leaf complexion and coral lips seem more fitted for an Eastern harem than for rocky Ithaca, and the sentiment involved is essentially modern. That is to say, no Greek would have considered the scene fit subject for art. It may be said, and very likely will be, that this does not profess to be a Greek picture, that you may ascribe it to any country you please; but what I want to insist on is that the artist, in everything he has ever painted, has made the chief object of Greek art his chief object—that is, "beauty"- and that with all his great powers of coloring and draughtsmanship—and in both his powers are exceptionally great-he has mistaken the way to attain his end; and the reason is evident. The Greek knew only of the beauty of perfect form and heroic endurance. Take, for instance, the Venus of Milo, and the Laocoon; into his admiration of that he could throw his whole soul. Suppose he had been doubtful whether perfect form was the most noble thing in the world. Suppose that the mass of the people among whom he lived certainly thought otherwise! Do you think he could have produced the work he did? Nobody will say for a moment that it is likely. Well, if that be the case, what chance is there for a modern artist, who seeks to rival the Greek on his own ground, while he feels-must inevitably feel that he is pretending all the time? The purely sensuous element of Greek art had, by the circumstances of the national life and religion, various refining elements inextricably mingled with it; perfection of form with the Greeks was a sign almost of godhead. So I come to this, that “beauty," of the Greek ideal, can not be produced on a modern artist, among a people whose ideas of excellence have a totally different basis from the old classical one; and that all attempts to infuse into modern work the spirit of ancient times must from the very nature of the case be failures. A man must paint with the spirit of the age he lives in if he paints at all; all attempts at retrogression must necessarily be failures; they remind me of George Eliot's powerful picture of Mr. Casaubon “groping amid the ruins of the past, with a farthing rushlight." The way in which Leighton errs, though even in error he is greater than nine tenths of his fellows, is this-he has deliberately refused the better part; beauty and truth have come to him as they came to Hercules, in the old fable, and he has rejected truth and chosen beauty, and the consequence is that his pictures are dead and cold, and have become more so year by year, till now they are indeed (in the words emblazoned round the Academy gallery)

Fair-seeming shows,

and nothing else. I must not say more on this

head, though I feel how excessively inadequate my words have been to express correctly the view I hold.

Poynter's work is always, or nearly always, classical in subject, but he is perceptibly influenced in his treatment by the old Italian masters, especially Michael Angelo. With an almost absolute precision of drawing, he is, as compared with Leighton, as a cart-horse with a racerrough strength, instead of swiftness and symmetry. If his subject requires delicate or graceful treatment, his work is unsatisfactory; if it needs strength of color and depth of feeling, it distinctly fails; but if the artist take a subject in which mere accuracy of detail and power of composition are wanted, and in which his magnificent drawing of the figure has full and varied expression, he produces work which, though still cold and academic, still producing less pleasure than astonishment, rises to a height of skill which is almost genius. The two pictures which Poynter has in Paris, "The Catapult” and “Israel in Egypt," are of this latter kind, and in the latter work what I have said is particularly exemplified. I have called this artist Greek in form, and certainly his preference has hitherto been for showing the beauty of form and action rather than that of thought, and his subjects have been chiefly what is called classical; but in the same way that Leighton has failed to catch the spirit of the Greek work, Poynter also has failed; he, too, is groping with his rushlight. Study of the antique, at South Kensington and the Academy; admiration (and perhaps imitation) of Michael Angelo, and continual grappling with difficulties of complicated drawing, of attitude and action—all these, joined to a firm hand, a clear eye, and great industry, will do much; but they will not bring to life again the grace, beauty, and unconsciousness of Greek art; as I said above, they will give us its form, but not its spirit. I should be doing this artist less than justice, were I not to say a word here of the great excellence of his portraiture, especially in water-colors. I know of nothing in modern portraiture, with the one exception of Watts's best work, which surpasses the four or five women portraits exhibited by Poynter in the Grosvenor Gallery of last year (not last season). There was in them a mingling of refinement and strength, and the coloring, though rather subdued, was as admirable as the drawing and composition. Of Tadema I will not say much; the classical part of his painting is hardly more than the outside, but that outside is so perfect a reproduction of antiquity, that it almost satisfies us-almost, but not quite. To this remark there is one broad exception, difficult to explain shortly, and which will, I fear, sound as a very harsh criticism. It is this-that though

