are taking part in the principal scene, many others are standing about
interested in looking on; all, men with strongly marked
characteristics,--individual, and worthy of attention.

"May I repeat a verse or two of poetry right here where we stand,
uncle?" asked Margery. "It keeps saying itself in my mind. I think you
all know it and who wrote it, but that is all the better."

And in her own sweet way she recited James Russell Lowell's beautiful
tribute to Masaccio:--

"He came to Florence long ago
And painted here these walls, that shone
For Raphael and for Angelo,
With secrets deeper than his own,
Then shrank into the dark again,
And died, we know not how or when.

"The darkness deepened, and I turned
Half sadly from the fresco grand;
'And is this,' mused I, 'all ye earned,
High-vaulted brain and cunning hand,
That ye to other men could teach
The skill yourselves could never reach?'

* * * * *

"Henceforth, when rings the health to those
Who live in story and in song,
O, nameless dead, that now repose