truth has taken shape to the sense of sight in form and color; they loved their ideal incarnate in definite outline, made visible in color. Northern races love the mysterious and unseen; its art appeals to the subtler sense of hearing, in music and poetry, and feels the inadequacy of form and color to realize its ideals. So Dürer, and the art of the middle ages in general, had recourse to symbolism, where their command of other resources of art seemed insufficient to carry the weight of the truths they wished to teach, and it lost itself in fantastic riddles, to which we no longer possess the key.

In recent times religion has become more or less academic or conventional, and has lost its hold on the popular sympathy in proportion. A painter who nowadays attempts a "Head of Christ" has, therefore, a twofold difficulty to overcome in the first place, the natural obstacle of his own modern consciousness, which prevents the satisfactory realization of his ideal Christ in the form of painting; and, in the second place, the want of comprehension which he will naturally meet in a public which does not care for his subject in pictures. For good or for evil, we are a critical generation; we know more than the fervid folk who accepted their saints in the costume with which they were familiar without a question as to anachronism or inaccuracy, or, indeed, any suspicion that there was a necessity for historical truth in the dress of a martyr. We do not seem to have that old simplicity and reverence which accepts the thing for the thing signified-not because the age is less reverent, but, probably, because it is less naïve. An artist of our time, then, must be accurate as well as devotional. When due deference has been paid to our knowledge of facts, and our demand for historical truth in the "accessories" has been scrupulously complied with, still it must be confessed that we respond with a somewhat cold approval to the best that we get in modern religious art.

This long preface was suggested on having been invited to

see a Head of Christ, by Mr. Marshall, a New York artist. It was with a negative, critical, nineteenth-century spirit that we stood before it. Fortunately our questions, spoken and unspoken, were answered by Mr. Marshall himself, whose interesting conversation about his picture it is a pleasure to recall. It is safe to say that no one ever found his ideal satisfied in any of the Christ heads of old masters, but, instead of enjoying them as beautiful but inadequate conceptions, embodying partial phases of his character, Mr. Marshall's protest has gone farther, and he has undertaken to put in the human form what he thinks Christ represents to humanity. Mr. Marshall's previous work has well prepared him for the task. As an engraver and painter he is well acquainted with the means and resources of his art; his portraits of Washington and Lincoln are well known as master-pieces of the kind of portraiture which interprets character, while faithfully rendering the physical facts of feature and expression. We have no authentic portrait of Christ, so that the artist is free on that side to make the physical facts express the ideal character, in the faith that "of the soul the body form doth take, for soul is form and doth the body make." Mr. Marshall said: “I have been thinking and working on this picture for five years. I always thought that the old masters gave too much prominence to one view of the character of Christ. They represent him, almost invariably, as meek and lowly, the 'good shepherd,' full of gentleness and love; the man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. These," he said, " are true, but by no means all, of the phases of his life. There should be strength as well as humility in the face took upon himself the sins of the world.' considering him merely as a great historical personage, a great reformer, he must have been a hero as well as a saint; in short, he must have been as strong and wise as he was good."

of one who And then,

The picture, as we saw it, was hung alone in a large hall,

surrounded by dark-crimson hangings, which concentrated the light. The first impression is certainly a strong one; we are startled out of our moderate expectations by the first sense of greatness and power which it gives us. The picture is of heroic size, drawn in black crayon, a Jupiter-like head set on the most regal shoulders. The look of pride and energy is altogether at variance with our conventionalized ideas. The face is Jewish, or at least Oriental, in type; around the shoulders is draped a mantle, which, Mr. Marshall tells us, is a genuine Bedouin mantle, such as were worn at the time He lived. This little bit of "historical accuracy" is in harmony with the whole picture, and neither attracts nor disturbs our attention. The arrangement of the hair and beard is beautiful, without suggesting the fashion of any time or place; the beard shades and strengthens the face, without concealing any feature. The face expresses a pride so unimpeachable, and the whole figure suggests strength so unassailable, that we might, perhaps, miss the gentler qualities were it not for the tenderness of the mouth and eyes. This combination has rarely been attempted—it is certainly a triumph to have suggested it—and Mr. Marshall's realization is a completer Man and a more human God than any we have seen. With the admission that any such attempt must, from its nature, fail because it touches on the very limits of art, we gladly record the opinion of so many thoughtful men and skillful artists that this new Head of Christ is a great work, both in conception and in finish. The artist is already at work engraving it, and also expects to reproduce it in color. The photographs-cabinet size-are probably ready for sale, and give an excellent idea of the picture, which, being in black and white, loses little in the photograph.

E. S. MORGAN.

TRANSLATIONS.

BY FREDERIC R. MARVIN.

I.

AD MINISTRUM.

FROM THE LATIN OF HORACE, LIBER I, ODE 38.

The Persian garlands please me not,

Nor chaplets tied with linden-rind;
Then ask no more where dwells the rose,
In wreaths around the head to bind.
Add naught to simple myrtle leaves,
Nor roses in the hair entwine;
The myrtle crown becomes thee well,
And suits me, quaffing 'neath the vine.

II.

TO A MAIDEN.

ALTERED FROM THE GREEK OF ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS.

Thou holdest still thy virgin flower

So close it hath no light of love,
As though against it men were leagued,
And all the heavenly powers above:
But know that tender flower shall fade,
And, on the sad and lonely shore

Where break the silent waves of death,
We shall be dust, and love no more.

III.
TRUTH.

FROM THE GREEK OF SAPPHO.

There Danger dwells where dwells not Truth;
Nor gold, nor gems, nor rosy youth
Shall friendly be, when she hath fled;
The soul that knows her not is dead.

In the spring of 1865 I attended a series of rehearsals of the St. Louis Philharmonic Society, then under the conductorship of the distinguished leader and composer, Sobolewski.

The programme was, as usual, made up of a number of choice selections, but it had one complete work of artMendelssohn's "Lobgesang," or Hymn of Praise. In general, we are told that an entire work is "too heavy" for the audience.

"If you've a piece, why just in pieces give it;
A hash, a stew, will bring success-believe it!
What use a Whole compactly to present?

Your hearers pick and pluck as soon as they receive it!"