in Tadema's works there is little or nothing of the spirit of Greek art and life, nothing, that is to say, of its unconsciousness, strength, and flawless beauty, there is in them much of the spirit of Roman art, of costly, luxurious degradation. I do not say this without hesitation, but with the firm est conviction of its truth, and I think that I see the reason for it: The inner life of Paris at the present day bears no slight resemblance to the life of Rome in its decadence; the spirit of those degenerate classical times differs little in essentials from one phase of modern life. It is in his unconscious faithfulness to the nineteenth century that Tadema has caught the truth of the second. I have said that Watts is true to the spirit of Greek art, rather than to its form, and I can well fancy that in this many of my readers will utterly disagree with me. Nor can I convince them. The intensely religious character of the best Greek art is well enough known, but I doubt whether many people have thought of the predominance of this in Watts's painting. Yet it is evident enough, only its religion, as the present time understands religion, seems not to be fixed upon a solid foundation of belief, but only to be desirous to find some point in which all may agree. Such, if I mistake not, was the meaning of the painter's large work, "Dedicated to all the Churches." And to me much of the unconscious beauty of Greek art is reproduced in Watts's work. The picture, for instance, of the dove's flight from the Ark, exhibited some years since at the Royal Academy, had this element, and it appears in nearly all the artist's portraits. Again, two of the most striking elements of Greek art are simplicity, both in aim and the means employed to produce the desired effect, and of both of these elements Watts's works have a large share. Lastly, there is one idea which runs through Greek art, and may be traced most plainly in all their poetry—that is, the inevitableness of Fate, the comparative insignificance and impotence of human passions, when confronted by "Necessity." In many of Watts's pictures is this thought expressed, notably in the two which have been, during the past two seasons, exhibited at the Grosvenor Gallery-" Love and Death" and “Time and Death." For these and many other reasons which I need not dwell upon here, I have called Watts a painter of the spirit, as opposed to the form of classical art, though I do not seek to conceal from my readers that the underlying sadness of his work has no parallel in that of ancient times. As much as is possible to us, in these later times of change, of the simplicity and earnestness of Grecian work has, I think, been preserved by this painter. Of such kind are the works of those of our great figure-painters who

devote themselves to the representation of classical times, and of the painter who derives his inspiration, though not his subjects, from the same source; and perhaps in this list should be included the work of Albert Moore, which, though not of such assured merit or reputation as these others, has yet many merits peculiar to himself. Never, probably, in England have the folds of clinging drapery been painted as this artist paints them, their subtile intricacy rivaling that of the drapery on the Ionic fragments of statuary in the British Museum.

LESLIE.

LET me now turn to the work of another group of figure-painters, at the head of which stands George Leslie, R. A. A graceful if not a vigorous draughtsman, endowed with a clear perception of the beauty and innocence of girlhood, and with keen sympathy for the brighter aspects of English landscape, there are still in Leslie's work some fatal errors which prevent it from doing much to interest us. After all, it is not England, nor English life, at all events not "the way we live now," that we find in these pictures; these graceful girls casting roses into the stream, these good children gathering round their quondam schoolmate, or singing 'Home, Sweet Home," in the old-fashioned schoolroom, are graceful, pure, and idyllic, but-are they natural? Would not all this artistic simplicity rather weary one if it did exist, and have any of us ever seen anything like it? It is a dream of the present, as Leighton's work is a dream of the past, redeemed only by the artist's tenderness of feeling. This narrow rendering of one side of things is more marked among figure-painters of this school than any other. Thus, for instance, Mr. Marks, recently elected an Academician, makes us laugh; Mr. Frank Holl, in like manner, causes us to weep; Messrs. Orchardson and Pettie play on our fancies for the picturesque and dramatic

and so on ad infinitum; and the one is ludicrous, and another sentimental, and a third pathetic, to the end of the chapter. But Marks will not leave off his "middle-age grin," and Holl will not paint anything but the hour after death, and Pettie does not think a man worth depicting unless he has got on a buff jerkin or a suit of armor; and the consequence of it all is, that their pictures grow less interesting year by year. It is impossible for artists to deliberately restrict themselves to one phase of feeling, and one archaic kind of subject, without growing year by year more narrow in mind and duller in thought.

