and the beautiful by the impious hand of man, then art 
must descend from her altar service to that hard work 
of discipline. 
As long as we inflict or supinely permit the wilful 
destruction of life by rapid process or slow, we need to 
be shocked into the realization of our guilt. But we 
cannot grow by a series of shocks ; and only in so far as 
we are conceivably responsible for any measure of this 
woe, and most assuredly only in so far as the sight of it 
is awful and unbearable to us, can it be anything but 
harmful to us to see it. So far as it gives any pleasure 
it blunts or degrades. It is only the faith that God wills 
that not one of His children should perish, and that with 
Him all things are possible, in His eternity, which makes 
it endurable to look for one moment upon the starvation 
and degradation of mind and soul, the defacement of the 
image of God by man, in Millet's " Laborer." Strange 
that we can bear so constantly the sight of the real 
laborer ; that the back bent, never to stand erect in the 
true figure of a man, the stolid and vacant face, should 
be looked upon with such equanimity and apathetic 
The pictures of Jean Francois Millet illustrate well the 
limit beyond which art cannot go into the realm of gloom 
and wrong. They are entirely true always. They re- 
flect perfectly the life and work of the people he knew 
best, and of whose life he was part. They are beautiful 
and artistic, or painful and inartistic, just in the degree 
in which naturalness, the joy, the rightness, or the un- 
naturalness, severity, gloom and slavery of that life 
predominate. From the child carrying a lamb in her 
arms, and followed by the loving mother and whole