an than those
which Fra Angelico painted, and yet they are not mere men and women,
but something higher and nobler. Instead of the angels swinging their
censers which the painter of San Marco so lovingly drew, Giovanni's
angels are little human boys, with grave sweet faces; happy children
with a look of heaven in their eyes, as they play on their little lutes
and mandolines.

But besides the pictures of saints and angels, Giovanni had a wonderful
gift for painting portraits, and most of the great people of Venice
came to be painted by him. In our own National Gallery we have the
portrait of the Doge Loredan, which is one of those pictures which can
teach you many things when you have learned to look with seeing eyes.

So the brothers worked together, but before long death carried off the
elder, and Giovanni was left alone.

Though he was now very old, Giovanni worked harder than ever, and his
hand, instead of losing power, seemed to grow stronger and more and
more skilful. He was ninety years old when he died, and he worked
almost up to the last.

The brothers were both buried in the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, in
the heart of Venice. There, in the dim quietness of the old church,
they lie at rest together, undisturbed by the voices of the passers-by
in the square outside, or the lapping of the water against the steps,
as the tides ebb and flow around their quiet resting-place.

VITTORE CARPACCIO

Like most of the other great painters, Giovanni Bellini had many pupils
working under him--boys who helped their master, and learned their
lessons by watching him work. Among these pupils was a boy called
Vittore Carpaccio, a sharp, clever lad, with keen bright eyes which
noticed everything. No one else learned so quickly or copied the
master's work so faithfully, and when in time he became himself a
famous painter, his work showed to the end traces of the master's
influence.

He must have been a curious boy, this Vittore Carpaccio, for although
we know but little of his life, his pictures tell us many a tale about
him.

In the olden days, when Venice was at the height of her glory, splendid
fetes were given in the city, and the gorgeous shows were a wonder to
behold. Early in the morning of these festa days, Carpaccio would steal
away in the dim light from the studio, before the others were astir.
Work was left behind, for who could work indoors on days like these?
There was a holiday feeling in the very ai