HARRY QUILTER, in the Spectator.

AMENDING THE CONSTITUTION.

TABLE.

IT

the States of the Union should have in the Sen

ate a proportional representation, based on population, and the expediency of amending the Consti

tution so as to secure this end has been discussed by some of our contemporaries. The New York "Evening Post," while of opinion that any discussion of the question is idle, inasmuch as the necessary consent of three fourths of the States to such an amendment could not now be secured, argues as follows:

It [the fifth section of the Constitution] declares that Congress, or a convention called for the purpose, may propose amendments which shall take effect when ratified by the Legislatures of three fourths of the States, "provided," among other things that are mentioned, "that no State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate." Suppose that this section never had been incorporated with the Constitution. Will it be pretended that the instrument never could be amended? Scarcely; for that the power which makes a written law, whether legislative or organic, statutory or constitutional, has the power to abrogate it wholly or to modify it, seems as clear as anything can be. That the nation in its sovereign capacity-whether we call it a confederacy of States or the people of all the States, as the final source of power, acting together -can for ever deprive itself of the right to act again in its sovereign capacity, to reconsider what it has done, and to do something different, is a proposition which can not be entertained for a moment. Even if the fifth section had not been adopted, if no specific provision for amendment had been made, the right to amend would still have existed. The fifth section merely directs how amendment shall be conveniently made. The right to amend applies to all parts of the Constitution; to one section as well as another; to the fifth section as much as any other. The Constitution may be changed in respect to the provision for its own amendment in the same way as in respect to every other provision. The fifth section, if this position is correct, may be amended not only in its substantial declaration of power, but also in its proviso; in its prescription of a method of amendment, and in its exemption of a particular part of the Constitution from amendment.

We do not agree with the "Post" that this question need not be discussed for the reason that there is no likelihood of its becoming a practical issue as the States now stand. It is best to inculcate correct views of the Constitution at times when the

we should all study that instrument, and master both its letter and its spirit. The time may come when the large States shall be numerous enough to attempt

a senatorial subordination of the small States, and hence it is timely and wise for us now to consider the validity of such a change in the organic law by which this could be brought about.

The argument which we have quoted from the "Post" is plausible, and in a certain sense sound. It is true that three fourths of the States have the power to amend the Constitution in any way they may determine; there is no legal authority superior to them; there are no practical means of restricting their action. Whether we consider the Constitution an organic law or a treaty, an ordination or a compact, absolute power rests with three fourths of the States to make and enforce any change in the Constitution they may see fit. But such an exercise of power in many instances would be equivalent to conquest; it would be the force by which the strong subdues the weak; it would be a violation of the rights of the minority, and a distinct disregard of the pledges given at the time of the formation of the Constitution. It is well known that the small States would not consent to enter the Union unless some distinct guarantee was given that their integrity and their rights as States should be preserved. The proviso of the fifth section of the Constitution, which declares that no amendment of that instrument shall abridge their equal suffrage in the Senate, was intended as an express limitation upon the power that a majority of three fourths of the States might exercise. It was a pledge to the smaller States made necessary by their attitude at the time, it was a pledge which they accepted as a perpetual guarantee of their equality in the Senate, and this pledge can not now, nor at any time, be disregarded without a flagrant violation of faith.

