who was not then twenty years old, and I well remember the glow of pride on Mr. Claghorn's handsome face as he showed me certain etchings representing street scenes in Philadelphia, and his remark, "This is original work by one of our own boys; now what do you say to that!" These first essays of the "'prentice hand" were little more than the prophecy of what the master hand was to do later, and yet they were full of good augury. Some of the essential qualities were already manifest - such as the unerring eye for the picturesque, and also that instinct for good drawing which we may compare to the delicate natural ear for music which renders it almost impossible for its happy possessor to sing a note out of tune. In both cases competent instructors can- and indeed must develop and educate the gift which is inborn in a true artist, but if this gift is not there, the teachers can never create it. In the vital quality of appropriateness as contrasted with irrelevancy, Mr. Pennell's illustrations are certainly unsurpassed; and it would be as difficult to find among them a picture which does not materially aid the text as it would be to find one which, in itself, is not a veritable work of art. But besides his acknowledged power as a draughtsman for illustration, his technical knowledge of reproductive processes gives him a distinct advantage over most of his confrères, so that his drawing is pretty sure to "print" well in the page of a magazine or a book, because he knows so well how to make his picture with that particular end in view. Another rare endowment is his peculiar faculty for giving to each one of his pictures its own true local aspect, so that there is no mistaking an American for an English scene or a Spanish for an Italian view. Very few artists possess this faculty of discarding their own particular national point of view and of absorbing the changed character of different foreign countries-no two of which are alike. The opposite condition is strongly felt in the case of the portraits of Americans whom we know, and which are painted here by visiting foreign artists of considerable reputation; such pictures may display all the brilliant cleverness of the modern French school, and may even be good as likenesses, yet we are sure to suffer from the "Frenchy" flavor which the foreign artist has unconsciously superadded. But all this while we are leaving Joseph Pennell as a promising young art student in peaceful Philadelphia, whereas his fame was to be won a thousand leagues from his native city. We must follow him to Europe, whither he went in the year 1884; but, if we let him go there alone, this chronicle would be so incomplete as to be quite worthless. Another good Philadelphian must go with him, so inseparable for the last twenty years is the work of the two, although the one never does the particular work of the other. I well remember hearing that man of genius, Henry Ward Beecher, say in a sermon, "When |