more entirely the work of Raphael's own hand than the frescoes of the Vatican. Whatever assistance he may have had in the painting of the architectural and landscape backgrounds, the heads, and most of the draperies, are the work of his hand.

Though Raphael did all things well, yet in scenes of tumult and violence he has often been excelled by other painters. The "Sacrifice of the Innocents" (I do not allude to the ruined cartoon in the National Gallery, but to the more extensive composition engraved by Marc Antonio) is a subject I could wish he had never touched, were it not for the single figure of the mother sitting apart on the ground, and bending over the dead or dying child on her lap, with one hand on its breast. In this inimitable conception he has put his own seal on the picture; all the rest might have been the work of another hand. Even in the "Heliodorus," I fancy I see Raphael himself less in the overthrow of the spoiler, fine as that part of the composition is, than in the other wing of the picture. Rubens often surpasses him-as, indeed, he does all other painters, with the exception of Michael Angelo-in subjects of rapid action; but he as often omits to avail himself of the contrast of calm dignity with tumult, which, in the "Heliodorus," atones for the introduction of Julius the Second as the witness of a miracle in the Jewish Temple, dating 200 years before the Christian era. For this anachronism the taste of the Pope is answerable, and not that of Raphael, who has managed it with consummate judgment. Though part of the picture, the Pope and his bearers form no part of the subject. He seems only to contemplate the vision of

an event called to his mind by passages in his own life. And that it may be fully understood that the presence of Julius in the scene is not real, Raphael has not allowed his attendants to be in the least conscious of what is going on. They neither see the rush of the heavenly assailants on the fallen man, nor hear the screams of the women and children close to them.

The group of Leo X. and his train in the "Attila,” is equally valuable as affording the contrast of quiet dignity to consternation and tumult; but here the Pope and those with him are properly actors in the scene, the only anachronism being the substitution of Leo X. for Leo I.

In the "Battle of Constantine," painted by Julio Romano, after the death of Raphael, I can see little of the great master (though the design is said to be entirely Raphael's), but much of Julio Romano. The group of the veteran raising the body of the youthful standard-bearer, and the noble back figure near it of a warrior bestriding his fallen horse, are unquestionably Raphael's, for his pupil has nowhere given evidence of powers equal to these. But the figure of Constantine, the winged victories that hover over him, and nearly everything else in this immense composition, may well be given entirely to Julio, and with benefit rather than with loss to Raphael. Two other compositions in the Vatican, less spoken of, I think, than they deserve to be-namely, the "Coronation of Charlemagne," and the "Oath of Leo X."- are evidently and wholly designs of Raphael, though painted, I believe, chiefly by his scholars.

Few stories can be entirely told by the pencil, nor

is it, therefore, any objection to a subject that it requires explanation not in the power of Art to give. The "Last Supper," of Leonardo, and Raphael's " Charge to Peter," would make but very imperfect impressions on a spectator ignorant of the words spoken by the principal personage in each of these pictures; and we judge of an artist's powers of invention and expression not so much from his making us acquainted with a story, as from the degree in which his work coincides with a narrative previously known to us.

There is no subject in which Raphael has displayed more taste and judgment than in the "Miracle at Bolsena," one of the most unmanageable stories that could be proposed to an artist. A disbelieving priest, while officiating at the altar, is converted by seeing blood flow from the consecrated wafer ;—and how is this to be expressed?-As Raphael has painted it, no change in his attitude takes place, nor is there any expression in the face of the priest sufficiently marked to indicate that he sees anything extraordinary in the wafer which he holds in his hand. His look is rather that of stupefaction than surprise, but even this is not strongly marked. Northcote discovered the blush of conscious shame on his cheek, and it is natural in such circumstances that he should redden-and quite as natural that he should turn pale. But I doubt whether Raphael would have relied on so uncertain an indication as complexion, which might be constitutionally either red or pale. I think it more likely that he considered-however strong might be the emotion of the priest, placed as he was at the high altar, in the presence of the Pope, and with the eyes