“The artistic school of Florence,” said I, “declares what follows: If the hair of your Hercules were shaved off, there would not remain skull enough to hold his brains. With regard to his face, it is hard to distinguish whether it be the face of a man, or that of a creature something between a lion and an ox; it discovers no attention to what it is about; and it is so ill set upon the neck, with so little art and in so ungraceful a manner, that a more shocking piece of work was never seen. His great brawny shoulders resemble the two pommels of an ass’s packsaddle. His breasts and their muscles bear no similitude to those of a man, but seem to have been drawn from a sack of melons. As he leans directly against the wall, the small of the back has the appearance of a bag filled with long cucumbers. It is impossible to conceive in what manner the two legs are fastened to this distorted figure, for it is hard to distinguish upon which leg he stands, or upon which he exerts any effort of his strength; nor does he appear to stand upon both, as he is sometimes represented by those masters of the art of statuary who know something of their business. It is plain, too, that the statue inclines more than one-third of a cubit forward; and this is the greatest and the most insupportable blunder which pretenders to sculpture can be guilty of. As for the arms, they both hang down in the most awkward and ungraceful manner imaginable; and so little art is displayed in them that people would be almost tempted to think that you had never seen a naked man in your life. The right leg of Hercules and that of Cacus touch at the middle of their calves, and if they were to be separated, not one of them only, but both, would remain without a calf, in the place where they touch. Besides, one of the feet of the Hercules is quite buried, and the other looks as if it stood upon hot coals.”--_The Biography._ SPANISH WIT AND HUMOR The Spanish literature of this time contains little that can be quoted as humor. Hurtado de Mendoza, a novelist, historian and poet, and Lope de Vega, dramatist, are the principal names among the Spanish writers. About 1600 there flourished a poet named Baltazar del Alcazar, whose work shows a rather modern type of humor. _SLEEP_ Sleep is no servant of the will; It has caprices of its own; When most pursued, ’tis swiftly gone; When courted least, it lingers still. With its vagaries long perplext, I turned and turned my restless sconce, Till, one fine night, I thought at once I’d master it. So hear my text. When sleep doth tarry, I begin My long and well-accustomed prayer, And in a twinkling sleep is there, Through my bed-curtains peeping in. When sleep hangs heavy on my eyes, I think of debts I fain would pay, And then, as flies night’s shade from day, Sleep from my heavy eyelids flies.