ian painted many other pictures which
are among the world's masterpieces.

He must have had a special love for children, this famous old Venetian
painter. We can tell by his pictures how well he understood them and
how he loved to paint them. He would learn much by watching his own
little daughter Lavinia as she played about the old house in Venice.
His wife had died, and his eldest son was only a grief and
disappointment to his father, but the little daughter was the light of
his eyes.

We seem to catch a glimpse of her face in his famous picture of the
little Virgin going up the steps to the temple. The little maid is all
alone, for she has left her companions behind, and the crowd stands
watching her from below, while the high priest waits for her above. One
hand is stretched out, and with the other she lifts her dress as she
climbs up the marble steps. She looks a very real child with her long
plait of golden hair and serious little face, and we cannot help
thinking that the painter's own little daughter must have been in his
mind when he painted the little Virgin.

Titian lived to be a very old man, almost a hundred years old, and up
to the last he was always seen with the brush in his hand, painting
some new picture. So, when he passed away, he left behind a rich store
of beauty, which not only decked the walls of his beloved Venice, but
made the whole world richer and more beautiful.

TINTORETTO

It was between four and five hundred years ago that Venice sat most
proudly on her throne as Queen of the Sea. She had the greatest fleet
in all the Mediterranean. She bought and sold more than any other
nation. She had withstood the shock of battle and conquered all her
foes, and now she had time to deck herself with all the beauty which
art and wealth could produce.

The merchants of Venice sailed to every port and carried with them
wonderful shiploads of goods, for which their city was famous--silks,
velvets, lace, and rich brocades. The secret of the marvellous Tyrian
dyes had been discovered by her people, and there were many dyers in
Venice who were specially famous for the purple dye of Tyre, which was
thought to be the most beautiful in all the world. Then too they had
learned the art of blowing glass into fairy-like forms, as delicate and
light as a bubble, catching in it every shade of colour, and twisting
it into a hundred exquisite shapes. Truly there had never been a richer
or more beautiful city