as it came from the cell at the Camaldoles in which the wife of Cosimo de' Medici said her prayers, that delightful picture which embodies the traditions of holy simplicity and taste peculiar to Masolino, and in a still higher degree to Angelico, reveals that Fra Filippo was the disciple of Masolino rather than a pupil of Masaccio, and that before he became completely tainted by vice he had the stuff in him to emulate all the qualities of his immediate precursors. The charming angels, whose presence enlivens the space, the pretty figure of the boy Baptist, and the fine presentment of a bearded friar of the Camaldoles, who was probably confessor to the wife of Cosimo de' Medici, form a thorough combination of grace with brightness of scale in tints and balance of harmonies in tone which show Fra Filippo's preference of the Allegro to the Penseroso. The colours are of great transparence in a very light key; the outlines are clean and minutely finished, revealing the individuality of a young artist who intently watched the expansion of Masolino's art, in contrast with the more powerful and manly style which Masaccio finally acquired. The sweet expression of the figures and the delicacy with which they are presented are as attractive as the tender blending of rosy flesh, the pleasing selection of gay dress and the elegant fall of draperies. In all this we discern the teaching of the monastery. But the spirit which gave simplicity and candour to Angelico's creations is alloyed even thus early in Lippi by a sensuous feeling which contrasts with the meditative calm and purity that dwell in all the creations of Angelico. As he proceeded, Lippi became more and more mundane. But he never attained the masculine power which might justify Vasari in saying that he was filled with Masaccio's spirit. What he wanted in order to bring him up to that level was grandeur of conception, majesty of line, skill in grouping, and a monumental style of drapery. He had none of these qualities in their greatest development. Form, as he conceived it, was cast in the Giottesque mould rather than the realistic shape of Uccello and Castagno. There was no searching after new mediums or scientific principles of perspective. Drawing was defective, especially in articulations and extremities. Minute and dry detail of rocks and shrubbery, architecture of poor style, and ornament of doubtful taste, were constantly obtruding, and were only redeemed by high finish, delicacy of touch, and perfection of blending in bright colours. A new influence only became visible when Lippi studied and adapted principles derived from the practice of sculptors. As Ghiberti, in the gates of the Baptistery of Florence, had carried into the execution of bas-relief the system of line perspective which scientist painters had perfected, Donatello had realised form in very shallow working of marble surfaces. Lippi adopted Donatello's system in his painting, in which he imitated the flatness of the works of Desiderio da Settignano, whilst he acquired some of the breadth of Donatello in the shaping and

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casting of drapery. As he became more accustomed to the boldness required in the execution of frescoes at Prato and Spoleto, he impressed on his figures some o the grandeur and expressiveness of those designed by Angelico in the cathedral of Orvieto, and he emulated, in the portrait character of the actors in some of his composed pieces, the dignity and nature of Domenico Ghirlandaio. He became, in fact, one of the great masters of his age, and although beneath the level of Angelico, Masaccio, and other equally eminent men, is still entitled to rank high in the hierarchy of his profession.

Morally he deserved the pillory, yet Lorenzo de' Medici caused a monument to be erected to his memory on a model furnished by Filippino, and we still enjoy the lovely productions of the artist, whilst we are taught to abhor the actions which debased the character of the individual man.

THE MASSACRES IN TURKEY

I

BY THE REV. DR. J. GUINNESS ROGERS

WHATEVER doubt may have existed in any mind as to the feeling of the nation in regard to the successive outbursts of insane fury at Constantinople has been set at rest by the extraordinary demonstrations of the opening weeks of September. On the 5th of that month the Speaker expressed the keen disappointment which was being felt by numbers who were concerned alike for the safety of the persecuted Armenians, and the good faith of the British people, which was virtually pledged on their behalf, at the seeming apathy with which the Constantinople Terror was viewed. The challenge was distinct, the reply was immediate, and in its volume and intensity leaves nothing to be desired. The passionate feeling of the hour is sweeping everything before it, and the fire blazes all the more fiercely because of the persistent efforts which have been made to keep it under. My own conviction is that it would have been possible at any time within the last few months to kindle a feeling in the country as strong and resolute as that which put an end to the Bulgarian atrocities of twenty years ago. But so far from any movement in that direction, the contrary course has been adopted. Popular agitation has been discouraged, and then it was confidently said that the country had reached a state of callous indifference, like that of Prince Bismarck when he said the Eastern question was not worth the sacrifice of a single Pomeranian soldier.

