ng of a weariness. Among the best are Lucas Cranach, Anton More,
Van Dyck, Rembrandt (three), Rubens, Seybold, Jordaens, Reynolds,
and Romney, all of which remind us of Michelangelo's dry comment,
"Every painter draws himself well". Among the most interesting to us,
wandering in Florence, are the two Andreas, one youthful and the other
grown fatter than one likes and very different from the melancholy
romantic figure in the Pitti; Verrocchio, by Lorenzo di Credi; Carlo
Dolci, surprising by its good sense and humour; Raphael, angelic,
wistful, and weak; Tintoretto, old and powerful; and Jacopo Bassano,
old and simple. Among the moderns, Corot's portrait of himself is
one of the most memorable, but Fantin Latour, Flandrin, Leon Bonnat,
and Lenbach are all strong and modest; which one cannot say of our
own Leighton. Among the later English heads Orchardson's is notable,
but Mr. Sargent's is disappointing.

We now come to one of the most remarkable rooms in the gallery, where
every picture is a gem; but since all are northern pictures, imported,
I give no reproductions. This is the Sala di Van der Goes, so called
from the great work here, the triptych, painted in 1474 to 1477 by
Hugo van der Goes, who died in 1482, and was born at Ghent or Leyden
about 1405. This painter, of whose genius there can be no question,
is supposed to have been a pupil of the Van Eycks. Not much is known
of him save that he painted at Bruges and Ghent and in 1476 entered
a convent at Brussels where he was allowed to dine with distinguished
strangers who came to see him and where he drank so much wine that his
natural excitability turned to insanity. He seems, however, to have
recovered, and if ever a picture showed few signs of a deranged or
inflamed mind it is this, which was painted for the agent of the Medici
bank at Bruges, Tommaso Portinari, who presented it to the Hospital of
S. Maria Nuova in his native city of Florence, which had been founded
by his ancestor Folco, the father of Dante's Beatrice. The left panel
shows Tommaso praying with his two sons Antonio and Pigallo, the right
his wife Maria Portinari and their adorably quaint little daughter
with her charming head-dress and costume. The flowers in the centre
panel are among the most beautiful things in any Florentine picture:
not wild and wayward like Luca Signorelli's, but most exquisitely
done: irises, red lilies, columbines and dark red clove pinks--all
unexpected and all very unli