His eulogies of music and painting betrayed him continually though he did not know it.] "I was so fascinated by painting that I haunted the National Gallery, which Doyle had made perhaps the finest collection of its size in the world; and I longed for money to buy painting materials with.

This afterwards saved me from starving: it was as a critic of music and painting in the _World_ that I won through my ten years of journalism before I finished up with you on the _Saturday Review_.

I could make deaf stockbrokers read my two pages on music, the alleged joke being that I knew nothing about it.

The real joke was that I knew all about it.
"Now it was quite evident to me, as it was to Whistler and Beardsley, that Oscar knew no more about pictures[5] than anyone of his general culture and with his opportunities can pick up as he goes along.

He could be witty about Art, as I could be witty about engineering; but that is no use when you have to seize and hold the attention and interest of people who really love music and painting.