'Pshaw! You will never make an artist--never, never--_you_ are too, too superficiall, too much of the earth, dirty.' 'Oh! now I understand,' answered Caper; 'give it to me, I deserve it.' 'I was studying water, its shadows and its superficiality, in that basin,' continued Phlamm, 'and I study the ocean there, and have devolved great principles from it. What makes my pictures sought for by the high and the low, wealthy? What? It's the Truth in 'em, the Mystery, the Naychure. The old masters were humbugs, they weren't mysterious, they had no inner sight into the workings of Naychure. Who'd buy one of their pictures when he might have a Turner for the same price? Nobody.' 'Wouldn't he?' asked Caper. 'Try him with a Raphael, just a small one.' 'Raphael? You mean Raffaele. Ah! he _was_ a painter, he wasn't one of the old masters, however, he was a middle-age master. What sweetness, what a kind of--sweetness generally; what a blending of the prayerful infant with the enthusiastic beauty; the--the polished chastity of his Mad-donas; the folds of his drapery, and--the drapery of his folds. Truly enchanting, and so very uncommonly gentlemanly in his colors.' 'The Chesterfield of oil-colors?' suggested Rocjean. 'But _a propos_ of Nature, you never paint a picture directly from her, do you?' 'Never! Does a great historical painter use the model? No, sir; he draws on his imagination for his figures. He scorns to copy from a model. I convey the impression of mystery that Naychure gives me; I am no servile copyist. And I claim to leave an impression on the minds of the beholders of my works. Why, even Caper, I believe, can see what I wish to tell, and read my poems on canvas. Tell me, Caper, what idea does even that rough sketch of Venice awake in your imaginative faculties, and all that?' Caper's face wore a deeply thoughtful look, as he answered: 'I do see it; I do claim to read the lesson you would teach----' 'Speak it out,' interrupted Phlamm, 'I knew you would feel the deep, mysterious sentiment as is in it.' 'Spider-tracks and crows' feet on the blue mud of a big marsh,' spoke Caper resolutely. 'Pshaw!' exclaimed Phlamm impetuously; 'you have no Faith, and without that, all Art is a sealed thing. Goldburg, to whom I lately sold a painting, had faith; he saw the grand idea which I explained to him in that picture; he knew that the Earl of Bigbarns had purchased a work of mine, and he said to me: 'The opinion of such a man is an opinion as should be a valuable opinion to a business man, and govern the sentiments of those who worship Art.' Other artists see Naychure, but _how_ do they see her? I answer, blindly! They don't feel her here!' (Phlamm struck his waistcoat in fearful proximity to a pocket in it, and altogether too low for his heart.) 'Nay-chure,' said Caper to Rocjean, as they left this studio of the mysterious one, 'ruined a good Barnum to make a poor Phlamm, when she made him.' A BATH-HUNT.