of the most perfect attainable type is one of his strongest distinguishing characteristics, and is in marked contrast with the too prevalent procedure of the average "modern sculptor who has usually to seek his model among men of a low class, ill fed, ill trained, and debauched by bad habits, and is usually content to copy what he sees." To the foregoing comment Percy Gardner adds that, of this careless or unhappy choice of models, one "may find many deplorable examples in the exhibitions at the Royal Academy." He might have included the names of not a few other famous exhibition places and still kept within the bounds of truth.

The sculptors who follow such models are realistic, but their realism is purely episodic. McKenzie also is a realist. But anatomical verity, expressive of the highest physical type, is an indispensable part of his realism. Building up these two figures, as he did, by averaged measurements taken from the best developed physical examples, and taking his poses from those examples as he sees them daily in the gymnasium or on the track, it may be said that he standardizes or classicizes his realism or, indeed, that he sometimes idealizes it. In this same connection, some one has pertinently said that McKenzie's figures of athletes are really nudes, like those of the ancient Greeks, because he has the nude ever before him and constantly beholds all phases of natural and unconscious muscular action. The realist sculptor who depends upon the fortuitous model too often finds, when he has essayed

a nude, that he has, instead, produced a "representation of a naked person," a figure obviously aware of being without his usual clothes.

fully studied for physical composition as are the nudes. The Franklin statue was first modeled in the nude and then actually dressed. In Dr. McKenzie's own words, uttered at a dinner of the class that gave the statue, the figure was

first modeled in clay in the nude, in preparation for which a week or so was spent in studying the walking pose by having the model walk up and down and stopping the pace at different stages of the step.

After the figure was completely modeled in the nude, it was draped with the costume, which was obtained after much searching,

and by consulting the standard works on the costumes of the period, as well as by the kind assistance of the late Howard Pyle, who made a number of sketches showing the probable costume of a boy of that time. The shoes were modeled from old and discarded shoes obtained from the

In each of these three figures, which obviously belong to the same closely related group, the natural chance attitudes are presented with a classic sense of ordered, well-poised composition. In all the figures in the round, the inspiration for which has been drawn from the athlete, preponderant stress falls upon the por

trayal of

physique or

upon such

alive with sin

ewy, flexible agility, is not, perhaps, comfortable to conte mplate, but any one who looks

at him must

be thoroughly

the supple

ness of his wiry muscles and of his ability to unwind his contortions like a flash of lightning to assume another posture equally baffling. In "The Competitor" we see the same type of deep-chested, steelframed, lithe-limbed contestant, caught in a moment of repose, but full of potential action and vigor and all alert for the approaching trial. "The Relay," again, is a piece of fine nervous modeling, a runner intent, resilient, quick with mobile grace.

phases of emotion as are commonly exhibited in athletic contests, the kind with which the

author's observation of his studies have made him most intimately familiar. There is no dealing in manufactured heroics, no dramatic pretense of posture or counten

ance, no tour de force of tumultu ous mental passion. McKenzie's realism is altogether different from the

realism of Rodin, for instance, whose frequent emotional tension is strongly dramatic, stimulates the imagination by its implied psychological message, and faithfully conveys the stormy surgings or the spirit or anguish, or the working of some powerful and subtle passion. McKenzie's athletes are expressions of bodily comeliness; they are not spiritual expositions. They would be unnatural and exaggerated if they were. They are not episodes of

ephemeral impulse, but rather enduring types to which he has imparted the benison of grace and beauty. They are satisfying and convincing mainly because of their physical veracity, which is one of their strongest claims to permanent value.

"The Boy Scout," unsophisticated, insouciant, and brimming with youthful buoyancy, belongs in a measure to the athlete group so far as physique and attitude are concerned, but in the felicitous treatment of the clothing the sculptor has justified his wonted avoidance of the tyranny that hideous modern habiliments so mercilessly impose.

One of McKenzie's finest achievements in low relief, a branch of activity even more prolific than his modeling in the round, is "The Joy of Effort" (1912), set in the wall of the Stadium at Stockholm. The three figures, "Americans all" in type, driven with impetuous eagerness, present a very whirlwind of dashing muscular play. The treatment of facial expression, too, is exceptionally fine and shows the unmistakable result, in this matured work, of the physiognomical experience and finesse inevitably acquired in the production of numerous portrait reliefs. His versatility of conception and felicity of technic in this respect are interestingly shown by contrast in the playful composition of children's faces of the highrelief group for the Malley memorial fountain.

Of the low reliefs in general-portraits, medals, and athletes-it may be said that they show an adroit and highly effective management of planes, a degree of salience almost astounding at times, a catholic sense of appreciation, ingenuity, and imagination fertile in contributing interest, balance, and diversity to his backgrounds by the disposition and forms of lettering, by the introduction of heraldry, and by sun

dry small decorative details of great enhancing value.

The war has affected every one's life. For the nonce it has stayed Dr. McKenzie's further realization of his cherished. ideal the interpretation of the American athlete, even as Meunier interpreted the toiler. It has, however, called forth, among other works, two that are of enduring worth and disclose a new phase of his talents, "Blighty" and "Guy Drummond," the Canadian Highlander killed in action. Both reveal a singular touch of sympathetic handling and a ripe capacity of spiritual perception. "Guy Drummond," the young warrior with the air of a modern Sir Galahad, a figure equally satisfying from whatever angle it is viewed, embodies the lofty ideal of race tradition and chivalrous sense of duty in the visible form of a memorial-a memorial such as thousands of mothers might cherish of their sons fallen on the fields of France.

Since the outbreak of the war Dr. McKenzie has devoted much of his time to work for which he is peculiarly fitted. In 1915 he was instrumental in organizing in England the Command Depots for the remaking of men who were either physically unfit or else suffering from chronic, but curable, forms of disablement, to the end that they might be returned to the front or, failing that, be better fitted for their return to civil life. He has also accomplished notable results in the fashioning of masques to supply the place of features torn away or hopelessly mutilated by shell-wounds, a work demanding imagination as well as sculptural dexterity and judgment. When he can again return to his modeling, the promise of all his former performance warrants the expectation that his work will display breadth and powers of execution even deeper and more comprehensive than in the past.