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this picture, of which there is a duplicate, with our faith. The central figure, which from the hopelessness of it, as well as must represent our Lord, is seated; around, from its want of colour, one of the most and behind His person, wings appear to depressing that he ever painted. Of be folded, their colour is dusky; the face course one might regard it in another is set and firm, with wide-open eyes. One light : the wheel of fortune is sometimes feels that this is not meant as a representused as a decorative symbol in Christian ation, but more as a symbol of the Divine architecture; it is so in the western front Being. So also is it with the angels, who of the noble church of San Zeno, at stand ranged on either side of Him. They Verona, and there, it would signify the are tall and majestic figures, standing at uncertainty of human prosperity, but as intervals, with glorious wings, and I think it consists there as part of a Christian spears in their hands; they suggest divine building, one feels there is a higher power calm and dignity. To these sentinel-lookbehind it, which can, and does, over-rule ing figures a sense of movement and the turns of fortune. But in the picture life is given by a blue and rushing river the tall, immobile figure of the woman, circling the base of the dome at their with her set, sad face, and powerful arms, feet. The waters of this River of Life suggest a fixed and relentless destiny. flow in a splendid wave-like motion,

In all of this artist's works, one feels full and abundant, and free. I question there is an inner thought lying, the pres- if ever in early mosaic work there is to ence of this thought is part of the interest be found such a “River of God, full of of the work, it adds to it even to those water.” It is a pity that there is not who have not recognised it. It has been more of this kind of mosaic work to often said that all art is symbolic, it is be seen in our churches ; when it is seen, highly so with this artist. His genius it is generally of a very petty and indifdoes not drive him out into the open air, ferent kind, the range of our symbolic art to paint the broad smile of Nature, he being of the narrowest, and poorest kind. paints and thinks in his studio, visited Indeed, in Rome I was surprised to see there by his conceptions ; he is exquisitely how Italian artists when left to themselves true to Nature when it comes in his way could degrade this beautiful means of to paint her myriad forms, but Nature decoration. In the church of San Lorenzo, alone is not the inspirer of his pencil, where the late pope lies buried, the walls for he is not the painter of facts just as of the chapel in which his tomb stands, they were and are, but of myth and are inlaid with precious mosaics ; but legend, as he sees them in his imagina- there is nothing but the costliness and tion, in the world of creative thought. bright newness of the material used to

But there is one form of his art I have commend it to our taste. The design not as yet even touched on. Those who consists of the arms of the various bishophave been to Rome or Ravenna, cannot rics of the church, and below these is fail to be struck by the very old mosaics the likeness of a pale blue hangingwhich adorn the tribunes and other parts the folds, and inequalities and fringes of of the churches there ; much is gone, but which, are represented with the usual enough is left to give one a fair knowledge vacant skill of the modern Italian deof the fitness and beauty of this form of signer. decoration for churches. The question of There are many other mosaics executed wall-decoration has been solved in Italy by this artist, as well as a number of as it has been solved in no other country ; beautiful stained-glass windows, rich in these mosaics seem in their simple grand colour, and full of the same mystic charm eur to express the simplicity and eternity of and poetic feeling which we know and the Christian religion. The design executed love so well in his pictures. for the American Church at Rome has I am sure my readers have found out by those stern and rigid lines which form so this time that I have given a most emphatic essential a part of mosaic ; and the figures affirmative to the question—so often asked are quite as impressive as any that ancient -"Is Burne-Jones amongst the great art has given us. They stand around, painters?" and that I not only place him and in the dome of the apse, they attract amongst the great painters, but claim for and arrest the eye, and speak of that im- him a permanent place amongst the mortality which one loves to associate greatest of English painters.

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a life-size figure of St. Paul, richly

apparelled in a coat of blue, red, and CLOUDLESS, sun- yellow paint, with gilt sandals and a shiny, hot winter day. gilt halo, smiled in wooden benevolence Not at the Antipodes from the recess of a gaudy shrine, and either, nor in a corner gave its name of San Paolo to the station of the earth far distant of the railway, which gleamed, in two beyond our isles, but long streaks of steel, twenty yards or so in Europe, within a behind the line of the eucalyptuses. A thirty hours' journey well-kept road led from San Paolo to

of London, on the Andoletto, now between the grey stone northern shore of the blue Mediterranean, walls of vast olive orchards, then skirting in that God-favoured paradise, the Italian fields, dotted all over with fruit trees, Riviera.

where vines trailed from tree to tree, The sea looked like a sheet of bluish here and there passing the beautifully cinquecento glass. Scarcely a ripple scrolled mediæval iron gates of gentledanced on its surface. The limpid waters men's residences, where the wayfarer took their colour from the unflecked deep obtained a glimpse of the wealth of foliage blue of the sky, and through them the and glory of blossom that revelled within, rocks and boulders at the bottom shone until it reached the hillside, where it like blocks of topaz and amethyst. The climbed slowly, and in the lazy fashion of waves slowly churned themselves into an the country folk, by easy, zig-zag stages opal foam, of barely a handsbreadth, up to the village itself. against the pebbly shore.

