interest of education, as of Art, that we should eliminate as much as possible the passing and the ephemeral, the demand of mood and fashion, the thing cheaply chosen, cheaply acquired, and cheaply let go; and substitute the thing that we shall have a long use for, and should like to keep permanently--the thing acquired with thought and care, and thoughtfully and carefully preserved because it has in itself a value. But you won’t get any broad exercise of that kind of choice between evil and good until you get a sense of right values--going far away from what apparently touches art--in the mind, and the public and private life of the community. And so, as I started by saying, true Art is bound up with true education and social conditions. Good citizenship is one of the conditions for setting national Art upon a proper basis. A lively sense of your duty to your neighbour cannot fail to have an effect upon your taste in art. Now I want to bring this view of things home to you. So I will ask everyone here to think for a moment of their own homes, their own living-rooms, and especially of their parlours or drawing-rooms, which are by their nature intended to express not so much our domestic necessities as our domestic sense of the value of beauty, recreation, and rest. And to begin with, how do you show your sense of duty to the architect, who has (if you are fortunate) designed for you rooms of pleasant and restful proportions? How many of the objects in those rooms help at all to give a unifying and a harmonious effect, or are in themselves in any way beautiful--things, that is to say, which (if not of actual use) we love to set our eyes on, and feel what fineness of skill in handling, what clean human thought in design went to their production? Have those things been put there quite irrespective of their price and the display they make of their owner’s “comfortable circumstances”? Are they subordinated to a really intelligent sense of what a living-room should be? Or are they merely a crowd, a litter, things flung into the room pell-mell by a house-mistress bent on securing for her parlour-maid a silly hour’s dusting every day of objects--not of virtue--and for herself the recognition by her neighbours that she has money enough to throw away in making her living-room a silly imitation of a shop for bric-a-brac. Can you, even those of you who do not live in streets where you have to safeguard your privacy--can you look out of the window without being tickled in the face by lace curtains, blind-tassels, or potted palm-leaves? Can you sit down to the writing-table without entangling the legs of your chair in a woolly mat and your feet in the waste-paper basket, or get at the drawer of the cabinet without moving two or three arm-chairs, or play the piano without causing the crocks which stand upon it to jangle? Is the rest and recreation you get in that room anything else but a sense of self-complacency based upon pride of possession? I ask