we had been talking about the masters who had achieved but a single masterpiece—the artists and poets who but once in their lives had known the divine afflatus and touched the high level of perfection. Our host had been showing us a charming little cabinet picture by a painter whose name we had never heard , and who, after this single spasmodic bid for fame, had apparently relapsed into obscurity and mediocrity. There was some discussion as to the frequency of this phenomenon; during which, I observed, H-sat silent finishing his cigar with a meditative air, and looking at the picture which was being handed round the table. “I don’t know how common a case it is”, he said at last, “but I have seen it, I have known a poor fellow who painted his one masterpiece, and”…..