"The Poet Painter."

Jean Baptiste Camille Corot (1796-1875) was one of the world's great poets, only he painted his sweet visions instead of penning them. He is not celebrated as a colorist--browns, pale-greens, and silvery grays with a touch of purple, are his colors. Faithful in outline, but not in detail, he has been called an Impressionist. But what matter if it cannot be told by the shape of the leaves whether they are ash or oak or sycamore, they are trees that clothe themselves by that mysterious power of inner life; so he paints his trees and envelopes them in mist.

For many years Corot was unappreciated; his pictures hung in the salons but attracted no attention. One day, in despair, he said to himself: "Men are like flies; where one alights others will follow." He took his stand before his picture. Some one, seeing him absorbed, came up and stood beside him, and asked what he saw in that picture to interest him so much. This was his opportunity. He laid bare the soul of the artist, he opened the inner eyes of the beholders, and from that day he became famous. His picture sold for 700 francs, and later for 1200.

No one attempts to imitate Corot, for every one realizes that his success lies not in method or trick of brush; it is the inner man that has painted Corot's pictures and made them what they are. He was awarded great honors, twice decorated Chevalier, and then made Commander of the Legion of Honor. His last works were signed on his death-bed, and his last words were: "O how beautiful; I have never seen such lovely landscapes."

Jarves, in his "Art Thoughts," says: "Corot's paintings challenge no carping criticism. They fall upon the eye as a distant melody upon the ear. They are not mere transcripts of scenery, but pictures of the mind. Twilight charms him greatly, always silvery-toned and bordering on the shadowy boundary that separates the visible from the invisible, and suggesting the inscrutable. His consummate success lies in his management of light; with him it is genius. Water, which he loves next to light, glimmers and sparkles under its rays; shadows and reflections are alive with it. Everywhere light penetrates, without a reminder of brush or pigment."