n above him. His
hands are placed together with a strange and trivial action, supposed to
denote the counting on his fingers the number of days he was in the
fish's belly. A formless marine monster is seen at his side.

'Daniel has a book on his lap, with one hand on it. He is young, and a
piece of lion's skin seems to allude to his history.'[9]

In the recesses between the prophets and sibyls are a series of lovely
family groups, representing the genealogy of the Virgin, and expressive
of calm expectation of the future. The four corners of the ceiling
contain groups illustrative of the power of the Lord displayed in the
especial deliverances of his chosen people. Near the altar are:

Right, The Deliverance of the Israelites by the Brazen Serpent.

Left, The Execution of Haman.

Near the entrance are:

Right, Judith and Holofernes.

Left, David and Goliath.[10]

Michael Angelo was thirty-nine years of age when he painted the ceiling
of the Sistine. When he began to paint the 'Day of Judgment' he was
above sixty years of age, and his great rival, Raphael, had already been
dead thirteen years.

The picture of the 'Day of Judgment,' with much that renders it
marvellous and awful, has a certain coarseness of conception and
execution. The moment chosen is that in which the Lord says, 'Depart
from me, ye cursed,' and the idea and even attributes of the principal
figure are taken from Orcagna's old painting in the Campo Santo. But
with all Michael Angelo's advantages, he has by no means improved on the
original idea. He has robbed the figure of the Lord of its transcendant
majesty; he has not been able to impart to the ranks of the blessed the
look of blessedness which 'Il Beato' himself might have conveyed. The
chief excellence of the picture is in the ranks of the condemned, who
writhe and rebel against their agonies. No wonder that the picture is
sombre and dreadful.

Of the allegorical figures of 'Night' and 'Morning' in the chapel of San
Lorenzo, there are casts at the Crystal Palace.

A comparison and a contrast have been instituted between Michael Angelo
and Milton, and Raphael and Shakespeare. There may be something in them,
but, as in the case of broken metaphors, they will not bear being pushed
to a logical conclusion or picked to pieces. The very transparent
comparison which matches Michael Angelo with his own countryman, Dante,
is after all more felicitous and truer. Michael Angelo with Lionardo are
t