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LORD LEIGHTON the daughter of Leland, for whom Whistler painted the celebrated Peacock Room, and of whom he also painted, and in his best manner, a large caricature, as a cloven-footed and horned devil, sitting strumming on a piano, with large purses on the floor and piano, inscribed "filthy lucre," which picture now hangs in the drawing-room of Mrs. Spreckles, of San Francisco—came in to breakfast, and a talk began between him and Leighton upon some of the painters of the day. They agreed with Ruskin's criticisms, or rather abuse, of Whistler's work, and thought he was amply rewarded in the libel suit by a farthing. There might be some merit in his etchings, and a little to like in the Valparaiso Bay, but as for the Connie Gilchrist, with the skipping-rope, that was an unforgivable impertinence.

But when they came to Sargent, I pricked up my ears and listened, to my utter bewilderment, to such a tirade of abuse of that unfortunate man's style, that I began at last to offer a protest, and to defend critically an Art which then seemed to outshine in brilliancy and in dashing technique the work of any other. It then transpired that Lord Leighton agreed with Prinsep about Sargent, and predicted for him, as well as for all the modern French school, beginning with Manet and ending with Monet, a well-merited oblivion within a few years. "These fellows think I do not understand them, that I am not in the movement, and never can be," said Leighton. "That is not the case. I understand perfectly what they are driving at, but this thing is not for me; I simply do not like it. As for Sargent, he will go no further. They talk of electing him to the Academy, but that will never be." "Never," chimed in Prinsep, with determination and will, as he drew himself up in his