Linnell's pictures are a sort of "Up, Guards, and at 'em" paintings, and Mason's exquisite idylls are as national as a jingo poem. Mister Birket Foster's landscapes smile at one much in the same way that Mister Carker used to flash his teeth, and Mister John Collier gives his sitter a cheerful slap on the back before he says, like a shampooer in a Turkish bath, "Next man."