ng at this hamlet of sanctuary without attuning oneself somewhat
to the more pagan character of the place. Of irreverence, in the sense
of a desire to laugh at things that are of high and serious import, there
is not a trace, but at the same time there is a certain unbending of the
bow at Montrigone which is not perceivable at Varallo.

The first chapel to the left on entering the church is that of the Birth
of the Virgin. St. Anne is sitting up in bed. She is not at all ill--in
fact, considering that the Virgin has only been born about five minutes,
she is wonderful; still the doctors think it may be perhaps better that
she should keep her room for half an hour longer, so the bed has been
festooned with red and white paper roses, and the counterpane is covered
with bouquets in baskets and in vases of glass and china. These cannot
have been there during the actual birth of the Virgin, so I suppose they
had been in readiness, and were brought in from an adjoining room as soon
as the baby had been born. A lady on her left is bringing in some more
flowers, which St. Anne is receiving with a smile and most gracious
gesture of the hands. The first thing she asked for, when the birth was
over, was for her three silver hearts. These were immediately brought to
her, and she has got them all on, tied round her neck with a piece of
blue silk ribbon.

Dear mamma has come. We felt sure she would, and that any little
misunderstandings between her and Joachim would ere long be forgotten and
forgiven. They are both so good and sensible if they would only
understand one another. At any rate, here she is, in high state at the
right hand of the bed. She is dressed in black, for she has lost her
husband some few years previously, but I do not believe a smarter, sprier
old lady for her years could be found in Palestine, nor yet that either
Giovanni d'Enrico or Giacomo Ferro could have conceived or executed such
a character. The sacristan wanted to have it that she was not a woman at
all, but was a portrait of St. Joachim, the Virgin's father. "Sembra una
donna," he pleaded more than once, "ma non e donna." Surely, however, in
works of art even more than in other things, there is no "is" but
seeming, and if a figure seems female it must be taken as such. Besides,
I asked one of the leading doctors at Varallo whether the figure was man
or woman. He said it was evident I was not married, for that if I had
been I should have se