Mrs. Swynnerton is a lady who has given us a great deal of work of a very high order indeed. In the first place she has always something to say that is worth saying. Her work is exuberant with the joy of life, the joy of colour. Her very brush is surcharged with a high and lavish spirit. Blue eyes look out, so blue, from happy sunburnt faces, so sunburnt, that take their places on her canvases as in a drama to tell us something of her thoughts and of themselves. Mrs. Swynnerton, plus her faults, is genuine through and through. The work of another painter, Mrs. De Morgan, naturally comes into consideration when we turn to symbolism. More tenaciously in earnest and more austere in every way than Mrs. Swynnerton, her work is as the poles apart. The one romps, if the term be allowed, in a flower-spangled meadow, the other's province is the study; and, as is the way with students, her mind is often on the thought of the past rather than with affairs of the present. Before one of Mrs. De Morgan's pictures one thinks through, by way of Burne-Jones, to Botticelli and the great ancestors of art, and it is saying a very great deal for Mrs. De Morgan that in such case one can bless the passive hand that gives and the hand that receives. Her work may very well lead us to a small band of artists, not definitely connected in themselves, but allied with each other in the sense that they work for somewhat similar ends: Mrs. Marianne Stokes, Miss Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale and Mrs. Young Hunter. To these, perhaps, may one day be added a name very little known at present, Miss Milicent E. Gray. It is not unusual in speaking of the work of either of these first three artists, and more especially of Miss Eleanor Brickdale, to refer to the pre-Raphaelite influence in art. It is, however, extremely probable that the influence takes direct effect in these days more as a method than as a conviction. The great conviction itself has leavened Art, and the individualities of these painters are so strong that it becomes in their case a nearer interest to ignore all potters and regard the clay. Mrs. Young Hunter has a quaint flitting fancy that wanders over hill and dale and seizes from life subtle little touches that are full of the elusiveness of tales told after school hours.