the "Christian Art."--ED.

[6] The reader must remember that this arcade was originally quite open,
the inner wall having been built after the fire, in 1574.

[7] "An Historical Essay on Architecture" by the late Thomas Hope.
(Murray, 1835) chap, iv., pp. 23-31.

[8] At the feet of his Madonna, in the Gallery of Bologna.

[9] In many pictures of Angelico, the Infant Christ appears
self-supported--the Virgin not touching the child.

[10] The upper inscription Lord Lindsay has misquoted--it runs thus:--

"Salve Mater Pietatis Et Totius Trinitatis Nobile Triclinium."

[11] We have been much surprised by the author's frequent reference to
Lasinio's engravings of various frescoes, unaccompanied by any warning
of their inaccuracy. No work of Lasinio's can be trusted for _anything_
except the number and relative position of the figures. All masters are
by him translated into one monotony of commonplace:--he dilutes
eloquence, educates naivete, prompts ignorance, stultifies intelligence,
and paralyzes power; takes the chill off horror, the edge off wit, and
the bloom off beauty. In all artistical points he is utterly valueless,
neither drawing nor expression being ever preserved by him. Giotto,
Benozzo, or Ghirlandajo are all alike to him; and we hardly know whether
he injures most when he robs or when he redresses.

[12] We do not perhaps enough estimate the assistance which was once
given both to purpose and perception, by the feeling of wonder which
with us is destroyed partly by the ceaseless calls upon it, partly by
our habit of either discovering or anticipating a reason for everything.
Of the simplicity and ready surprise of heart which supported the spirit
of the older painters, an interesting example is seen in the diary of
Albert Duerer, lately published in a work every way valuable, but
especially so in the carefulness and richness of its illustrations,
"Divers Works of Early Masters in Christian Decoration," edited by John
Weale, London, 2 vols. folio, 1846.

EASTLAKE'S HISTORY OF OIL-PAINTING.[13]

98. The stranger in Florence who for the first time passes through the
iron gate which opens from the Green Cloister of Santa Maria Novella
into the Spezieria, can hardly fail of being surprised, and that perhaps
painfully, by the suddenness of the transition from the silence and
gloom of the monastic inclosure, its pavement rough with epitaphs, and
its walls retaining, still legible, though crumbl