His limitations were due to his strong preferences and violent prejudices. His devotion to Turner--a great painter--was one limitation; lack of appreciation of Rembrandt was another; failure to estimate Velasquez at his real worth was another; and a lot of enthusiasms for men who are now forgotten are so many additional evidences of lack of judicial temper in Ruskin. But all these things are as nothings in comparison with the rich store of things said in English so strong, so simple, and yet so beautiful that it fairly intoxicates and rouses something akin to a religious enthusiasm. * * * * * A word concerning the “Voice of a People,” as Whistler called his little collection of criticisms. What is it? In literature the “Voice of a People” makes itself heard at the bookseller’s counter and over the desk of the circulating library,--and that, too, regardless of critics who praise this book and condemn that. Sometimes, before the Critic has spoken, the “Voice” is heard, and the presses groan with the burden of their task; or, more often, after the Critic has had his say, the “Voice,” disregarding labored precepts, calls loudly for what it is told it should not have; and so in literature the “Voice” makes itself heard loud and clear and natural, and there is no mistaking it. Likewise in the drama the insistent “Voice” demands trash or otherwise, quite regardless of the protest of the Critic. The run of a play is not determined by the criticisms. The opinion of the Critic is often foreseen and defied; but neither writer, manager, nor actor can foretell the verdict of the “Voice,”--favorable often when least expected; adverse often when least deserved. But in art the “Voice”--stentorian in literature and the drama--sinks to a whisper so diffident that it cannot be heard amidst the trumpetings of the Critics. The Critics--those whose business it was to write and talk about art--ridiculed Whistler, not the “Voice.” Left wholly to itself, it is quite likely the “Voice” would have found much that it liked in the beautiful combinations of tones and colors, for there is nothing inherently repulsive in Whistler’s work, as in much other that Critics command the “Voice” to praise; on the contrary, his paintings are exceedingly restful to the eye, and exceedingly attractive as schemes of color if nothing else. The “Voice,” left to itself, would say, “I do not understand them, but I like them,--just as I like music, without knowing much about it.” * * * * *