bronze--Or San Michele, the Badia, the Baptistery; and new buildings rose on a grander scale. In 1294 was begun the Mausoleum of the great Florentine dead, the Church of S. Croce. In the same year, a few months later, Arnolfo laid the deep foundations which were afterwards to bear up Brunelleschi's dome, and traced the plan of the magnificent cathedral. In 1298 he began to raise a Town-hall worthy of the Republic, and of being the habitation of its magistrates, the frowning mass of the Palazzo Vecchio. In 1299, the third circle of the walls was commenced, with the benediction of bishops, and the concourse of all the "lords and orders" of Florence. And Giotto was now beginning to throw Cimabue into the shade--Giotto, the shepherd's boy, painter, sculptor, architect, and engineer at once, who a few years later was to complete and crown the architectural glories of Florence by that masterpiece of grace, his marble Campanile. [Footnote 19: See the curious letters of _John de Monte Corvino_, about his mission in Cathay, 1289-1305, in Wadding, vi. 69.] [Footnote 20: _E.g._ the _Mozzi_, of Greg. X.; _Peruzzi_, of Philip le Bel; _Spini_, of Boniface VIII.; _Cerchi del Garbo_, of Benedict XI. (G. Vill. vii. 42, viii. 63, 71; _Dino Comp._ p. 35).] Fifty years made then all that striking difference in domestic habits, in the materials of dress, in the value of money, which they have usually made in later centuries. The poet of the fourteenth century describes the proudest nobleman of a hundred years before "with his leathern girdle and clasp of bone;" and in one of the most beautiful of all poetic celebrations of the good old time, draws the domestic life of ancient Florence in the household where his ancestor was born: A così riposato, a così bello Viver di cittadini, a così fida Cittadinanza, a così dolce ostello Maria mi diè, chiamata in alte grida.--_Par._ c. 15.[21] [Footnote 21: Florence, confined within that ancient wall, Whence still the chimes at noon and evening sound, Was sober, modest, and at peace with all. Myself have seen Bellincion Berti pace The street in leathern belt; his lady come Forth from her toilet with unpainted face. * * * * Oh happy wives! each soon to lay her head In her own tomb; and no one yet compelled To weep deserted in a lonely bed. * * * * To such pure life of beauty and repose-- Such faithful citizens--such happy men-- The virgin gave me, when my mother's throes Forced her with cries to call on Mary's name.--WRIGHT.]