The little fellow hadn't yet said a word; he was half frightened, half delighted. They entered a long gallery, which he knew well, for he had been there before. The walls were covered with pictures, and the statues and busts all stood in a light as bright as if it were day; but the most splendid sight of all was when the door to one of the adjoining rooms opened. Yes, the splendor here the little boy remembered, but tonight everything was especially magnificent.

Here stood the statue of a nude woman, as beautiful as only nature and the greatest marble sculptor could make her; she moved her lovely limbs, dolphins sprang to life at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. She is known to the world as the Venus de' Medici. Marble statues of superb men were grouped around her; one of them, the Grinder, was sharpening his sword; the next group was the Wrestling Gladiators. The sword was whetted, and the athletes wrestled for the goddess of beauty.

The boy was dazzled by the magnificence; the walls were radiant with color, and everything there had life and movement. The picture of Venus, the earthly Venus, impassioned and glowing life, as Titian saw her, shone in redoubled splendor. Near her were the portraits of two lovely women, reclining on soft cushions, with beautiful, unveiled limbs, heaving bosoms, and luxuriant locks falling over rounded shoulders, while their dark eyes betrayed passionate thoughts. But none of these pictures dared to step forth from their frames. The goddess of beauty herself, the Gladiators, and the Grinder remained on their pedestals, subdued by the halo around the Madonna, with the infants Jesus and St. John. The holy pictures were no longer just pictures; they were the saints themselves.

What brilliance and beauty as they passed from gallery to gallery! And the little boy saw everything, for the metal pig went step by step past all this glory and magnitude. Each sight crowded out the previous one; only one picture really took hold of his thoughts, and that was chiefly because of the happy children in it; once during the daytime the little boy had nodded to them.

Many probably pass this picture unnoticing, yet it contains the essence of poetry. It is Christ descending to Hell, but He is not surrounded by souls in torment; no, these are heathen. The painting is by the Florentine Agnolo Bronzino. The expression of the children's faces is most beautiful in their certainty that they are going to Heaven. Two little ones are already embracing each other; one stretches a hand out to a companion below, and points to himself as if to say, "I am going to Heaven!" All the older people stand around doubting, or hoping, or humbly bowing in prayer to the Lord Jesus.

The boy gazed longer at this picture than at any of the others; and as the metal pig rested quietly before it, a gentle sigh was heard. Did it come from the picture, or from the breast of the animal? The boy stretched out his own hand toward the smiling children; and then the animal galloped off with him, galloped away through the long gallery.

"Thank you, and bless you, you beautiful animal!" said the little boy, patting the pig as it went bump, bump, bump down the stairs with him.

"Thank you, and blessings to you, too!" said the metal pig. "I've help

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