igh procession beyond the Torcellan shore; blue islands of Paduan
hills, poised in the golden west. Above, free winds and fiery clouds
ranging at their will;--brightness out of the north, and balm from the
south, and the stars of the evening and morning clear in the limitless
light of arched heaven and circling sea.

Such was Giorgione's school--such Titian's home.

Near the south-west corner of Covent Garden, a square brick pit or well
is formed by a close-set block of houses, to the back windows of which
it admits a few rays of light. Access to the bottom of it is obtained
out of Maiden Lane, through a low archway and an iron gate; and if you
stand long enough under the archway to accustom your eyes to the
darkness you may see on the left hand a narrow door, which formerly
gave quiet access to a respectable barber's shop, of which the front
window, looking into Maiden Lane, is still extant, filled, in this year
(1860), with a row of bottles, connected, in some defunct manner, with
a brewer's business. A more fashionable neighbourhood, it is said,
eighty years ago than now--never certainly a cheerful one--wherein a
boy being born on St. George's day, 1775, began soon after to take
interest in the world of Covent Garden, and put to service such
spectacles of life as it afforded.

No knights to be seen there, nor, I imagine, many beautiful ladies;
their costume at least disadvantageous, depending much on incumbency of
hat and feather, and short waists; the majesty of men founded similarly
on shoebuckles and wigs;--impressive enough when Reynolds will do his
best for it; but not suggestive of much ideal delight to a boy.

"Bello ovile dov' io dormii agnello";[121] of things beautiful, besides
men and women, dusty sunbeams up or down the street on summer mornings;
deep furrowed cabbage-leaves at the greengrocer's; magnificence of
oranges in wheelbarrows round the corner; and Thames' shore within
three minutes' race.

None of these things very glorious; the best, however, that England, it
seems, was then able to provide for a boy of gift: who, such as they
are, loves them--never, indeed, forgets them. The short waists modify
to the last his visions of Greek ideal. His foregrounds had always a
succulent cluster or two of greengrocery at the corners. Enchanted
oranges gleam in Covent Gardens of the Hesperides; and great ships go
to pieces in order to scatter chests of them on the waves.[122] That mist
of early sunbeams i