Art is Long, Life is Short.
"My dear ——,—It is so long since I have heard from you that I have concluded that you must be very flourishing in every way. No news being good news, and no news lasting for so long a time, you must have a quiver full of good things. How is ——? The woods of Dunham? The gaol of Knutsford?—the vale of Knutsford, I mean. A fortnight ago, when all the ability were leaving town, I returned from a six weeks' pleasant sojourn in Bucks, at Farnham Royal. I was hard at work all the time, for I have been very much occupied of late, you will be glad to hear, I know. In process of time, and if successful, I will tell you upon what. I wish I had had a severe training for my present profession. Eating my dinners, so to speak. I have now got a workshop, and I sometimes wish that I was a workman. Art is long: life isn't. Perhaps you are now careering round Schleswig or some other-where for a summer holiday. I shall probably go to France next month for a business and pleasure excursion. Let me hear from you about things in general or in particular—a line, a word will be welcome. I hope you are all well; and with kind regards remain
"Yours faithfully,
"R. C."
It is clear from the above letter that Caldecott was conscious of the great change that was coming in his work in 1874. The suggestions of his friends that he should draw continually from familiar objects, and the hints he received from time to time that he "could not draw a lady," are ludicrously illustrated in two sketches to a Manchester friend who watched the progress of the artist with lively interest.
"Drawing from Familiar Objects."
