

Don't do anything rash, for that is fatal. Perhaps, after all, a small 

 alteration is all that is necessary. For instance, one of the blooms in that 

 too obvious line may only require toning down so that it recedes into the 

 background, and so breaks the ugly stiffness of the straight row. But 

 which flower shall it be ? 



It is an excellent plan, when in doubt on a matter like this, to make 

 a sort of a mask on another bit of paper, cut to the size of the flower we 

 wish to alter, and then, having roughly sketched in and coloured it 

 according to our new ideas, to try the effect of it in its place in the group, 

 so that we do not commit ourselves to any radical alteration before we 

 are quite sure the composition will be improved by it. 



When actual washing out is unavoidable, it must be done with the 

 greatest care, and with as little scrubbing and disturbing of the surface 

 of the paper as possible. Put the water on the place you wish to wipe 

 out, with a soft clean brush, and (after having allowed it to remain a few 

 moments to soak out the colour) blot it up, with rag, sponge or 

 blotting-paper, with a firm pressure, but never rubbing it, and thereby 

 worrying the paper into a rough hairy surface that will give you endless 

 trouble when working on it again. 



Do not attempt to do the latter while the paper is wet and wobbly, 

 for this is disastrous. 



Sometimes a composition is spoiled by overcrowding ; this is ex- 

 ceedingly irritating to the eye, and must be changed, even if in so doing 

 we have to sacrifice some of the flowers on which we have lavished much 

 careful work. Too tightly packed a bunch is ugly, so some of the 

 blooms must be weeded out, and a little of the background shown 

 through. 



Another fault to guard against is that of getting an equal amount of 

 background, of an equal density of colour, round each flower ; this is 

 quite unnatural, and very hard in effect. Faults of composition are 

 bound to come occasionally in the work of everybody, be he beginner or 

 Royal Academician : even the most talented painter cannot be sure of 

 all his works reaching the same high artistic level. h'ailures are bound 

 to occur sometimes, and so the true artist takes them philosophically, 

 and accepts the lessons they invariably teach. Leslie tells us, " It is the 

 happiness of a genuine painter that he is all his life a student. If the 

 education of such a one could be finished, his Art would become little 

 else than a mechanical routine of the pencil, and he would sink into 

 that large class who are dexterous in everything and great in nothing." 



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When the Chestnut Burrs are ripe. 

 67 



