A stronger moral element is soon perceptible in the work of Rossetti and Millais when they approach the poetry of Tennyson for subject matter, and begin to draw upon the great cycle of Arthurian legends which he restored in modern garb to English literature. Even outside the “Idylls of the King,” in their paintings of Tennyson’s “Mariana,” the passion and the mystery of romantic love are tempered with the growing consciousness of moral responsibility, of Love’s heroic power to conquer destiny—if only the appeals of the lower nature were not so urgent and so sweet. In other words, the lower dualism has given place to the higher; the conflict is not so much between the earthly joy and the misfortune that threatens it in death or any calamity from the physical sphere, but rather between the baser and the better life within. Of such a spirit is the “Mariana” of Rossetti, kneeling and weeping in her dimly-lit chamber in “The Heart of the Night,” or of Millais, wearily casting away her unfinished work in the close prison of the “moated grange”—that perfect allegory of modern love, pent in by the mire of indolence and conventionality, and vainly dreaming of an unearned ideal; waiting for the deliverance which, as Mariana scarcely comprehends, must be a self-deliverance into nobler aims and higher standards of duty and of intelligent sacrifice. The sense of a lofty spiritual destiny re- enters at this point into Pre-Raphaelite art; the meaning of the search for the Holy Grail is apparent still more clearly in Rossetti’s “Sir Galahad in the Ruined Chapel,” and later, in Burne-Jones’s more severe and chastened types of the pilgrim-knight. It has been charged against both these painters that the physical beauty and glory of manhood was almost wholly absent from their conception of life. Even in the nearest approach to such a concession, in the latest romantic masterpiece of the younger artist, “The Legend of the Briar Rose,” the asceticism learnt at the Arthurian shrines persists, indeed, in the mellowness of his maturity. The heroes of the Pre-Raphaelites are no muscular warriors, as conventional art would portray them. They are concerned with inward conflicts rather than with outward foes. They are the knights-errant of a new chivalry,—to whom moral righteousness is a higher thing than physical courage; self-conquest a nobler triumph than the routing of armies. For they “wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” The whole series of the Arthurian designs, from the illustrations to Moxon’s “Tennyson” and the frescoes at Oxford, onward to the latest work of Burne-Jones and his followers, are dominated by this idea of a spiritual pilgrimage, as of beings exiled from a higher realm, which to regain they must needs pass through the lower. “Their sojourn on earth,” says M.