It is well-known that the painter of whom I now propose to speak has never suffered exclusion or acceptance at the hand of any academy.  To such acceptance or such rejection all other men of any note have been and may be liable.  It is not less well known that his work must always hold its place as second in significance and value to no work done by any painter of his time.  Among the many great works of Mr. D.G.  Rossetti, I know of none greater than his two latest.  These are types of sensual beauty and spiritual, the siren and the sibyl.  The one is a woman of the type of Adam’s first wife; she is a living Lilith with ample splendour of redundant hair;

                       “She excels
  All women in the magic of her locks;
  And when she winds them round a young man’s neck
  She will not ever set him free again.”

[Illustration:  LILITH.
        Rossetti.]

Clothed in soft white garments, she draws out through a comb the heavy mass of hair like thick spun gold to fullest length; her head leans back half sleepily, superb and satiate with its own beauty; the eyes are languid, without love in them or hate; the sweet luxurious mouth has the patience of pleasure fulfilled and complete, the warm repose of passion sure of its delight.  Outside, as seen in the glimmering mirror, there is full summer; the deep and glowing leaves have drunk in the whole strength of the sun.  The sleepy splendour of the picture is a fit raiment for the idea incarnate of faultless fleshly beauty and peril of pleasure unavoidable.  For this serene and sublime sorceress there is no life but of the body; with spirit (if spirit there be) she can dispense.  Were it worth her while for any word to divide those terrible tender lips, she too might say with the hero of the most perfect and exquisite book of modern times—­Mademoiselle de Maupin—­“Je trouve la terre aussi belle que le ciel, et je pense que la correction de la forme est la vertu." Of evil desire or evil impulse she has nothing; and nothing of good.  She is indifferent, equable, magnetic; she charms and draws down the souls of men by pure force of absorption, in no wise wilful or malignant; outside herself she cannot live, she cannot even see:  and because of this she attracts and subdues all men at once in body and in spirit.  Beyond the mirror she cares not to look, and could not.

  "Ma mia suora Rahel mai non si smaga,
  Dal suo miraglio, e siede tutto ’l giorno."

So, rapt in no spiritual contemplation, she will sit to all time, passive and perfect:  the outer light of a sweet spring day flooding and filling the massive gold of her hair.  By the reflection in a deep mirror of fervent foliage from without, the chief chord of stronger colour is touched in this picture; next in brilliance and force of relief is the heap of curling and tumbling hair on which the sunshine strikes; the face and head of the siren are withdrawn from the full stroke of the light.