"Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?" he writes. How far this feeling was shared by Burne-Jones we can never know, but nearly all of his biographers are agreed that a love of beauty, as he understood it, was his main preoccupation, or, to use his own words, that a picture should be a "beautiful, romantic dream." Julia Cartwright, in her _Life and Work of Sir Edward Burne-Jones_, says: "He never tried to point a moral or to teach a lesson; but he rescued beauty from the forgetfulness to which it seemed doomed in a restless and material age, and in so doing has given us an example of the highest value." Malcolm Bell, also, writing of the art of Burne-Jones and of its critics, expresses a like opinion, and his analysis of the paintings composing the Pygmalion Series is not only interesting in itself, but is especially so as showing the extent to which the man of letters can read his own interpretation into the work of a painter. "The four pictures from 'The Story of Pygmalion,'" he writes, "also included in _The Earthly Paradise_, again show this preference of the poet and the artist for the spirit before the form, provided only the last be beautiful. The first, 'The Heart Desires,' is the idealization of unsatisfied longing for the unknown. Pygmalion, a tall, dark-haired young man, in a long garment falling in straight folds to his feet, stands brooding on life's emptiness in the vestibule of his house. A sculptured group of the Three Graces denotes his profession and at the same time typifies the cold beauty of artifice, the beauty of the mind, while two girls, seen through the open door, speeding along the street in the artless embrace of innocent maidenhood, represent the beauty of the body and the love that waits his winning; but in neither finds he consolation. In the second, 'The Hand Refrains,' the days of long labor are ended, and the artist's ideal, the cold, pure figure of the yet soulless image stands finished on the still rough pedestal, surrounded by flakes and chips of marble and implements of the sculptor's craft, while Pygmalion, chisel and mallet in hand, stays gazing in awe at the marvel his hand has achieved, his eyes content, but his soul still hungering. Outside the window behind him women go about their daily business in the city street, and through another casement, in a recess between him and the image, is a glimpse of a garden and a spurt of water falling into a marble basin--the constant dropping that wears away the stone, as his constant prayers shall move the goddess Venus to a miracle on his behalf. The third bears the motto, 'The Godhead Fires.' Into the sculptor's chamber, silent and solitary, while Pygmalion is away in the temple, floats lightly the Queen of Love, clad in a soft, transparent robe, flower-crowned and bearing a branch of myrtle, emblem of marriage rites, her feet brushed and environed by the white wings of her favorite doves. Towards her, leaning both