“We were talking about effort when this young gentleman took it upon himself to break the ring. Now, nothing can be what you might call artistically done if it’s done with an effort. If a thing can’t be done light and easy, steady and certain, let it not be done at all. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? But I’ll tell you a stranger thing. The more effort you make, the less effect you produce. A WOULD-BE artist is no artist at all. I see that in my own profession (never mind what that profession is just at present, as the ladies might think the worse of me for it). But in all professions, any work that shows signs of labor, straining, yearning--as the German gentleman said--or effort of any kind, is work beyond the man’s strength that does it, and therefore not well done. Perhaps it’s beyond his natural strength; but it is more likely that he was badly taught. Many teachers set their pupils on to strain, and stretch, so that they get used up, body and mind, in a few months. Depend upon it, the same thing is true in other arts. I once taught a fiddler that used to get a hundred guineas for playing two or three tunes; and he told me that it was just the same thing with the fiddle--that when you laid a tight hold on your fiddle-stick, or even set your teeth hard together, you could do nothing but rasp like the fellows that play in bands for a few shillings a night.” “How much more of this nonsense must we endure?” said Lucian, audibly, as Cashel stopped for breath. Cashel turned and looked at him. “By Jove!” whispered Lord Worthington to his companion, “that fellow had better be careful. I wish he would hold his tongue.”