On the wall of the Vatican, untarnished by the passage of three hundred years, hangs the masterpiece of Raphael,--his picture of the Transfiguration. In the centre, with the glistening raiment and the altered countenance, stands Jesus, the Redeemer. On the right hand and on the left are his glorified visitants; while, underneath the bright cloud, lie the forms of Peter, and James, and John, gazing at the transfigured Jesus, shading their faces as they look. Something of the rapture and the awe that attracted the apostles to that shining spot seems to have seized the soul of the great artist, and filled him with his greatest inspiration. But he saw what the apostles, at that moment, did not see, and, in another portion of his picture, has represented the scene at the foot of the hill,--the group that awaited the descent of Jesus.. The poor possessed boy, writhing, and foaming, and gnashing his teeth,--his eyes, as some say, in their wild rolling agony, already catching a glimpse of the glorified Christ above; the baffled disciples, the caviling scribes, the impotent physicians, the grief-worn father, seeking in vain for help. Suppose Jesus had stayed upon the mount, what would have become of that group of want, and helplessness, and agony? Suppose Christ had remained in the brightness of that vision forever,--himself only a vision of glory, and not an example of toil, and sorrow, and suffering, and death,--alas! For the great world at large, waiting at the foot of the hill--the groups of humanity in all ages;--the sin-possessed sufferers--the caviling skeptics; the philosophers, with their books and instruments; the bereaved and frantic mourners in their need!