ver the tomb of Pope
John by Donatello and Michelozzo in the Baptistery.

Among the altar-pieces are two by Perugino; but of Florentine
altar-pieces one can say little or nothing in a book of reasonable
dimensions. There are so many and they are for the most part so
difficult to see. Now and then one arrests the eye and holds it;
but for the most part they go unstudied. The rotunda of the choir
is interesting, for here we meet again Alberti, who completed it
from designs by Michelozzo. It does not seem to fit the church from
within, and even less so from without, but it is a fine structure. The
seventeenth-century painting of the dome is almost impressive.

But one can forget and forgive all the church's gaudiness and floridity
when the choir is in good voice and the strings play Palestrina as
they did last Easter Sunday. The Annunziata is famous for its music,
and on the great occasions people crowd there as nowhere else. At High
Mass the singing was fine but the instrumental music finer. One is
accustomed to seeing vicarious worship in Italy; but never was there
so vicarious a congregation as ours, and indeed if it had not been
for the sight of the busy celibates at the altar one would not have
known that one was worshipping at all. The culmination of detachment
came when a family of Siamese or Burmese children, in native dress,
entered. A positive hum went round, and not an eye but was fixed
on the little Orientals. When, however, the organ was for a while
superseded and the violas and violins quivered under the plangent
melody of Palestrina, our roving attention was fixed and held.

I am not sure that the Andrea in the cloisters is not the best of
all his work. It is very simple and wholly beautiful, and in spite
of years of ravage the colouring is still wonderful, perhaps indeed
better for the hand of Time. It is called the "Madonna del Sacco"
(grain sack), and fills the lunette over the door leading from the
church. The Madonna--Andrea's favourite type, with the eyes set widely
in the flat brow over the little trustful nose--has her Son, older than
usual, sprawling on her knee. Her robes are ample and rich; a cloak
of green is over her pretty head. By her sits S. Joseph, on the sack,
reading with very long sight. That is all; but one does not forget it.

For the rest the cloisters are a huddle of memorial slabs and
indifferent frescoes. In the middle is a well with nice iron work. No
grass at all. The second c