TEMPERAMENT
lost my grip. I have forgotten how to paint, and that is all there is to it. I am in first-class shape physically and my brain-box doesn't show any unusual cracks; but for the past two months my work has been going from bad to worse. Every canvas is just a little more like punk than the preceding one. At first I gritted my teeth and worked all the harder; but the harder I worked the worse my things became. It's no use. I throw up the sponge."
I dropped my palette and grasped him by the hand with an enthusiasm which must have appeared to him somewhat misplaced. "My dear fellow," I cried, "I congratulate you. If your pictures had not already shown you the consummate painter, you have just given the most incontrovertible proof of the fact. You are simply soaked in temperament. Get down on your knees, my boy, and
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