herefore his works have
stood. Genius is too apt to think herself independent of form and
matter--never was there such a mistake; she cannot slight either without
hamstringing herself. But the rule is of universal application; without
this thorough mastery of their respective tools, this determination
honestly to make the best use of them, the divine, the soldier, the
statesman, the philosopher, the poet--however genuine their enthusiasm,
however lofty their genius--are mere empirics, pretenders to crowns they
will not run for, children not men--sporters with Imagination, triflers
with Reason, with the prospects of humanity, with Time, and with
God."--Vol. iii., pp. 148, 149.

* * *

A noble passage this, and most true, provided we distinguish always
between mastery of tool together with thorough strength of workmanship,
and mere neatness of outside polish or fitting of measurement, of which
ancient masters are daringly scornful.

81. None of Orcagna's pupils, except Francisco Traini, attained
celebrity--

* * *

"nothing in fact is known of them except their names. Had their works,
however inferior, been preserved, we might have had less difficulty in
establishing the links between himself and his successor in the
supremacy of the Semi-Byzantine school at Florence, the Beato Fra
Angelico da Fiesole.... He was born at Vicchio, near Florence, it is
said in 1387, and was baptized by the name of Guido. Of a gentle nature,
averse to the turmoil of the world, and pious to enthusiasm, though as
free from fanaticism as his youth was innocent of vice, he determined,
at the age of twenty, though well provided for in a worldly point of
view, to retire to the cloister; he professed himself accordingly a
brother of the monastery of S. Domenico at Fiesole in 1407, assuming his
monastic name from the Apostle of love, S. John. He acquired from his
residence there the distinguishing surname 'da Fiesole;' and a calmer
retreat for one weary of earth and desirous of commerce with heaven
would in vain be sought for;--the purity of the atmosphere, the
freshness of the morning breeze, the starry clearness and delicious
fragrance of the nights, the loveliness of the valley at one's feet,
lengthening out, like a life of happiness, between the Apennine and the
sea--with the intermingling sounds that ascend perpetually from below,
softened by distance into music, and by an agreeable compromise at once