blowing the bellows of the organ.

In

the foreground are flowers; in the background a group of houses or a castle court, and the frame which cuts off the sky; thought is not lost in the heavenly blue; heaven is here in the girl's eyes. No story, nothing to be guessed, but everything to be felt. The story here is the life of two hearts and a little air stirred by the waves of sound. The interest, according to Ruskin's precept, lies in the life of these beings, and not in what is going to happen to them. There is no movement -except in the gesture of Love the blower, a gentle motion, continuous and easy as in a dream. It is the form of the human body that is of interest here, not its contortion. The drawing of the knight and of the lady is wonderfully pure. The attitudes of the three figures, which are sufficiently different to complete each other, and sufficiently similar to be in

unison, tend to that classical and Latin synthesis which may be despised in theory, but to which all fine works are found to revert when they are examined. The pyramid is replaced on its base. From whatever side it is regarded, the lines attract the eye to the centre, and raise it to the face of the immortal musician, to her parted lips, to the inaudible melody which fills the air, like the invisible bell in Millet's 'Angelus,' to the harmony which is felt in all the forms and details of this vision, to the Song of Love."

Sir Edward Burne-Jones was perhaps the flower of the Preraphaelite brotherhood, the leader to whom all the later followers of that school turned. His pictures have always the charm of an apparent spontaneity, and impress one as the out-breathing of sweet thoughts on canvas. This effect is one proof that nothing good in art is even

accidental; that genius means eternal patience.

In the famous painting of "Paris and Helen," in the Louvre, painted by Jacques Louis David, and here reproduced, we have retold to us the story of the love of the Trojan prince for the fair Helen, for whom, as Homer tells us, the Greeks waged war on Troy.

This classical subject, in the hands of David, has been rendered with great charm. The modelling of the two figures is as vividly portrayed as though done in marble by Canova or Thorwaldsen.

The flesh tones, however, are cold and less lifelike, but typical of this artist's work. The lovers are represented in a hall of the palace, where Paris sits near a bed in front of a Roman wall, over which a rich drapery is thrown. Above the wall is shown part of an entablature, supported by caryatides.

Paris, still holding the lyre he has been playing, turns his face to Helen, affectionately grasping her arm as he speaks a word of love in her ear. With a downcast glance on her lovely face, Helen leans fondly over his shoulder. She wears a drapery of white gauze under a crimson outer robe. A narrow band of white ribbon confines her hair. Paris wears a Phrygian cap.

The painting was first exhibited in the salon of 1789, and was painted for the Comte d'Artois, who became Charles X. A replica of this painting was made by David, the year of its exhibition, for the Princess Lubomirska.

Through David, French art was restored to its true dignity. He lived in Paris, and for twenty-five years his influence was supreme.

In the eighth panel of Andrea Mantegna's great painting "The Triumphal