there was a rebellious light, and in the arched mouth there was a resolute scorn that the masters did not put into their young servitors of God.
In feature she was strangely like the Angel of Annunciation of Carlo Dolce. It is the mode nowadays to deride Carlo Dolce, as it is the mode to deride melody in music; but let them chatter as they will, none can take away the lovely living light on his Gesu's infant face, nor deny the exquisite beauty of that angel who has all the yearning of humanity and all the grandeur of heaven in that perfect face which bends beneath its cloud of nimbus'd hair.
I pity those who can look unmoved on that angel where the painting hangs in the forsaken bed-chamber of the Pitti, whilst, beyond, there are the sweet still sunshine and the sounds of the falling waters of the gardens. Who can do so, may have the jargon of art on his tongue; he has not its secret in his soul. I would almost give up even the divine visions of Raffaelle to have that herald of Christ for ever before my eyes.
There was a bad feeble copy of this seraphic thing in the Church of Santa Tar-
