the Rubens in the Salon Carré in order to observe the way in which the theme has been treated, with considerable attention to traditional detail, yet with highly transformed feeling, by the great and princely Flemish painter. The Nativity, in Luini’s second fresco, is also full of traditional features,—a beautiful work in the peculiar spirit of this gentle artist. Note every one of the accessories and details, observing how they have come from earlier pictures, and also how completely Luini has subordinated them to his own art and his delicate handling. Comparison of these two with the other Luinis in other rooms will give you some idea of his varying manners in fresco and oil-painting. Note that the frescoes represent him best, and are fullest of Luini. * * * * * Another picture, which in a wholly different direction exemplifies the need for knowledge of works of art elsewhere, and especially under the conditions in which they were originally painted, is to be found in Carpaccio’s =Preaching of St. Stephen=, on the R hand wall, shortly after you enter the Salle des Primitifs. This is one of a series of the Life of St. Stephen,—a form of composition of which the only good example in the Louvre is Lesueur’s insipid and colourless set, recounting the biography and miracles of St. Bruno. In Italy, such histories of saints are everywhere common, as frescoes or otherwise. Those who know Venice, for example, will well remember Carpaccio’s own charming series of the Life of St. Ursula, now well arranged round the walls of a single room in the Venice Academy. Still better will they understand the nature of these works if they have seen Carpaccio’s other delicious series of the Life of St. George, in San Giorgio dei Schiavoni, where the pictures still remain, at their original height from the ground, and in their original position, on the walls of the church for which they were painted. Only in such situations can works of this kind be properly estimated. That they can less easily be understood in isolation, you can gather if you look at the four cabinet pictures from the boudoir of Isabella d’Este, by Mantegna, Perugino, and Costa, which hang not far from this very St. Stephen in the same room of the Louvre. The size of the figures, in particular, is largely dictated by the shape of the room, the distance from the eye, and the character of the space which the painter has to cover.