to “The Hugenot,” the same drama of conflicting love and duty is set forth, though with less convincing fervour and exalted passion than before. The lady seems to be of French family, and is somewhat pettishly delaying the departure of her lover, an officer of the Black Brunswick corps, before the Battle of Waterloo. The converse of the choice of man and woman between disloyalty and death is nobly given us by Holman Hunt in his “Claudio and Isabella” (from Shakespeare’s “Measure for Measure”), where the heroism and the devotion lie on the woman’s side. Claudio has been condemned to death, and his sister’s honour is asked as the price of his release. She visits him in prison, clad in her nun’s garb, and Claudio—the human craving for life conquering for the moment his better nature, cries out in a half shamed appeal, “O Isabel, ... death is a fearful thing.” But Isabella, standing before him, pressing her hands against his heart, her face full of pity and distress, gives back her resolute answer, “And shaméd life a hateful!” Together with the conception of duty in its relation to romantic love is linked the ideal of chivalry,—of the immediate glory of duty and its supreme rewards, especially when exercised in championship of the weak, of a defenceless foe, or of womanhood. The splendour of physical courage tends always to give place to the power of moral courage, as in mercy and forgiveness rather than in revenge; or if the physical courage be brought into play, it will, in progress of civilization be applied to deeds of helpfulness instead of cruelty. The nobility of true knighthood, which Rossetti conceived almost exclusively in the mediæval spirit, and presented with exquisite verve and passion in his little sketches of “St. George” and the “Princess Sabra,” and of which the converse—the potential knightliness of woman—was suggested both by Rossetti and Millais in their “Joan of Arc” designs, finds full expression in the latter’s picture of “Sir Isumbras at the Ford.” An aged knight, clad in splendid armour, and bearing with courtly dignity his honours and his years, is fording a river on his war-horse, and pauses to lift up two little peasant children who have asked him to carry them to the other side. The simple graciousness and humility of the act seem to transfigure the old warrior’s face, which is further lit by the rich light of the landscape in the setting sun. By the side of this great painting should be set the earlier, but in great measure the companion work, “The Rescue,” in which the same artist translates the thought of beneficent chivalry into modern and familiar life. For the knight of “The Rescue” is a London fireman, in the act of saving three children from a burning house. The light that suffuses his calmly heroic face is not the natural radiance of a sunset glow, but the fierce glare of flames around the staircase, down which he brings his precious burden safe and sound. “The Rescue” is a poem of modern chivalry in a great