novel problem. Surely no other artist has, within the limits of a single volume, exhausted not only the hues of the rainbow, but so many regions of the earth. Japan's rhythm and refinement, Servia's barbaric patterns, the white snows and passionate ringing colours of Russia, French grace, languorous Italian beauty, Belgian quaintness, and wholesome English charm, are all to be found here. His surfaces are like choice old ivory, and everywhere we come upon those superb azure tonalities, heavenly blue skies and reflecting waters, which a wit has described as "bleu du lac."
The production of the delightful works partially enumerated above has, however, not satisfied Dulac's ambition, and he has found time to wander in other alluring fields. He has made excellent cartoons for Gobelin tapestries, which were sympathetically executed by Leo Belmonte, and his caricatures and little statuettes have furnished London with its most amusing sensation. In one of these caricatures Orpen is seen looking through a telescope to find Glyn Philpot, "a new star rising in the sky,"—and some one pointed out that Dulac might well have substituted his own portrait for Philpot's and have Max
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