and it is obvious that, notwithstanding the signs of feverish activity, and an apparent desire to get the work finished, much was left uncompleted at his death.  The pulpits were not even erected until a later date; some of the panels were subsequently added in wood, and others do not correctly fit into the structural design.  But the genius of Donatello shines through the finishing-touches of his assistants.  Drama is replaced by tragedy; and in these panels the concluding incidents of the Passion are pictured with intense earnestness and pathos.  But Donatello would not allow gloom to monopolise his composition.  The paradox of the pulpits consists in the frieze of putti above the reliefs:  putti who dance, play, romp, and run about.  Some of them are busily engaged in moving a heavy statue:  others are pressing grapes into big cauldrons.  The boy dragging along a violoncello as big as himself is delightful.  The contrast afforded by this happy and buoyant throng to the unrelieved tragedy below is strikingly unconventional; and the spirit of both portions is so well maintained that there is neither conflict of emotion nor sense of incongruity.  The scenes (including those added at a later date) are sixteen in number.  Except the later reliefs of St. John, St. Luke, the Flagellation, and the Ecce Homo, all are of bronze, upon which more care seems to have been expended than on the clay models from which they were cast.  On the southern pulpit the scene on the Mount of Olives shows the foreshortened Apostles sleeping soundly as in Mantegna’s pictures.  Christ before Pilate and Christ before Caiaphas are treated as different episodes, in two similar compartments of one great hall, separated by a large pier.  The Crucifix and the Deposition are, perhaps, the most remarkable of all these reliefs:  corresponding in many ways to works already described; but not having been over-decorated like the Bargello relief, show greater dignity and less confusion.  The background of the Deposition is flat, but broken here and there by faintly-indicated horsemen; naked boys riding on shadowy steeds like those vague figures which seem to thread their way through some panel of Gothic tapestry.  There is an element of stiacciato in the Entombment, giving it the air of a mystery rather than of an historical fact.  The draperies are thin and graceful, suited to the softer modelling of the limbs:  some of the faces are almost dainty.  Passing to the northern pulpit, we come to three scenes divided by heavy buttresses, but unified by figures leaning against them, and overstepping the lateral boundaries of the reliefs.  The subjects are the Descent into Limbo, the Resurrection and the Ascension.  The link between the two former is a haggard emaciated Baptist.  The Christ is old and tired.  The people who welcome him in Limbo are old and tired, feebly pressing towards the Saviour.  The Roman guards lie sleeping, self abandoned in their fatigue, while Christ, wearied and suffering, steps