robbed it; that the sons honoured their fathers, and received their
fathers' honour as the most blessed inheritance. Remember the phrase
"vite pie bene dictus filius," to be compared with the "nos nequiores"
of the declining days of all states,--chiefly now in Florence, France
and England.

Thus much for the local interest of name. Next for the universal
interest of the art of this tomb.

It is the crowning virtue of all great art that, however little is left
of it by the injuries of time, that little will be lovely. As long as
you can see anything, you can see--almost all;--so much the hand of the
master will suggest of his soul.

And here you are well quit, for once, of restoration. No one cares for
this sculpture; and if Florence would only thus put all her old
sculpture and painting under her feet, and simply use them for
gravestones and oilcloth, she would be more merciful to them than she
is now. Here, at least, what little is left is true.

And, if you look long, you will find it is not so little. That worn
face is still a perfect portrait of the old man, though like one struck
out at a venture, with a few rough touches of a master's chisel. And
that falling drapery of his cap is, in its few lines, faultless, and
subtle beyond description.

And now, here is a simple but most useful test of your capacity for
understanding Florentine sculpture or painting. If you can see that the
lines of that cap are both right, and lovely; that the choice of the
folds is exquisite in its ornamental relations of line; and that the