ich Perugino painted a
crucifixion, his masterpiece in fresco. The work is in three panels,
of which that on the left, representing the Virgin and S. Bernard,
is the most beautiful. Indeed, there is no more beautiful light
in any picture we shall see, and the Virgin's melancholy face is
inexpressibly sweet. Perugino is best represented at the Accademia,
and there are works of his at the Uffizi and Pitti and in various
Florentine churches; but here he is at his best. Vasari tells us that
he made much money and was very fond of it; also that he liked his
young wife to wear light head-dresses both out of doors and in the
house, and often dressed her himself. His master was Verrocchio and
his best pupil Raphael.

S. Mary Magdalene de' Pazzi, a member of the same family that plotted
against the Medici and owned the sacred flints, was born in 1566, and,
says Miss Dunbar, [8] "showed extraordinary piety from a very tender
age". When only a child herself she used to teach small children, and
she daily carried lunch to the prisoners. Her real name was Catherine,
but becoming a nun she called herself Mary Magdalene. In an illness in
which she was given up for dead, she lay on her bed for forty days,
during which she saw continual visions, and then recovered. Like
S. Catherine of Bologna she embroidered well and painted miraculously,
and she once healed a leprosy by licking it. She died in 1607.

The old English Cemetery, as it is usually called--the Protestant
Cemetery, as it should be called--is an oval garden of death in the
Piazza Donatello, at the end of the Via di Pinti and the Via Alfieri,
rising up from the boulevard that surrounds the northern half of
Florence. (The new Protestant Cemetery is outside the city on the
road to the Certosa.) I noticed, as I walked beneath the cypresses,
the grave of Arthur Hugh Clough, the poet of "Dipsychus," who died
here in Florence on November 13th, 1861; of Walter Savage Landor,
that old lion (born January 30th, 1775; died September 17th, 1864),
of whom I shall say much more in a later chapter; of his son Arnold,
who was born in 1818 and died in 1871; and of Mrs. Holman Hunt, who
died in 1866. But the most famous grave is that of Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, who lies beneath a massive tomb that bears only the initials
E.B.B. and the date 1861. "Italy," wrote James Thomson, the poet of
"The City of Dreadful Night," on hearing of Mrs. Browning's death,

"Italy, you hold in trust
Very