executive power, but of the collective judgment of a living school of Art. There is no genius of which the nation is proud that would be waste material, or might not take its share in such an enterprise. The pencil of Leighton would not be too refined, nor that of Watts too serious, nor that of Millais too robust. Landscape— the glory of English Art--would find its place, as we have seen in the picture of "The Téméraire.” Even the sculptor need not stand idly by, for the sequence of glowing canvasses might well be varied by a group or a bas-relief in bronze or marble. The selected subject, and the name of the artist chosen, might be announced annually with the opening of the Exhibitions of the year, and the artist should be allowed one year in which to produce the cartoon or study of his picture. At the next Academy this cartoon should be exhibited, to bear the criticisms of the people. Few errors of historical importance would escape such an ordeal. Then the work should be completed by the artist, under no control save the influence those criticisms may have wrought upon his mind. There would be no risk of failure in such an enterprize. The events will come— the Nation may be trusted for that. The men will come-some are with us even now ready to begin the work. This would indeed be Historic Art :-the true

marriage of Art with History.

And think what would

be the issue-in ten years, in fifty years, in a century!

We look with wistful eyes into the future, and what do we see? Unless the future altogether belie the past, we see such scenes as these :

The hospital at Scutari-the sick and wounded of our soldiers on their pain-stricken beds, and then

"Lo! in this house of misery

A lady with a lamp we see

Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow as it falls

Upon the darkening walls."

It is "Santa Filomena." It is Florence Nightingale— herself not an imaginary suggestion of what she might have been, but she herself—

"As if a door in heaven should be
Opened, and then closed suddenly."

And then we see the interior of a class-room in London, with a few grave men and thoughtful women, and the pale faces of many children-large-eyed, wondering children-who shall grow up to see themselves in this picture, and to know that they were painted there because the opening of the first Board School was a revolution-a revolution mightier in its results and

more far-reaching than any that has yet been chronicled in England. And then we see the Senate House at Cambridge, and the first "girl-graduate" receiving her degree, that shall acknowledge her to be as wise as Merlin himself, and leave her still as beautiful as Vivien.

We look for scenes like these, because, although the past returns no more, yet the future shall be like it. Do we look for them in vain? That is a question that can only be answered by a nation.

III.

THE WORLD, the fleSH, & THE DEVIL.

NDER the influence of strong religious feeling

UNDI

a man determines to devote a portion of his wealth to sacred uses. The church-that is the building in which he worships—is magnificent in the extreme; it is itself a memorial of the piety and munificence of men who have felt as he feels, given as he is disposed to give, and now sleep quietly beneath its marble floor, or in high pomp within its stately mausoleums. But what shall his gift be? He has fought such a hard fight with evil-against temptations from without, temptations from within, assaults of the wicked one—and yet, by the grace of God, his feet are still within the precints of the temple. He dare not approach the sanctuary to lay his gift upon the altar. Only at the door will he stand, and with humility and gratitude will place there a font, asking for himself no higher a position in the church than that of the little children. And the font shall bear the marks of his life,

carved upon it in this fashion:-facing the sanctuary the figure of himself-behind him, the World, the Flesh, and the Devil.

The gift is tendered and accepted. The architect is consulted, and the design approved. It only remains for the sculptor to carry out the work. The sculptor is not a Flaxman or a Canova; but he carved the corbels in the choir, and the gargoyles above the windows; and the result is awaited with interest and satisfaction. The result is interesting-but whether it is satisfactory is another question. It may be seen, however, any day in Stafford Church, and I have made a sketch of it here.

The figure in the margin is one of three designed to represent the World, the Flesh, and the Devil-which of the three I will not pretend to determine. It is clearly intended for the figure of a woman. But as the companion figures are also women, that appears to be only a matter of ecclesiastical detail. It may be noted, however, that "tentatio" is a noun feminine.

But the pious founder-was he satisfied? If he lived to see the work completed, might he not have felt at least a misgiving as to whether his intention had been quite realised? Was that the World which had been so hard to overcome? Was that the Flesh that

had allured him? Was that-

It is too late now to ask these questions; we must