appear to
prevent him from occupying himself with compositions such as filled
years in the existence of the old painters.

Portraiture being the highest and most difficult labor to which an
artist can aspire, to this branch of art Hunt has chiefly confined
himself, and from this point of view he must be studied. We do not
forget, in saying this, his angel with the flaming torch, strong and
beautiful and of unearthly presence, nor the shadowy, half-portrayed
figures which dart and flit across his easel; but as we may
_understand_ the power of Titian from his portraits, yet never
revel in it fully until we look upon "The Presentation" or "The
Assumption"--never comprehend the painter's joy or his divine rest in
endeavor until the achievement lies before us--we must speak of Hunt
only from the work to which he has devoted himself, and not do him the
injustice to predict dramas he has never yet composed.

First, pre-eminently appears that worship for moral beauty which suffers
him to fear no ugliness. This power allies him with keen sympathy to
every living thing. He sees kinship and the immortal spark in each
breathing being. The soul of love goes out and paints the dark or the
suffering or the repellant faithfully, bringing it in to the light where
God's sunshine may fall upon it, and men and women, seeing for the first
time, may help to wipe away the stain. This tendency he shares with the
great French painter Millet, whom he loves to call Master, and with
Dore, whose terrible picture of "The Mountebanks" should call men and
women from their homes to penetrate the fastnesses of vice and strive to
heal the sorrows of their kind.

This love of moral beauty, which forces painters to paint such pictures,
was never in any age more evident. Hunt in his beggar-man, in his
forlorn children, and other pictures of the same class, unfolds a beauty
that men should be thankful for.

On the other hand, his love of beauty and his power of expressing it
should be studied in its _direct_ influence. The beauty of flesh and
blood, even the loveliness of children, seems to have slight hold upon
him, compared with the significance of character and the lustre with
which his imagination endows everything. This lustre is a distinguishing
power with him. The depth to which he sees and feels causes him to give
higher lights and deeper shadows than other men. White flowers are not
only white to him--they shine like stars. His pictures give a s