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Authors jostle each other for first place in our hearts. We may have Emerson periods and Browning periods, when they alone minister to us; and so also pictures, like music, make their appeals to mood. This peaceful, beautiful May day, as I write this at my cabin in the woods, Correggio seems to me truly one of the world's marvelous men.

In the sweet face of the mother there speaks a sorrowful foreboding mixed with its tenderness, as if she knew the world into which the Saviour was born, and foresaw the path in which he was to tread. It is a picture which one can scarce look upon without tears. There are in the same room six pictures by Correggio, which are said to be among his best works; one of them his celebrated Magdalen.

Nelson bequeathed to him his Madonna by Correggio 'as a small testimony of that great value and respect I bear to his lordship; and to his accomplished pen is owing the very beautiful Latin epitaph placed to his friend's memory in St. George the Martyr's, Queen Square.

He alluded to the method of foreshortening employed by his fellow countryman, Melozzo da Forli, by which he made figures painted on domes and vaults look as if they were suspended in the air really above the spectators, and not simply a pattern painted on the surface of the plaster; this method was perfected by Correggio, but was never practised successfully by a Florentine.

The Convent of San Paola is a sacred shrine for art-lovers they come from the round world over, just to see the ceiling in that one room the room of the Abbess Giovanni, where Antonio Allegri, the young man from Correggio, first placed his scaffolds in Parma. The village of Correggio is quite off the beaten track of travel. You will have to look five times on the map before you can find it.

But the best poet at Lodovico's court, a sweeter singer and a finer scholar than the much-praised Bellincioni or the gay Visconti, was Niccolo, the "gran Correggio" of Gaspare's song.

Let no one think he has seen Italy, let no one think he has learnt the lofty secrets of art, until he has seen thee and thy Cathedral at Parma, O Correggio! Ludwig Tieck There is no moment that comes to mortals so charged with peace and precious joy as the moment of reconciliation. If the angels ever attend us, they are surely present then.

They never, for instance, call Raphael, Raphael, or Correggio, Correggio; 'the divine Sanzio, the incomparable di Allegri, they murmur, and always with the broadest vowels. Every pretentious, conceited, home-bred mediocrity they hail as a genius: 'the blue sky of Italy, 'the lemons of the South, 'the balmy breezes of the banks of the Brenta, are for ever on their lips.

The spirits of the old painters, living still on their canvass, earn from year to year the bread of an indigent and oppressed people. This ought to silence those utilitarians at home, who oppose the cultivation of the fine arts, on the ground of their being useless luxuries. Let them look to Italy, where a picture by Raphael or Correggio is a rich legacy for a whole city.

A workbasket of plain sewing lay open among the pillows on the sofa. An American magazine, with a paper-knife inserted between its leaves, was tossed beside a tooled morocco edition of Tacitus. A crucifix hung beneath the Correggio; a plaster model of the Discobolus stood between the windows.