A book of this sort, which aimed to be complete, should contain a critical summary of the period it attempts to record. But to extract from the mass of material a clearly-defined purpose, and build up a plausible theory to show that all the diverse tendencies could be traced to a common purpose, would surely be at best merely an academic argument. All that the sixties prove, to a very sincere if incapable student, seems to be that the artist, if he be indeed an artist, can make the meanest material serve his purpose. The men of the sixties tried obviously to do their best. They took their art seriously, if not themselves. It is tempting to affirm that the tendency now is for no one to take himself seriously, and even at times to look upon his art, whatever it may be, as merely a useful medium to exploit for his own ends. Yet such an opinion would be probably too sweeping; and one is driven back to the primal fact, that the energy and knowledge which results in masterly achievement is, and must always be, beyond rules, beyond schools, as it is beyond fashion or mood. A man who tries to do his best, if he be endowed with ripe knowledge and has the opportunity, will make a fine thing; which, whether intended for a penny paper, or a guinea gift-book, will possess both vitality and permanent value. But the men of the sixties took themselves quite seriously; and this is surely evident from their drawings. Not a few committed suicide, or died from over-work; neither catastrophe being evidence of flippant content with the popularity they had achieved. Whether inspired by pure zeal for art, by rivalry, or by money-making, they felt the game well worth the candle, and did all they could do to play it fairly. Those of us to-day who try to do our best may be inept, ignorant, and attain only failure; yet the best is not achieved by accident, and the only moral of the sixties is the moral of the nineties: 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might.'