tion. And “talking about” a picture is simply letting the picture talk, provided, of course, that it is the right sort of picture. The artist does all the work: one has only to follow his thought. No descriptive phrases are needed: the objects describe themselves. The process of unfolding the story becomes more and more fascinating as we go on, and the teacher usually learns more than the pupil.
Suppose the child comes with the familiar request at a moment when the mother is too weary for any new invention. Her eyes fall upon Guido Reni’s Aurora hanging over the mantelpiece. It is one of the colored reproductions so many people bring home from abroad and which our large art stores now sell. Here is a story ready to hand. She begins in this wise: Every morning the sun god Apollo starts forth on a journey across the sky. Aurora gives him the signal and leads the way, floating in the air and scattering roses on the sleeping world which lies far below. Apollo sits in his chariot and guides his horses four abreast, as they dash along so swiftly that the wind fills out his fluttering garments and blows back his golden curls. The little winged love god Cupid flies through the air just over the team carrying his flaming torch, for wherever the sun shines, love and joy are sure to follow. Apollo is accompanied by all the hours which fill the day, each one beautiful, no two alike, and every one bringing the right time for some special duty or pleasure. First come the maidens of the morning in the delicate colors of early daylight, their faces full of anticipation. Then follow the
