I had intended to give the best account of it in my power; but, when at
Florence, lost all time for writing that I might copy the group of the
Pope and Emperor for the schools of Oxford; and the work since done by
Mr. Caird has informed me of so much, and given me, in some of its
suggestions, so much to think of, that I believe it will be best and
most just to print at once his account of the fresco as a supplement to
these essays of mine, merely indicating any points on which I have
objections to raise, and so leave matters till Fors lets me see
Florence once more.

Perhaps she may, in kindness forbid my ever seeing it more, the wreck
of it being now too ghastly and heartbreaking to any human soul that
remembers the days of old. Forty years ago, there was assuredly no spot
of ground, out of Palestine, in all the round world, on which, if you
knew, even but a little, the true course of that world's history, you
saw with so much joyful reverence the dawn of morning, as at the foot
of the Tower of Giotto. For there the traditions of faith and hope, of
both the Gentile and Jewish races, met for their beautiful labour: the
Baptistery of Florence is the last building raised on the earth by the
descendants of the workmen taught by Dadalus: and the Tower of Giotto
is the loveliest of those raised on earth under the inspiration of the
men who lifted up the tabernacle in the wilderness. Of living Greek
work there is none after the Florentine Baptistery; of living Christian
work, none so perfect as the Tower of Giotto; and, under the gleam and
shadow of their marbles, the morning light was haunted by the ghosts of
the Father of Natural Science, Galileo; of Sacred Art, Angelico, and
the Master of Sacred Song. Which spot of ground the modern Florentine
has made his principal hackney-coach stand and omnibus station. The
hackney coaches, with their more or less farmyard-like litter of
occasional hay, and smell of variously mixed horse-manure, are yet in