The Quiver, 2/ 1900. Various

      With truth and beauty as the objects of his art, the painter, whatever be the subject he is endeavouring to depict, becomes a guide and helpmeet to his fellow-men. His art is "twice blessed," blessing "him that gives and him that takes." The contemplation of a beautiful and pure work of art acts as a charm upon the mind oppressed with care and trouble. A landscape on canvas, reflecting the sunshine of the countryside, suggesting its freedom of atmosphere, its "fair quiet and sweet rest," when seen in the midst of the toil and grime of a great city, is a sedative to the jaded nerves of the busy worker; it reminds him of the glories of nature which lie outside the boundaries of the man-made wilderness of houses, and brings him for the moment into close commune with Nature herself. A glimpse of blue sea, of clear running stream, or some sweet pastoral scene, carries with it a breath of fresh air, invigorating and refreshing, to those who gaze upon its brightness through the murky atmosphere of the city streets.

      The painter, indeed, has a power which competes closely with the eloquence of the preacher, or the soothing rhythm of the poet; it raises the man who approaches his work with a receptive heart from his own petty self, enlarges his sympathies and his hopes, calms his troubles, and sends him back refreshed and invigorated to his struggle with the cares and troubles of his daily life.

      A great picture is not so much one that displays the technical skill of the painter as his power to appeal to the emotions of those who look at it. Truth is at all times simple, and he who would expound it, either in sermon, poem, or picture, must do so in language which can be readily understood of the people. This does not make his task any the lighter, for any straining after effects of simplicity betrays his own lack of truth; simplicity must be spontaneous—from the heart.

      Judging a picture, then, by this standard of simplicity and truth, we look first of all for these qualities; we look to see if the artist is sincere in his representation of the scene he presents to us. If we find this to be so, then we receive the work as a contribution to the truth we are seeking. Some painters force us to recognise their skill as colourists, as draughtsmen, as archæologists—they have insisted upon their accuracy in these respects, but oftentimes at the sacrifice of all spirituality; their pictures are representations of costume, of architecture—what you will—but the true spirit of art is lacking; they are merely skilfully painted canvases.

      In no direction is this more apparent than in pictures dealing with religious subjects. In such works we especially want to feel immediately we look at them, "Here is an honest effort to realise the true spirit of the subject: here is something which is helpful, inspiring, good." We do not want to be forced to admire the accessories before we realise this; that should follow in due course, and will, if the picture has been designed and executed in the right spirit. As in a spoken sermon we fail to grasp the teaching as we should if we see the framework upon which the preacher has built up the fabric of his oration, so in a pictorial sermon we lose the good that is in it if we are impressed first of all with the details of technique or composition. The appeal to the heart should come first—that to the head should be secondary.

      (By permission of the Artist. Copyright reserved.)

      "AND THERE WAS A GREAT CRY IN EGYPT."

      (By Arthur Hacker, A.R.A.)

      The helpfulness and interest of Biblical pictures to young and old is acknowledged by all. The pictorial Bible is a never-ending source of delight, and its influence is extraordinary in its extent and power. Our ideas of Scriptural scenes and incidents have often been formed more by the illustrations than by the Biblical narrative itself, and we have often been almost pained in after-life on seeing the attempts of other artists to depict scenes which differ materially from those for which we acquired a fondness in our early days, although we recognise the fact then that many of these favourite pictures are in no wise worthy of their subjects. After all, pictorial Bibles are, as a rule, unsatisfactory. More's the pity! The range of subjects is so vast, and the artists employed have seldom succeeded in impressing their representations with any degree of the dignity attaching to them. Even the versatile genius of Gustavo Doré could not respond successfully to the gigantic work, although of the few artists who have grappled with it, he creates the greatest amount of interest.

      (From the Fresco in the House of Lords.)

      MOSES' DESCENT FROM SINAI.

      (By J. R. Herbert, R.A.)

      An interesting volume has recently been published in which are gathered together pictures, by modern artists of varied nationality, which illustrate the Bible story from Genesis to Revelation, and which affords an excellent opportunity of studying the manner in which Biblical subjects have impressed artists of different countries and temperaments.[1] Each has chosen to illustrate the portion of Scripture which appealed to his own particular inclination, and the result is a collection of pictures which cannot fail to interest all who examine it. There are reproductions of the vast conceptions of John Martin, which so impressed his contemporaries—"Belshazzar's Feast," "The Fall of Babylon," and "The Fall of Nineveh"—with their hundreds of figures struggling, writhing, fighting, and dying amid the gorgeous palaces and the buildings of those wonderful cities

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