346 
LAND OF SUNSHINE. 
and yet their enemies must be many, for there seem to be no 
nore towhees in the garden this year than last, although we 
knew of six nests. 
Still, not all the birds we miss have died an unnatural 
death. As soon as they are able to take care of themselves, 
young birds scatter out to find “ fresh fields and pastures 
new.” They seek to make new acquaintances and to see the 
country for themselves like any sensible people. 
In Western Letters. 
other night, Benjamin Ide Wheeler, late of Cornell, 
now president (blest be the luck !) of the University of 
California, was expressing to me his great surprise at 
finding in California such a collection of paintings as Irving 
M. Scott, the builder of the ‘‘ Oregon,” has hung in his 
home in San Francisco. Perhaps the surprise was not alto¬ 
gether the newly escaped Easterner’s wonder at discovering 
among us the evidences of civilization. It may be that just 
such a collection, in taste and cost, is a trifle unexpected any¬ 
where. The Baltimore ’prentice boy, who has grown up in a 
more generous land to be head of one of the largest and best 
shipyards in America, could probably afford to “ match” cop¬ 
pers or canvasses with the average New York virtuoso. 
But the striking thing to me is—though it does not surprise 
me—that in this noble company of Murillos, Rembrandts, Vel¬ 
asquez, Constables, Romneys, Ruysdaels, and that category, 
one California artist is absolutely at home. Mr. Scott has 
many Keiths; and ‘‘The Dawn,” particularly, hung where 
it is exposed to the most merciless comparison with these 
masters, holds its head as high as any of them. It is a crucial 
test to put any modern artist to ; but Wm. Keith can afford to 
stand it. One reason is that he is unspoiled by the modern 
commercialism. He paints as the immortals painted—as all 
must paint who are to be immortal—with absolute sincerity as 
well as mastery. He produces more, probably, than any two 
other painters in America—certainly as much as any three 
pot-boilers—and none of it calico. He can do it because he is 
full of material. He is never pumping from a dry reservoir. 
A long life of strenuous study and activity has equipped him, 
and I know of nothing more astonishing or more inspiring than 
to see him create enduring pictures as rapidly as another man 
would make sketches. And a man turned of 6o, growing 
every day ! Keith is doing nobler work than ever before—in¬ 
creasing a range of technic already marvelous, gaining higher 
mastery yet of the colors in which he was already a wizard, 
and unspoiled as a child. 
H: * 
