It is the knowledge of his own country and the wonderful power of space composition that marks Perugino's pictures so emphatically as to enable us to determine that the "Delivery of the Keys to St. Peter" is the only fresco from the master's hand in the Sistine Chapel. It was Morelli who first pointed out that Crowe and Cavalcaselle were in error in attributing "Moses and Zipporah" and the "Baptism of Christ" to Perugino, and I accept his teaching in this matter quite readily. A careful study of the Sistine frescoes has convinced me that Morelli was right and Crowe and Cavalcaselle wrong. Even the two central figures in the disputed "Baptism," those of Christ and St. John, which are compared with the two similar figures in the predella at Rouen, which is undoubtedly authentic, and with the same scene in the National Gallery, which I consider a copy only of the master's work, betray the hand of Pinturicchio rather than that of Perugino. In the fresco at Rome, the two figures are crowded closely together; the arm of Our Lord almost rests on St. John's head, the face of the saint is weak and feeble, the limbs are skinny and badly drawn, there is no sense of security in the feet, the hands are out of proportion and the draperies entirely lack the hook folds of Perugino, and are loose and inadequate. Above all, neither figure stands upon its two feet; in the case of the Christ one foot alone supports the whole body, a mistake that Perugino never makes. The whole picture is crowded with figures and hemmed in with hills. It is pictorial certainly, and effective, but it entirely lacks the spaciousness of Perugino. There is a feeling of crush and crowd such as Perugino never gives, and a total absence even in the landscape of that extensive vista of scenery, that breadth of treatment which is so important. Even the representation of the Eternal Father within the mandorla of cherubs and attended by angels is not placed high up in the illimitable aerial space, but almost touches a neighbouring hill, and serves but to overfill the picture and make its crowded composition a wearisome burden. Compare for a moment the predella at Rouen. The two central figures stand apart one from the other, and therefore stand out clearly and distinctly, while yet near enough for their mutual actions to be closely connected. They stand firmly and well balanced on their feet, the slight exaggeration of one of St. John's feet, being due to an accurate understanding on Perugino's part of the distortion apparently given to the limb by its being below the surface of the water. Around are the kneeling angels and attendant figures, eight only in number, carefully graduated in size according to position, aloof, serious, quiet, and still. Away and beyond is the rolling landscape, with its exquisite hills and dainty detached trees standing out clear against the sky. On and on the eye travels, eager to reach the limits of this limitless vision, and impressed more and more