embodiments of the Holy Ghost and the ministries of the spirit, Rossetti labelled his early manuscript poems “Poems of the Art Catholic”; and the Pre-Raphaelite heresy was connected by unfriendly critics with the Anglo-Catholic or Tractarian movement at Oxford.  William Sharp, in speaking of “that splendid outburst of Romanticism in which Coleridge was the first and most potent participant,” and of the lapse or ebb that followed the death of Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, resumes:  “At last a time came when a thrill of expectation, of new desire, of hope, passed through the higher lives of the nation; and what followed thereafter were the Oxford movement in the Church of England, the Pre-Raphaelite movement in art, and the far-reaching Gothic revival.  Different as these movements were in their primary aims, and still more differing in the individual representations of interpreters, they were in reality closely interwoven, one being the outcome of the other.  The study of mediaeval art, which was fraught with such important results, was the outcome of the widespread ecclesiastical revival, which in its turn was the outcome of the Tractarian movement in Oxford.  The influence of Pugin was potent in strengthening the new impulse, and to him succeeded Ruskin with ’Modern Painters’ and Newman with the ‘Tracts for the Times.’  Primarily the Pre-Raphaelite movement had its impulse in the Oxford religious revival; and however strange it may seem to say that such men as Holman Hunt and Rossetti . . . followed directly in the footsteps of Newman and Pusey and Keble, it is indubitably so.” [7] Ruskin, too, cautioned his young friends that “if their sympathies with the early artists lead them into mediaevalism or Romanism, they will of course come to nothing.  But I believe there is no danger of this, at least for the strongest among them.  There may be some weak ones whom the Tractarian heresies may touch; but if so, they will drop off like decayed branches from a strong stem.” [8] One of these weak ones who dropped off was James Collinson, a man of an ascetic and mystical piety—­like Werner or Brentano.  He painted, among other things, “The Renunciation of St. Elizabeth” from Kingsley’s “Saint’s Tragedy.”  “The picture,” writes Scott, “resembled the feckless dilettanteism of the converts who were then dropping out of their places in Oxford and Cambridge into Mariolatry and Jesuitism.  In fact, this James Collinson actually did become Romanist, wanted to be a priest, painted no more, but entered a seminary, where they set him to clean the boots as an apprenticeship in humility and obedience.  They did not want him as a priest; they were already getting tired of that species of convert; so he left, turned to painting again, and disappeared.” [9]