. Earthwork out of Tuscany : being impressions and translations of Maurice Hewlett. lloveliness of form and expression, though that wouldcount for much ; nor, I believe, as Mr Pater wouldhave us acknowledge, in the evanescent delicacy ofeach motive and sentiment,—the arresting of a singlesigh, a single wave of desire, a single stave of theMagnificat. All this is true, and true only ofLuca, and yet the whole charm is not , I think, you will find it in the fusing ofhumble material—the age-old clay of the potter(of the Master-Potter, for that matter)—and fineart, whereby the wayside s
. Earthwork out of Tuscany : being impressions and translations of Maurice Hewlett. lloveliness of form and expression, though that wouldcount for much ; nor, I believe, as Mr Pater wouldhave us acknowledge, in the evanescent delicacy ofeach motive and sentiment,—the arresting of a singlesigh, a single wave of desire, a single stave of theMagnificat. All this is true, and true only ofLuca, and yet the whole charm is not , I think, you will find it in the fusing ofhumble material—the age-old clay of the potter(of the Master-Potter, for that matter)—and fineart, whereby the wayside shrine is linked to the 158 Eartbivork out of Tuscany high altar, and contadtno and Vicar-Apostolic canhail a common ideal. Every lane, every cottage,has its Madonna-shrine here; lumped in clay ordaubed in raw colour, nothing can obliterate thesweet sentiment of these poor weeds of art, thesetawdry litde appeals to the better part of cries with a bared red heart; she sup-ports a white Christ ; she stoops suave to enfolda legion of children in her mande. She is as. Tuscan as the brownest of them; but a Tuscanof the rarest mould, they would have you to see,of a cleanliness quite unapproachable, of a benignitywholly divine. One learns the secret of devotionalart best of all in such ephemeral sanctuaries. Andsince Fine Art is the flower of these shabby roots,Italy only, where Cincinnatus worked in his garden,can furnish so wonderful a harmony of it is the most democratic country in saw a Colonel the other day, in Bologna, carryinga newspaper parcel. He was in full uniform. It With the Brown Bear 159 was the secret of Saint Francis that he knew howto bridge the gulf on either side of which we,prisoners in feudal holds, have cried to each otherin vain. It was the secret of the Delia Robbiatoo. The god shall sink that we may rise to meethim in the way. Why not ? Here in Pistojaare some precious pieces—a Visitation in SanGiovanni, a pearly Ma
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