s frescoes, and plunging into the subject of anatomy
more like a devotee than a student.

They learned of his visit to Rome, where, before he was twenty-five
years old, he sculptured the grand _Pieta_, or _Dead Christ_, which is
still in St. Peter's; and of his return to Florence, where he foresaw
his _David_ in the shapeless block of marble, and gained permission of
the commissioners to hew it out,--the David which stood so long under
the shadow of old gray Palazzo Vecchio, but is now in the Academy.

Then came the beginnings of his painting; and they saw the _Holy Family_
of the Uffizi Gallery--his only finished easel picture--which possesses
more of the qualities of sculpture than painting; and read about his
competition with Leonardo da Vinci when he prepared the famous _Cartoon
of Pisa_, now known to the world only by fragmentary copies.

Then Pope Julius II. summoned him back to Rome to begin work on that
vast monument conceived for the commemoration of his own greatness, and
destined never to be finished; and afterward gave him the commission to
paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican.

Returning to Florence in an interval of this work, he sculptured the
magnificent Medici monuments, to see which they often visited the Chapel
of the Medici. At the same time, since the prospect of war had come to
the beautiful city, he built those famous fortifications on San Miniato
through whose gateway they entered whenever they visited this lovely
hill, crowned by a noble old church and a quiet city of the dead.

They drove out to Settignano to visit the villa where he lived when a
child, and which he owned all his life; and went to Casa Buonarroti in
Florence, where his descendants have gathered together what they could
of the great master's sketches, early bas-reliefs, and manuscripts. Here
they looked with reverence upon his handwriting, and little clay models
moulded by his own fingers.

They talked of his affection for the noble Vittoria Colonna, and read
the sonnets he wrote to her.

In short, they admired his great talents, loved his character, condoned
his faults of temper, and felt the utmost sympathy with him in all the
vicissitudes of his grand, inspiring life.

"It seems strange," said Mr. Sumner one day, as they returned from the
Academy, where they had been looking at casts and photographs of his
sculptured works, "that though Michael Angelo was undoubtedly greatest
as a sculptor, yet his m