Further out,

Andoletto consisted of steep, all was still and placid. The sea seemed to winding street, whence various little have caught the spirit of the folk who in- turnings dashed out mountainwards, to habited its shores, and to be as lazy as they end, each and every one of them, not

About fifty or sixty yards from the tide many yards away, some at the entrances line, a row of tall red-leaved eucalyptus of olive orchards, others at the arched trees sheltered a score of white-washed gates of houses nestling against the hilland green-blinded houses against the side. Who built Andoletto, and when it glare of the sun. They were the outposts was built, no man might know. The of the thriving little village, Andoletto, houses looked as if they had been conthat lay snugly hidden amid the olive structed at all sorts of periods and in all trees, and the locust trees, and the fig sorts of fashions, and had been tumbled trees, and the palms on the hillside, pell-mell against that spur of the Mariabout a mile and a half from the shore. time Alps. That big, grey stone building On the land side of the group of houses, with the legend “Hôtel d'Angleterre

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over its vast portals, with its iron-barred were laughing, shouting, all were pelting windows on the lower floors in such one another with confetti, till the roadway curious contrast with the flaring green was covered an inch deep with the grey blinds of the upper stories, with its particles. For was it not Shrove Tuesquaintly carved stone copings and its day? Was it not the last day of the little marble fountain in the wall, was Carnival ? And would not Lent come surely built in the proudest days of the to-morrow with its sackcloth and ashes Holy Roman Empire. Everything about and its penances ? Not a farm labourer it was solid and heavy, and yet the there who had not saved up throughout artistic hand of its fashioner was every- the year for that one day. And on that one where traceable. Right next to this relic day they all mingled with one anotherof mediæval architecture stood a wine- neither high nor low then. King Carnival shop brightly distempered in a salmony had levelled all distinctions, and reigned pink, and spick and span in its newness of supreme in his merry-making. construction and ornamentation. Along- Nearly at the top of the long, winding side of it, another, though crumbling with village street, one side of the road was age, bore the unmistakable traces of skirted by what might have seemed a the Italian Renaissance period. Then wall nearly twenty feet high, but what came others, ornamented with imitations actually was the side of the mountain, of Etruscan frescoes and smothered with cut out of the solid rock supported by climbing roses. Then hovels, simply masonry, and overgrown by a sheet of masses of stones mortared together, with ivy and other creepers Nigh on a score a door here and a glassless window there, feet above the roadway behind this the roofs broken and badly mended, so sheltering barrier, ran a wild garden in that one might have wondered how they all its beauty of early blossom and rich came to own a place among their gaudy foliage. Giant geraniums, laden with neighbours. And so on-here and there bunches upon bunches of crimson flowers, a high wall breaking the line of houses, marguerite bushes, standing as high as a richly adorned with the green of trailing tall man, carpets of dainty violets, roses creepers, and edged on the top with the white, and roses red, roses pink and warm colours of the blossoming cactus roses yellow by the myriads, all wrestled and myriads of roses. And between with one another in beautiful confusion. them all, and overshadowing them all, Nature had been bounteous indeed. A the dark verdure of the broad-leaved fig winter paradise, such as many an artist trees and the mellower and paler colour dreams of, but not often finds. of the gracefully sweeping palm branches, Some three score yards, at the back of the whole backed by the silvery green the wall, stood a straggling building, still mass of the olives which clothed the glowing here and there with the sheen of mountain side.

the marble which its original builders had That was Andoletto. It glowed in the lavished upon it, but fallen into dire decay. warm winter sunshine like a mass of rich, There was a horse-shoe flight of steps luscious, ripe fruit in its leafy basket of which might have been the glory of the hills. And on this Tuesday in February, palace, but it was broken, and with one 1887, it was gayer, brighter, gaudier, side smothered by a veil of greenery, it flightier, than its wont.

