The following is an extract from a letter reverting to the illustrations of “Christ and Christmas”:— “In my last letter, I did not utter all I felt about the [10] wonderful new book you have given us. Years ago, while in Italy, I studied the old masters and their great works of art thoroughly, and so got quite an idea of what constitutes true art. Then I spent two years in Paris, devoting every moment to the study of music and [15] art. “The first thing that impressed me in your illustra- tions was the conscientious application to detail, which is is the foundation of true art. From that, I went on to study each illustration thoroughly, and to my amazement [20] and delight I find an almost identical resemblance, in many things, to the old masters! In other words, the art is perfect. “The hands and feet of the figures—how many times have I seen these hands and feet in Angelico’s “Jesus,” [25] or Botticelli’s “Madonna”! “It gave me such a thrill of joy as no words can ex- press, to see produced to-day that art—the only true art—that we have identified with the old masters, and mourned as belonging to them exclusively,—a thing of [30] the past, impossible of reproduction. “All that I can say to you, as one who gives no mean [Page 376.] attention to such matters, is that the art is perfect. It [1] is the true art of the oldest, most revered, most authen- tic Italian school, revived. I use the words _most au-_ _thentic_ in the following sense: the face, figure, and drapery of Jesus, very closely resemble in detail the [5] face, figure, and drapery of that Jesus portrayed by the oldest of the old masters, and said to have been authen- tic; the face having been taken by Fra Angelico from Cæsar’s Cameo, the figure and garments from a descrip- tion, in _The Galaxy_, of a small sketch handed down [10] from the _living reality_. _Their_ productions are expres- sionless copies of an engraving cut in a stone. _Yours_ is a palpitating, living Saviour engraven on the heart. You have given us back our Jesus, and in a much better is form.” [15] Sunrise At Pleasant View Who shall describe the brave splendor of a November sky that this morning burst through the lattice for me, on my bed? According to terrestrial calculations, above the horizon, in the east, there rose one rod of rainbow [20] hues, crowned with an acre of eldritch ebony. Little by little this topmost pall, drooping over a deeply daz- zling sunlight, softened, grew gray, then gay, and glided into a glory of mottled marvels. Fleecy, faint, fairy blue and golden flecks came out on a background of [25] cerulean hue; while the lower lines of light kindled into gold, orange, pink, crimson, violet; and diamond, topaz, opal, garnet, turquoise, and sapphire spangled the gloom in celestial space as with the brightness of His glory. Then thought I, What are we, that He who fashions for- [30] [Page 377.]