when Raphael was shown some of the great man's work, he was
filled with awe and wonder. The genius of Leonardo held him spellbound.

'It is what I have dreamed of in my dreams,' he said. 'Oh that I might
learn his secret!'

Little by little the new ideas sunk into his heart, and the pictures he
began to paint were no longer like those of his old master Perugino,
but seemed to breathe some new spirit.

It was always so with Raphael. He seemed to be able to gather the best
from every one, just as the bee goes from flower to flower and gathers
its sweetness into one golden honeycomb. Only the genius of Raphael
made all that he touched his very own, and the spirit of his pictures
is unlike that of any other master.

For many years after this he lived in Rome, where now his greatest
frescoes may be seen--frescoes so varied and wonderful that many books
have been written about them.

There he first met Margarita, the young maiden whom he loved all his
life. It is her face which looks down upon us from the picture of the
Sistine Madonna, perhaps the most famous Madonna that ever was painted.
The little room in the Dresden Gallery where this picture now hangs
seems almost like a holy place, for surely there is something divine in
that fair face. There she stands, the Queen of Heaven, holding in her
arms the Infant Christ, with such a strange look of majesty and sadness
in her eyes as makes us realise that she was indeed fit to be the
Mother of our Lord.

But the picture which all children love best is one in Florence called
'The Madonna of the Goldfinch.'

It is a picture of the Holy Family, the Infant Jesus, His mother, and
the little St. John. The Christ Child is a dear little curly-headed
baby, and He stands at His mother's knee with one little bare foot
resting on hers. His hand is stretched out protectingly over a yellow
goldfinch which St. John, a sturdy little figure clad in goatskins, has
just brought to Him. The baby face is full of tender love and care for
the little fluttering prisoner, and His curved hand is held over its
head to protect it.

'Do not hurt My bird,' He seems to say to the eager St. John, 'for it
belongs to Me and to My Father.'

These are only two of the many pictures which Raphael painted. It is
wonderful to think how much work he did in his short life, for he died
when he was only thirty-seven. He had been at work at St. Peter's,
giving directions about some alterations, and there he was