162 With Feet to the Earth 



who have killed their genius in the com- 

 mercializing of their work. The real artist 

 holds to his task and does his best through 

 thick and thin ; he lives on crusts and 

 color. Mediocrity pooh-poohs at this, but 

 it is true. I have known worth in rags, 

 and rejoice if I have helped to make it 

 known. But bitter is the time of waiting, 

 bitter the gnawing of an empty stomach, 

 bitter the derision of a cheap success. 



Our millionaires give little to the public 

 from whom they derive their wealth, and 

 as they are millionaires because they are 

 Worldly, they frown on schemes that do 

 not promise cash dividends. Still, here 

 and there among them is some Pratt, some 

 Peabody, some Cooper, some Girard, 

 whose heart is as large as his purse, and 

 whose love is higher than his liking. Such 

 a man may be the founder of an art-house 

 in the future, for we can hardly suppose 

 any government so perfect, so delicate, that 

 it could be trusted with this boon. Or the 

 rich man may be the patron of the rising 

 artist, and pay himself for his advances out 

 of the artist's work. In this he will only 



