer this vocabulary becomes, the more indefinite are its terms. If you listen to a group of students in an art gallery, you are apt to hear some such expressions as these: "Is n't that a stunning Millet? I tell you what, there's tone for you!" "But I like the quality in that Rousseau better; that's atmosphere; it hangs together too; I call that harmony.” That Chase over there's got some stunning bits to it." "Yes, I like some of the morceaux, but the technic is the thing; just look at that brush-work!"

Furthermore, you would hear mentioned "nice feeling," "a well-balanced composition," "loud," "harsh," "crude," "dry" and "raw" color, and many

"Don't you think that Number 50, over there, is a 'howler'?" we remember being asked once by a speaker who pointed to a painting by Wyant-a most delicate, misty, Adirondack scene! By a "howler" was meant a noticeable picture or one that possessed salient qualities, the remark being intended as entirely complimentary.

Few laymen have any idea of what importance to the would-be painter, is the question of his art education. Except for a few geniuses, there is no such thing for the painter as self-instruction. It might have served one a century or even a decade ago, but to-day he who would receive recognition and patronage from the public, and is able to put forth only works executed by an untutored hand, will stand little chance of substantial success. He may assert himself in other branches of the graphic arts, as an illustrator for instance, but he might better eschew painting. To those who develop a tendency for painting, this fact becomes evident as soon as they endeavor to test their capability to do some real art work.

The young man coming to these schools from the West is apt to be greatly disappointed at the first steps in his studies. In his native town he has probably done some work which has brought him in enough money to pay the expenses of a trip to New York, and a season's tuition. Perhaps he has been able to make in comparison to what his companions in other trades receive, a very good income. The local press has chronicled his exodus as an important event, and spoken of "the visit of our talented portrait-artist to the metropolis, for the purpose of pursuing his art studies under the most favorable auspices.' He has been held in high esteem by his town-folk; always looked upon as the artist of the place, never as a student. His work has been in partnership with the camera, that is to say he has made portraits upon solar prints (faint prints on paper, over which the draughtsman works with crayon or pastel). With this assistance, of course his drawing has never been questioned, his patrons contenting themselves with criticising the expression of his likenesses.

also with the pretty pink color of the flesh in these pastel portraits, the bright blue eyes and the decidedly golden, nutbrown, or raven hair, he is himself quite sure that he must have naturally "an eye for color." He feels therefore, that he knows enough about drawing, and will merely cultivate this natural talent for color.

The school altogether has, in all probability, a much less substantial look than he had pictured: the floors uncarpeted, the walls simply unpainted board partitions, the chairs of the commonest kind, the class-rooms crowded, temporary curtains here, drapery forming impromptu backgrounds there; everything is for utility, nothing for ornament. Perhaps there are a few drawings from life tacked upon the walls by former students, made in art schools abroad.

He soon receives his first set-back in the form of warnings on all sides that his knowledge of drawing is too limited to carry him through, should he be admitted to a painting class; such admission, even, being far from likely, as his color is raw, crude," "lacking in values," etc., etc. A whole string of technical terms, few of which he understands, are showered upon him. So he seeks entrance to the antique class.

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The antique room he finds crowded with casts. At first to one who has never seen anything more than a plaster mask or a statuette, the effect of these forms, peculiarly endowed with life-like action, yet clothed in effect with the pallor of death, is startling. The figures suggest various weird fantasies-a morgue of classical heroes, a convention of the shades of departed acrobats and pugilists. One instinctively winces under the athletic form of the "Moses" of Michael Angelo, who seems to preside. The young students pass warily by the outstretched arm of the stooping Discobolus, as if to avoid having their eyes become the target for his precipitant quoit.

The novice chooses a cast, and falls to work. At first with much assurance, he goes rapidly through the stages of sketching in, giving little heed to what others are doing around him. on a slight feeling of intimidation comes over him, when, solicited and unsolicited,

But as he goes

his fellow-students give him the benefit of their critical judgment. No formal introduction is needed in the classes, and at the end of a day he is quite on good enough terms with most of the others to make a tour of the easels and acquaint himself with the methods of work in vogue. Whatever may be his secret belief as to the rightness of his own manner, unless he is a dunce he soon sees that his comrades pursue a different way. The character of the student is severely tested here. If he has a keen rapid

rebellion against the "blocking in," the simplifying of shadows, the lack of finish, which is so coarse and brutal to his mind. For, a self-taught person is sure to demand finish and detail in everything, and can rarely bear anything broad and simple.

Be his nature submissive or stubborn, his ardor has cooled and a certain amount of suspense fills his heart when after two days have elapsed it is time for the professor to arrive. When he does, he falls at once to criticising, starting at the other

judgment he will see immediately that his best course is to humble himself and follow meekly in the footsteps of his companions. If on the other hand, he has a stubborn nature, he is somewhat loth to smother his own individuality and allow himself to be melted and poured in and out of the same mold as the rest of the class. His memory is full of biographies which he has read, of great painters who revolted against academic methods and traditions when they first became students of art schools. He contemplates emulating them and placing himself in

end of the room from where the novice is at work. There is something to be gained by this, and the student is all ears. He endeavors to profit by the rapid criticism and looks at his own work, seeking to correct every fault that is found in the others' drawings. But too soon is the professor at his side, handkerchief in hand perhaps, ready to dust off with a turn of wrist the two days' labor of the poor student, and bid him make his drawing much larger or cut off his figure onesixth, and keep his lights and shadows simpler.