unless it is accompanied by certain fragile signs of its existence,
such as water-colour drawing, or a tendency to strum on a piano.
But, as a matter of fact, the possession of an artistic
temperament, without the power of expression, is one of the
commonest causes of unhappiness in the world. Who does not know
those ill-regulated, fastidious people, who have a strong sense of
their own significance and position, a sense which is not justified
by any particular performance, who are contemptuous of others,
critical, hard to satisfy, who have a general sense of
disappointment and dreariness, a craving for recognition, and a
feeling that they are not appreciated at their true worth? To such
people, sensitive, ineffective, proud, every circumstance of life
gives food for discontent. They have vague perceptions which they
cannot translate into words or symbols. They find their work
humdrum and unexciting, their relations with others tiresome; they
think that under different circumstances and in other surroundings
they might have played a braver part; they never realize that the
root of their unhappiness lies in themselves; and, perhaps, it is
merciful that they do not, for the fact that they can accumulate
blame upon the conditions imposed on them by fate is the only thing
that saves them from irreclaimable depression.

Sometimes, again, the temperament exists with a certain power of
expression, but without sufficient perseverance or hard technical
merit to produce artistic successes; and thus we get the amateur.
Sometimes it is the other way, and the technical power of
production is developed beyond the inner perceptiveness; and this
produces a species of dull soulless art, and the role of the
professional artist. Very rarely one sees the outward and the
inward combined, but then we get the humble, hopeful artist who