The air rang

looked like a portion of a ruined Greek with merry voices. Shouts of laughter shrine. The colonnaded front was and staves of song pealed everywhere. copied from an Ionian temple, and the In the street none but brightly-coloured green

blinds and striped awnings, garments. The dark-eyed, berry-brown although necessary to the dweilers in the faced lasses had abandoned their usual place, seemed sadly out of keeping with skirts of blue and their handkerchiefs of the architectural grandeur. red, and had donned bodices of velvet Two women were seated by the side of and skirts of silk. Not a peasant there the wall, which, though twenty feet above who did not boast a bunch of many- the roadway, was on the inside but three coloured ribbons and a silken sash of or four feet high. A young woman and various hues. Even doublet and hose an old one. The young woman might could be seen here and there, and the have been termed handsome, had not garb of ancient Piedmont. Monks with suffering blanched her face, and drawn out tonsure walked arm in arm with and angularised her once rounded features. flower girls who might have stepped out of The large eyes were dark, and glittered a picture by Paul Veronese. And all with a sickly lustre. The lips, though

full, were pale. Grief had written its looked plaintively at her husband's mother, mark upon

that woman's face, and who sat by her side knitting with unrufstamped out

out the glow and bloom of fled equanimity. youth. The elder woman had a quiet. Her hands fell listlessly by her sides at face, sharp and stern. She looked the last, and she heaved a long sigh. picture of a Puritan matron in her grey “I can't see Gerald,” she said. “The woollen gown, her black mittens, and her train must have been in more than an white cambric cap. A child was playing hour, and he is not here." on the greensward by their feet-a “Don't you trouble yourself, my dear,” ruddy, robust, healthy, dark-eyed, baby the old woman replied.

“ He'll come boy of three. Whatever privations had back soon enough. When he's lost every befallen the mother, the child had not penny, and hasn't a rap to stake at those suffered from them. He was a straight- cursed tables, he'll come back to try limbed, chubby little fellow crowing with to see if there is anything left that he delight as he plucked daisies from the can sell.” sward and violets from the border, and The young woman searched the crowd held them up in childish glee after each below with her eyes. successful raid upon the flowery prey.

“I wish he would come back," she The women were looking down into the

cried in an agony.

“It's so terrible to street, and upon the throng of maskers leave me in such suspense. I wish we had and merrymakers, that flowed past them never left England. I wish we had never mountainward and then ebbed back again come here." towards the sea. They were all pelting “Right, my child," replied the elder one another with the confetti, but some- woman. “I heartily say · Amen'to that. thing stayed their hands when they looked If we had never left England you and he up at those two faces, and not a grey would not have come to this. I don't mind pellet reached the two women on the top. it for myself, because I am an old woman,

"The English lady," the dark-eyed lads and the little that I want I am sure to whispered to their sweethearts, “the kind get, but you—you were accustomed to English lady.” She seemed to be so far plenty, and you're often hungry. You removed from their revelry that they left were accustomed to luxury, and you've her at peace as one not understanding to scheme and to make shift to find food their ways nor their habits. And well for your child. And all through that they might, for while money was still villain of a boy of mine.” plentiful, before the awful time had come “ Don't call him harsh names, mother,” when Gerald Theyme had taken to gam- said the younger woman. “ He'll see his bling and to drinking-to Ainging his folly some day, and then we shall be patrimony and his earnings into that happy again.” insatiable gulf at Monte Carlo—Linda See his folly !” sneered Mrs. Theyme. Theyme had been a very Lady Bountiful “Never while he's here. There's a curse in that Italian village. No poor woman on the land.

There's a

curse on the had suffered there without Linda Theyme's people—a lewd people-a lot of Sabbathpractical sympathy and help. No child breakers and worshippers of images, was hungry but had had his wants the women shameless in their gaudery, relieved by Linda Theyme. Old men and the men a lot of foreign Papists that nigh their death had blessed her, and can't even understand an honest Englishyoung women on their youthful sick woman when she speaks to them. I've couches had found her a tender and gentle no patience with them. There'll be a nurse.

Therefore, they all looked up at judgment come over them for this unthe pale face of the English lady, the face godly fooling, you take my word for it.” upon which suffering and distress were so I can't blame them,” rejoined Linda. plainly writ, and they whispered to one “Life is so short, and we're so often unanother words of sympathy and passed happy. They're poor enough, God on, to be merry and glad, though before knows, and after all, it's better that they these two English women they seemed should spend their money in a little nigh ashamed to show it.

innocent fooling than to fling it away as Linda cast anxious glances along that poor

Gerald does." roadway and scanned the sea of faces “It's Satan and his works both ways,” with burning eyes. The needle-work the old woman burst out; “gambling upon which she was engaged dropped and masquerading, both godless,--one as from time to time upon her lap, and she sinful as the other, though the one is

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