break. The proportions in Mr. Voorhees' farmhouse outrage those principles. If he will look at it closely when he returns to Lyme next summer he will find faults of drawing which keep his farmhouse from being a success. After criticising Mr. Voorhees' work in this way, it would be unfair if I did not give him all the praise which is due to his Bermuda paintings, particularly that entitled "The Gilbert Courtyard."
THERE is at the Arlington Galleries an exhibition of portraits and landscapes by Ernest L. Ipsen, born in Boston, where he studied under Vinton, but apparently of Danish stock, for he completed his art education at the Royal Academy in Copenhagen. If he had not done any work besides his landscapes he would hardly have become an associate at the Academy (he is an A.N.A.), but fortunately he has a second string to his bow, and he uses that second string well. His portraits are good. You feel instinctively that they are true to life, that they give you the character of the sitters without flattery, yet never without trying to bring out that which is best in each.
ANTONEBy Wm. L'Engle
THERE is no artist who has been imitated more than Blakelock. We have come to weary of the conventional imitation. Therefore it is with the keenest joy that we feel the transcendent beauty of such a Blakelock as the larger landscape by him now on exhibition at the Dudensing Galleries. The sun, which has just set behind the old oak, has illumined the heavens as if the distant earth were ablaze. The clouds are as mysterious as the dense smoke which rises from a forest fire. The sky between the rifts of clouds has infinite depths. Here is a painter who glories in the beauty of sunset as Milton gloried in the beauty of language. But it is not alone the glory of sunset which touched Blakelock. There is another painting in the room, a low-rising moon, seen between straight trunks of trees, which shows another side of Blakelock's nature. It is as tender as the sunset is brilliant. Only two paintings in the gallery do not suffer from the presence of these Blakelocks, a very rich wood interior by Wyant and a delicate hillside by Twachtman.
In the adjoining room are paintings by foreign artists. The comparison with our native work is in a way forced upon the visitor. Wyant, Twachtman, Blakelock hold their own beside Sisley and Pissaro and surpass the other foreign masters.
AT Scott & Fowles there is an exhibition of drawings, the work of a group of English artists, and I fear that it would be most difficult for us to get up an exhibition of drawings by any group of American artists which would have an equal interest. And yet we are constantly hearing it said that the English have no art worth the having. I wonder what the youngest Britishers are doing. Interesting as the show is, it is not rich in new men. The bulk of the drawings are by men who were winning their spurs in the shows of the New England
