le St. John begs to have it.

"Give me the cross, I pray you, dearest Jesus.
O if you knew how much I wish to have it,
You would not hold it in your hand so tightly.
Something has told me, something in my breast here,
Which I am sure is true, that if you keep it,
If you will let no other take it from you,
Terrible things I cannot bear to think of
Must fall upon you. Show me that you love me:
Am I not here to be your little servant,
Follow your steps, and wait upon your wishes?"

But Christ refuses to yield the terrible plaything, and claims his
privilege to be the elder "in the heritage of pain."

In a picture by Carlo Maratti, I think this action is evident--Christ
takes the cross, and St. John yields it with reluctance.

A beautiful version of the Mater Amabilis is the MADRE PIA, where the
Virgin in her divine Infant acknowledges and adores the Godhead. We
must be careful to distinguish this subject from the Nativity, for
it is common, in the scene of the birth of the Saviour at Bethlehem,
to represent the Virgin adoring her new-born Child. The presence of
Joseph--the ruined shed or manger--the ox and ass,--these express the
_event_. But in the MADRE PIA properly so called, the locality, and
the accessories, if any, are purely ideal and poetical, and have
no reference to time or place. The early Florentines, particularly
Lorenzo di Credi, excelled in this charming subject.

There is a picture by Filippino Lippi, which appears to me eminently
beautiful and poetical. Here the mystical garden is formed of a
balustrade, beyond which is seen a hedge all in a blush with roses.
The Virgin kneels in the midst, and adores her Infant, who has his
finger on his lip (_Verbum sum!_); an angel scatters rose-leaves
over him, while the little St. John also kneels, and four angels,
in attitudes of adoration, complete the group.

But a more perfect example is the Madonna by Francia in the Munich
Gallery, where the divine Infant lies on the flowery turf; and the
mother, standing before him and looking down on him, seems on the
point of sinking on her knees in a transport of tenderness and
devotion. This, to my feeling, is one of the most perfect pictures in
the world; it leaves nothing to be desired. With all the simplicity of
the treatment it is strictly devotional. The Mother and her Child are
placed within the mystical garden enclosed in a treillage of roses,
alone with each other, and apart from all eart