Here is “A Martyr in the reign of Diocletian,” by Paul Delaroche. This is the picture of world-wide fame, known probably to our readers by photographs if they have not seen the original. A young Roman girl, who has refused to sacrifice to the false gods, has been thrown into the Tiber. Two Christians, on the further bank, look with mingled feelings on the young martyr as her body floats past. Your spectator, ignorant of history, would wonder who was Diocletian, and what it was all about. Soon afterwards we come to “Ophelia,” by G. F. Watts, R.A., and if you have not read _Hamlet_, you cannot appreciate the beauty of this; nor, if you know nothing of Dante, can you understand “Paolo and Francesca da Rimini,” by the same artist, where the hero and heroine of the immortal story are sweeping through the mist of the Inferno. In another year’s exhibition we have “The City of Dis,” by Albert Goodwin, also requiring a knowledge of Dante; “Orpheus and Eurydice,” by T. Graham, which could not appeal to anyone ignorant of Greek mythology; “Antigone,” by Lord Leighton, fully appreciated only by those to whom Antigone is more than a name. Consider even the two frontispieces to THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER for February and March last. The first, “An Antique Fête,” takes for granted some knowledge of ancient history. The reproduction of Miss Margaret Dicksee’s charming picture “A Sacrifice of Vanities,” will be fully understood only by those who have enjoyed _The Vicar of Wakefield_. It is unnecessary to go further, and if any reader, on her next visit to a picture exhibition, will note the remarks heard around her, she will have a practical commentary on the truth that Art cannot be fully comprehended and appreciated without some literary education. While standing, for instance, before such a picture as “Pandora” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, one may overhear remarks like the following— “Pandora? Who’s she?” “What’s she got in her hand?” “_Nescitur ignescitur_ is written on it! What’s the meaning of that? Why couldn’t he put plain English?” “Oh, well, I don’t think she’s an English person. She doesn’t _look_ English, anyhow.” “Oh, a heathen goddess, I suppose, carrying fire about like that! A goddess with red hair in a red dress? Anyhow, _I_ don’t think much of her. Come along!” The literary preparation for the enjoyment of Art is, of course, different from the technical preparation for it; but, for preparation of either kind, reading is necessary. The kind of self-culture which at first sight seems furthest apart from the culture of which we write, is the physical kind. Sometimes, indeed, mental and physical self-culture may appear incompatible, especially when time is limited. “Don’t sit poring over that book; come out into the fresh air!” is a familiar type of address. In the newly-published _Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning_, we read that the doctor of the poetess carried away her inkstand one day as a remedial measure!