It is impossible in dealing with the Constitution to escape the fact that, in some particulars at least, it was a compact or treaty. The proviso which we are considering is clearly in evidence of this fact. The power which makes a written law is competent to abrogate or change that written law; but, when several powers unite to make a common law, special considerations come into operation, and this was the case with the adoption of our Constitution. "The

people of all the States acting together," is the pic ture drawn by the "Post," but no such thing ever occurred, no such thing can occur, under the arrangement which makes us a Union. The several peoples of the several States acted, not together, but each community for itself, and each acted in view of the concessions and declarations made by the rest. The people of Rhode Island did not act with the people of New York; they acted separately, at a later date, and their decision referred solely to the attitude of their own State, although governed by the attitude of the peoples of other States. This special feature gives a special characteristic to the affair. Generali

ness.

zations in a matter like our Constitution will never do. Being a product of concessions and compromises, broad statements about "sovereign capacity" and the "will of the people" are peculiarly misleading. The complex system by which the States are bound together must be considered in all its fullHow unsafe it is to rest upon any generalization is well illustrated by the fact that the first sentence of the preamble to the Constitution and the last clause of the document distinctly contradict each other: the first affirming that the people "ordain and establish "; the other, in referring the instrument to the States for ratification, showing that they did no such thing.

of religious liberty, just like all its other guarantees, must go for nothing if at any time there arises a majority sufficiently large which at its pleasure may overthrow them. It is obvious that the guarantees of the Constitution must be regarded as sacred. Whatever amendments or changes may be necessary to secure its harmonious working are proper things to be brought about; but all amendments or changes that strike at its elementary principles, that do violence to the pledges and assurances that it utters or implies, should be resisted to the last should be stamped as nothing less than perfidy.

There is one other point. Three fourths of the States have such power as numbers confer to amend the Constitution as they may determine, but every amendment should, in justice, and in the spirit of the Constitution, bear upon all parts of the Union alike. There is no way to enforce this principle, but it is a principle nevertheless. An amendment that established proportional representation in the Senate would be an amendment that operated specially upon the smaller States: while nominally applying to all equally, it would really be an amendment discriminating against certain parts of the Union, thus operating specially and not generally. So long as amendments to the Constitution concern all the States equally, no great harm can come of them; but, if a three-fourths majority can inflict disabilities upon a one-fourth minority, the Union becomes a danger and a threat, rather than a protection and a guarantee. A little reflection will show that this theory of an absolute right to make the Constitution that which the majority elect it to be, is fraught with startling possibilities. According to this doctrine, if the people of three fourths of the States become Roman Catholic, the Constitution at their behest can be so amended as to make the Roman Catholic religion compulsory upon the people of all the States. The guarantees in the Constitution

THE NUDE IN ART.

CERTAIN literary and art folk have so prompt and arrogant a fashion of stigmatizing everybody as a Philistine whose opinions differ from theirs that not a few people shrink from controversy with them. Perhaps this dread of being classed among the Philistines arises from a vague and apprehensive idea as to what a Philistine is, and what it is that really constitutes Philistinism. These persons are much like the market-woman in the oft-quoted anecdote, who burst into tears upon being called an hypotenuse. That a Philistine is a person whom artists and poets cover with intense scorn, they readily see; but how to avoid being a Philistine, how to discover the mark by which a Philistine is known, how to escape the damaging epithet, are ceaseless puzzles and perplexities. And yet with all the care in the world few can escape the offensive classification, for what layman can assent to all the notions and wild theories that obtain in the studios and in the Bohemian circles of the beer-gardens? To take a literary view of art -which means, we believe, to judge of a picture by its motive and story rather than by its techniqueis to be a Philistine; to assume that art and poetry are not the highest things in life is to utter rank Philistinism; to intimate that morality should be a force and a factor in the arts is to show one's self wholly incapable of discerning the high purpose of æsthetics, and as a consequence to merit being cast into the darkness and dreariness of Philistinism for ever. No art topic is so dangerous in this way to laymen as that of the propriety of nudity in art. The dictum of the studios is that not only is it proper to depict the human figure "as God made it," but that he who shrinks from displays of this kind, who questions their righteousness, who believes or fears that they do not exercise a good influence upon the imaginations of impressible people, is not only a Philistine, but a prurient one; he is a person whose