received the explanation with interest, but in silence. The picture represented a dying girl to whom her lover has been playing his lute, until, dropping it, he seemed to be telling her with impassioned words that his love is stronger than death, and that, in spite of the grave and separation, he will love her forever. I was standing outside the Exhibition in the half-darkness, when two girls, hatless, with one shawl between them thrown round both their shoulders, came out. They might not be living the worst life; but, if not, they were low down enough to be familiar with it and to see in that the relation between man and woman. The idea of love lasting beyond this life, making eternity real, a spiritual bond between man and woman, had not occurred to them until the picture with the simple story was shown them. "Real beautiful, ain't it all?" said one. "Ay, fine, but that Forever,' I did take on with that," was the answer. Could anything be more touching? What work is there nobler than that of the artist who, by his art, shows the degraded the lesson that Christ Himself lived to teach?

The landscapes were, perhaps, the pictures least cared for; and this is not to be wondered at, considering how little the poorer denizens of our large towns can know of the country, or of nature's varied and peculiar garbs, that artists delight to illustrate. "How far is it to that place?" was eagerly asked before a picture of Venice, by Mr. R. M. Chevalier, a picture of which the description told how the Grand Canal was the "Whitechapel Road" of Venice, and further explained the relationship of gondolas to omnibuses and cabs-a relationship not seen at first sight by the untravelled world. "Would it cost much money to go and see that?" was often provoked by such pictures as Elijah Walton's picture of "Crevasses in the Mer de Glace," kindly lent by Mr. H. Evill, or Mr. Croft's "Matterhorn," lent by Mr. T. L. Devitt and described: "A peak in the Alps too steep for snow, and until lately too steep for mountaineers. Chains have now been placed at the most difficult places, and several English ladies have reached the top. The artist shows the loneliness of greatness :

"The solemn peaks but to the stars are known,

But to the stars, and the cold lunar beams;
Alone the sun rises, and alone

Spring the great streams.-MATTHEW ARNOLD.'"

With the knowledge of the indifference, because of the unhelped, and inevitable, ignorance of the town poor in respect to landscape art, special pains were taken with the descriptions, endeavours being made to connect the landscape with some idea with which they were already familiar, or to inject into it some moral association which would attract notice to its qualities; for instance, Mr. John Brett's "Philory, King of the Cliffs," was brought nearer to the spectators by the suggestion that "the coast of England was, like its people, cool and strong, and not to be hurt by a storm;" and Mr. W. Luker's picture of " Burnham Beeches," lent by Mr. S. Winkworth, gained in interest because the catalogue said it was A

Forest near Slough, about eighteen miles from London, bought by the City of London, and made the property of the people."

Mr. W. S. Wyllie's "Antwerp," a grey, flat picture, had its idea partly embodied in "Sea and land seemed to end in the cathedral spire;' while the familiar proverb, "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good," drew attention to Mr. W. C. Nakken's "Harvesting in Holland;" and the suggestion that "the horses are enjoying the wind which is blowing up the rain, the farmer's enemy in harvest," showed the standpoint from which the picture could be looked at.

Not that the catalogue was intended to contain exhaustive explanations of the pictures, but only indications of the lines along which the people could make their own discoveries. Full, however, as some of the descriptions were, they were not full enough to prevent misconceptions. A little copy of Tintoretto, lent by Mr. E. Bale, depicting the visit and embrace of the Virgin Mary and Elizabeth, simply entered in the catalogue as the "Meeting of Mary and Elizabeth," was mistaken for an interview between Mary Queen of Scots and Queen Elizabeth, and produced the reflection, "I suppose that was before they quarrelled, then " -a sign that historical had, in this instance, made more mark than religious instruction.

Information about Darwin, concerning whose work the catalogue was silent, was finally volunteered by one of a little group who pronounced him to be "the Monkey Man;" and another knew no more about Gladstone than that "he was the chap that followed Lord Beaconsfield."

"Lesbia," by Mr. J. Bertrand, explained as "A Roman girl musing over the loss of her pet bird," was commented on by, "Sorrow for her bird, is it? I was thinking it was drink that was in her' '—a grim indication of the opinion of the working classes of their "betters;" though another remark on the same picture," Well, I hope she will never have a worse trouble," showed a kindlier spirit and perhaps a sadder experience.

a

But the catalogue once studied, it was clung to with almost comical persistency. A picture by Jacob Maris, lent by Mr. J. S. Forbes, of Street in Amsterdam," was next in the catalogue, though not in the room, to one of Mr. F. F. Dicksee's of "Christ Walking on the Water." The Amsterdam picture was one in Maris's best style-a row of quaint, irregular houses, boats by the wharf, still, cold water from the midst of which a post protruded, catching the light. "No doubt a fine picture," commented a spectator, "but it requires a deal of imagination." "Why? I don't see that; it's plain enough; there are the ships, houses, wharf," explained a friendly neighbour. "Yes, I see all them; but it's the rest of it that wants the imagination." Further pause, and then, "Oh! I see; I've got the wrong number; I thought it was Christ walking on the water-that's what I was looking for."

The historical or domestic pictures, such as J. B. Burgess's" Presentation," the English ladies visiting the house of a Moor who is presenting

his children to them; or Edwin Long's "Question of Propriety," the priests watching the dancing-girl to decide if the dance was proper or not, perhaps attracted the most immediate attention, just in proportion as they told their own tale; but, aided by catalogue or talk, the pictures embodying the highest spiritual truths became the most popular.

The sentiment pervading J. F. Millet's "Angelus" which makes prayer-the communion with the "Besetting God"-at evening time, "Earth's natural vesper hour," seem right and fitting, was an unspoken sermon beyond their comprehension as art critics, but within their reach as men and women capable of communion with the highest. And, at present, when ordinary religious influences appear to make so sadly little impression, shall we not use such pictures also as stepping-stones towards the truer life, as idea inspirers?

Some amount of fine art is now lost to the world because the construction of most modern houses puts narrow limits to the size of pictures. "We are often unable to express our best ideas for want of room," I was told by a living artist whom this or any age would, I think, call great ; and another painter has had what he considers his finest picture left on his hands because it is too big for any drawing-room and most galleries.

Is there not a double work here, for the rich to do? Might they not, by buying such pictures, encourage the artists to paint their best thoughts, whatever size they require, thus making the world richer, enabling it to possess a little more of the knowledge gained by those who "hang on to the sunskirts of the Most High"? Might they not put them as gifts or loans on the walls of churches or hospitals, making bare walls speak great truths, not the less audible because of the murmur of the people's thanks, real, if unheard by the donors?

Pictures will not do everything. They will not save souls, for "it takes a life to save a life;" but shall such works be kept only for the amusement or passing interest of the rich? Shall not we, who care that the people should have life and fuller life, press them into the service of teaching? Words, mere words, fall flat on the ears of those whose imaginations are withered and dead; but art, in itself beautiful, in ideas rich, they cannot choose but understand, if it be brought within their reach.

Art may do much to keep alive a nation's waning higher life when other influences fail adequately to nourish it; and how shall we neglect it in these hard times of spiritual starvation? In Mrs. Browning's words:

"The artist keeps up open roads between the seen and the unseen. Art is the witness of what Is behind the show."

HENRIETTA O. BARNETT.