Nowadays it has become the fashion or the pose of the moment to decry the works of the Victorians as old-fashioned, and in many cases with undoubtedly good reason; but unfortunately the best work is often included in the same category. In the rage for modernity, culminating in "post-impressionism," "futurism," and other "isms," in art, literature, the stage, and, I believe, costume, the thorough and highly conscientious work of some of our greatest men has become obscured; they are like the classic which nobody reads, and they stand unchallenged, but unnoticed except by the very few. Perhaps their genius will survive to-day's reactionary rush into what is sometimes described as individualism, and the worship of personality before beauty, which, if carried to excess as it is to-day, seems to verge into mere charlatanism. We are a little too near the great ones to see them clearly, and perhaps they can only be judged by their peers. Sometimes I see the casual onlooker glance at, sum up, and condemn, pictures which I know represent the unfaltering patience of a lifetime, combined with a passionate idealism of motive. The abundance of art schools, the enormous reduction in prices, the overwhelming commercialism which sets its heel upon the true artist, to crush him out of existence unless he compromises with art, all combine to render the art and artist in general widely different from the men of my early days. True, the Victorian came at a great moment, and now more than ever, if I may misquote: "art is good ... with an inheritance." Among the innumerable artists I knew during my later school-days, Maclise stands out a massive figure and a strong personality. He reminded me in a certain grand way of a great bull; his chin was especially bovine; it was not exactly a dewlap or a double chin, but a heavy gradation of flesh going down into his collar. In the National Portrait Gallery there is a portrait by my father of Maclise as a young man. His work is to me typical of the man: he was a magnificent draughtsman, a cartoonist of fine ideas. In the National Collection at Kensington there are some beautiful pencil drawings by him of various celebrities of the day, and they are perfect in line and study of character. In the Royal Gallery of the House of Lords may be seen his "Battle of Waterloo" and "Death of Nelson," which are extremely masterly in drawing and composition. But in my opinion he lost his charm of line when he attempted paint, for his colouring is unsympathetic and the effect is hard. His crudity of colour is not so noticeable, however, in the frescoes as in his oil-paintings.