For days after the present movement began it was the fashion of the London correspondent of country journals to assure his readers that any appearance of excitement was delusive, and as I happened to be the first who took up the Speaker's challenge, I was treated as the victim of a midsummer madness. These correspondents were quite right as to their own field of observation. But that field was not the world, was not even the country. These gentlemen may be very useful, if their readers remember that they are only repeating the gossip picked up in lobbies and smoking rooms, and that outside these there

is a wide circle of opinion-opinion which is intelligent and influential -of which they know nothing. It has proved so in the present instance. Clubland was all but unanimous, and they reflected its views. It was extremely inconvenient for various reasons that the country should be stirred, and it was therefore dogmatically asserted that it cared nothing for the whole matter. Was not Lord Salisbury, strongest and bravest of Foreign Ministers, at the helm? Was not the European concert in active operation? What more could be done, or indeed desired, in this best of all possible worlds? Meanwhile if the people did not speak they observed and they reflected; while they were musing the fire burned (and now, to use the old Psalmist's words) they speak with their tongue.

Whether, even now, there is a clear perception of the extent to which the character and influence of Great Britain are involved in the matter, is open to very serious doubt. Passion is at white heat, but mere sentiment, whether of indignation at the tyrant or of sympathy with his victims, however natural and laudable, is not statesmanship. It is affected, rightly affected, by the outrage done to our common humanity, but it does not take the trouble to appraise the exact measure of our national responsibility, nor does it care to inquire how far our national status is likely to be affected by the decision that is reached. Sober-minded politicians will be more affected by considerations of this nature, and they are certainly those which must be pressed home upon every statesman. This is not one of those occasions on which a nation can stand by with the cynical and scoffing question, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' Our own honour is at stake, and what some seem to value more than our honour, our influence and position in the world.

It is not necessary here to repeat the long and melancholy story of that Berlin treaty which at the time was said to have brought us peace with honour, but which it is now seen scattered seeds of disaster and trouble, whose harvest we are reaping. The connection between it and the present Armenian persecution is too direct and obvious to admit of doubt or require demonstration. Had the treaty of San Stefano been confirmed, the crimes which have shocked all Europe could never have been perpetrated; and as on Great Britain rests the responsibility for tearing up that treaty, on her must come also a large measure of responsibility for the crimes resulting from this fatal indulgence to the Turkish tyrant. Alas! the memory of that ill-advised act has haunted our diplomacy ever since, and it paralyses its efforts still. This is one of the facts that must be borne in mind in shaping the policy which is to deal with this emergency. In some way or other its evil effect has to be counteracted. But however this is done, it is, at all events, clear that the whole transaction has fixed on us obligations which we cannot evade.

But if there are any who are inaccessible to an appeal of this kind,

there is another of an entirely different character which it is impossible to ignore. The Sultan hardly conceals the fact that his action is a distinct defiance of Great Britain. It is Great Britain which has sought to check him in the exercise of his murderous proclivities, and it is her policy which he has been endeavouring to circumvent, unfortunately with only too much success. He will humiliate himself before Russia, he will intrigue with Germany, he will send his ribbons to French statesmen, he will even try to conciliate Austria in order that he may be able successfully to defy Great Britain. Unfortunately these Continental Powers have shown themselves only too ready to fall into line and to support him in his resistance. We have been assured over and over again that Great Britain is without a friend on the Continent, and, it must sorrowfully be said, if she has any they are very slow to act in her support. It is in vain that the sympathy and aid of the Great Powers have been sought; in vain that we have waited upon their convenience, until that waiting has come very near to a humiliation to ourselves; in vain that such excessivé stress has been laid upon the European concert that it might almost seem as though we were afraid to call murder murder until the European concert had first given us permission to speak the truth; in vain that this European concert has, in fact, been exalted into a very demigod, on whose fiats the statesmen and people of this free nation. must wait in humble submission. The more our statesmen have sought thus to clear themselves of any suspicion of selfish aim or sinister purpose by consultation at every point, the more cold and chilling has been the response which they have received. If this were to be the end, and the Sultan, resting upon the indirect help which he receives from other Powers, were able to laugh to scorn the remonstrances of Great Britain, it is hardly possible to exaggerate the blow which would be given to our national influence. The present insulting attitude of the Sultan may seem ridiculous enough looked at from one side. But there is another side of a very different character. Here is a monarch who sits on his throne solely in virtue of the tolerance of other Powers, assuming the airs of a mighty prince who can afford to meet sober and rational remonstrance with lies and insults, can pose as the victim of misrepresentation and calumny at the very time when his deeds are crying to heaven for vengeance, and secure in the immunity which he enjoys through the mutual jealousies of those who ought to suppress him and his crimes, can still persevere in his career of cruelty and blood. The spectacle is too ludicrous, but, alas! this miserable caricature of a monarch is able to work his own will. Our Government may enter its protests, and this may be soothing to our consciences, but it is humiliating to the last degree. What it really means is that England has parted with the power which she wielded when Milton sang, and Cromwell, 'before whose genius' (to use Macaulay's words) 'the