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The spring and summer exhibitions in London, England have been as unprofitable as any. They equal or surpass the Academy in dullness, though they include those of the New English Art Club, the International Society, and the Allied Artists' Association, the three societies supposed to stand for all that is youngest, gayest, and most alive in art. The exhibition is a vivid impression of a crowd in the open air, full of movement and color, and far more accurate than the Englishman's painting as a record of character and costume and date. Of course this is no new discovery, but it is one useful to make anew at this moment when contemporary artists in England offer little at all to think about.

If there is to be a Department of Fine Arts in England, or U.S., it would be unwise to drift into it blindfold. Its advocates naturally dwell upon the good it could achieve, and to this good the author admits there would be no limit were it certain that a Minister with the intelligence of the great patrons of art could always be found for the office. If it were certain, then art could be left without fear to his splendid tyranny. But the true patron of art has ever been in the minority, which is why the evil that may come from a Minister of mediocre intelligence and taste should likewise be considered.