rive at the stage of
original art is the presentation, by figures and emblems, of some deep
abstract truth, some problem of the great battle of life, some force of
the universe that they begin to feel around them, pressing upon their
being. Forty years ago such a thing was hardly heard of. In the
sketching-clubs at the Academies of that day, the historical, the
concrete, or the respectably pious were all that one ever saw. We can
hardly realise it, the art of the late sixties. The pre-Raphaelite
brotherhood, as such, a thing of the past, and seemingly leaving few
imitators. Burne-Jones just heard of as a strange, unknown artist, who
wouldn't exhibit his pictures, but who had done some queer new kind of
stained-glass windows at Lyndhurst, which one might perhaps be curious
to see when we went (as of course we must) to worship "Leighton's great
altar-piece." Nay, ten years later, at the opening of the Grosvenor
Gallery, the new, imaginative, and allegorical art could be met with a
large measure of derision, and _Punch_ could write, regarding it, an
audacious and contemptuous parody of the "Palace of Art"; while, abroad,
Botticelli's _Primavera_ hung over a door, and the attendants at the
_Uffizii_ were puzzled by requests, granted grudgingly (_if_ granted), to
have his other pictures placed for copying and study! Times have
altogether changed, and we now see in every school competition--often
set as the subject of such--abstract and allegorical themes, demanding
for their adequate expression the highest and deepest thought and the
noblest mood of mind and views of life.

It is impossible to lay down any hard and fast rule about these things,
for each case must differ. There is such a thing as _genius_, and where
that is there is but small question of rules or even of youth or age,
maturity or immaturity. And even apart from the question of genius the
mind of childhood is a very precious thing, and "the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts." Nay, the mere _fact_ of youth with its trials,
is a great thing; we shall never again have such a chance, such fresh,
responsive hearts, such capacity for feeling--for suffering--that school
of wisdom and source of inspiration! It is well to record its lessons
while they are fresh, to jot down for ourselves, if we can, something of
the passing hours; to store up their thoughts and feelings for future
expression perhaps, when our powers of expression have grown more worthy
of them;