This effect is the result of that quality that is called expression, and which, in the drawing of Raffaello has attracted more admiration of late years than formerly. It is remarkable, that not only Zuccaro, who was indeed a superficial writer, but that Vasari, and Lomazzo himself, so much more profound than either of them, should not have conferred on him that praise which he afterwards received from Algarotti, Lazzarini, and Mengs. Lionardo was the first, as we shall see in the Milanese School, to lead the way to delicacy of expression; but that master, who painted so little, and with such labour, is not to be compared to Raffaello, who possessed the whole quality in its fullest extent. There is not a movement of the soul, there is not a character of passion known to the ancients, and capable of being expressed by art, that he has not caught, expressed, and varied, in a thousand different ways, and always within the bounds of propriety. We have no tradition of his having, like Da Vinci, frequented the public streets to seek for subjects for his pencil; and his numerous pictures prove that he could not have devoted so much time to this study, while his drawings clearly evince, that he had not equal occasion for such assistance. Nature, as I have before remarked, had endowed him with an imagination which transported his mind to the scene of the event, either fabulous or remote, in which he was engaged, and awoke in him the very same emotions which the subjects of such story must themselves have experienced; and this vivid conception assisted him until he had designed his subject with that distinctness which he had either observed in other countenances, or found in his own mind. This faculty, seldom found in poets, and still more rarely in painters, no one possessed in a more eminent degree than Raffaello. His figures are passions personified; and love, fear, hope, and desire, anger, placability, humility, or pride, assume their places by turns, as the subject changes; and while the spectator regards the countenances, the air, and the gestures of his figures, he forgets that they are the work of art, and is surprised to find his own feelings excited, and himself an actor in the scene before him. There is another delicacy of expression, and this is the gradation of the passions, by which every one perceives whether they are in their commencement or at their height, or in their decline. He had observed their shades of difference in the intercourse of life, and on every occasion he knew how to transfer the result of his observations to his canvas. Even his silence is eloquent, and every actor "Il cor negli occhi, e nella fronte ha scritto:"