Nothing is more amazing than to read in the daily and weekly press of the “pernicious influence” and decadence of modern French art, criticisms the more astonishing as the present age is one of universal travel and liberal ideas. French art is in no such parlous state, and never, at any period of its history, displayed stronger signs of vitality. Never was its activity greater, nor its influence, poetry, and gaiety better for the general good of the nation. Such wild accusations are unjustifiable, hypocritical, and themselves pernicious. French influence dominates the work of the most successful painters and sculptors throughout the world. The art of such men as La Thangue, Edward Stott, Alfred East, Peppercorn, Bertram Priestman, Arnesby Brown, Fred Footet, John Lavery, Macaulay Stevenson, Edwin Abbey, John S. Sargent, George Clausen, and the men of the Glasgow school, is unquestionably derived from Paris, a city we are asked to believe is decadent in art matters. Of these artists it may be said that the majority were educated in Paris. It is well to acknowledge candidly that, although in the days of Gainsborough, Turner, Constable, and the other members of that brilliant band, English art led the world, to-day we must look to “la ville lumière” for instruction and inspiration. The fact is proved by the enormous preponderance of students of all nationalities who flock to Paris for the completion of their art education. In other words, French art is the leading art of the day, and will remain so for many years to come. Let any unbiased observer compare the two magnificent Salons of Painting and Sculpture held annually in Paris with the English Royal Academy, New Gallery, and British Artists’ Exhibitions. Note that France houses her artists in some of the most beautiful palaces in the world, then think of London. Observe the high average quality of the exhibits, their astounding technical excellence, the courage of the artists, and their bold experiments in untrodden paths, their extraordinary originality and diversity of temperament. They are not content with an ephemeral success, or the stereotyped reproduction of popular playthings. The contributors are cosmopolitan in nationality, for, provided the necessary passport of talent, Paris welcomes the stranger. Where in Great Britain can the foreigner, even if he possess acknowledged genius, be sure of meeting with a sympathetic reception and fair play from a Hanging Committee? He is fortunate if he escapes public ridicule. The Continental artist has learnt this lesson and troubles us no more, to the blight of our national education and the detriment of our taste. This blot upon our reputation for common sense has been to some extent redeemed of recent years by the International Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Gravers. Perhaps its intermittent exhibitions will rehabilitate our name abroad, and incidentally aid in revivifying our national taste.