look on, and in harmony with the surrounding works of art.

Burne-Jones and Holman Hunt are probably the greatest masters of colour
that we have ever had in England, with the single exception of Turner,
but their styles differ widely. To draw a rough distinction, Holman Hunt
studies and reproduces the colours of natural objects, and deals with
historical subjects, or scenes of real life, mostly from the East,
touched occasionally with a certain fancifulness, as in the Shadow of the
Cross. Burne-Jones, on the contrary, is a dreamer in the land of
mythology, a seer of fairy visions, a symbolical painter. He is an
imaginative colourist too, knowing that all colour is no mere delightful
quality of natural things, but a 'spirit upon them by which they become
expressive to the spirit,' as Mr. Pater says. Watts's power, on the
other hand, lies in his great originative and imaginative genius, and he
reminds us of AEschylus or Michael Angelo in the startling vividness of
his conceptions. Although these three painters differ much in aim and in
result, they yet are one in their faith, and love, and reverence, the
three golden keys to the gate of the House Beautiful.

On entering the West Gallery the first picture that meets the eye is Mr.
Watts's Love and Death, a large painting, representing a marble doorway,
all overgrown with white-starred jasmine and sweet brier-rose. Death, a
giant form, veiled in grey draperies, is passing in with inevitable and
mysterious power, breaking through all the flowers. One foot is already
on the threshold, and one relentless hand is extended, while Love, a
beautiful boy with lithe brown limbs and rainbow-coloured wings, all
shrinking like a crumpled leaf, is trying, with vain hands, to bar the
entrance. A little dove, undisturbed by the agony of the terrible
conflict, waits patiently at the foot of the steps for her playmate; but
will wait in vain, for though the face of Death is hidden from us, yet we
can see from the terror in the boy's eyes and quivering lips, that,
Medusa-like, this grey phantom turns all it looks upon to stone; and the
wings of Love are rent and crushed. Except on the ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel in Rome, there are perhaps few paintings to compare with this in
intensity of strength and in marvel of conception. It is worthy to rank
with Michael Angelo's God Dividing the Light from the Darkness.

Next to it are hung five pictures by Millais. Three of them are
por