non-colorists have relinquished the parallel of
architecture, which, be it observed, they formerly defended obstinately,
and have now intrenched themselves in the citadel of sculpture,
intending to hold it against all evidence. The only other object of much
interest was a Pompeian fresco, representing two actors, whose attitudes
and masks are so strikingly adapted to express the first scene of the
"Heautontimorumenos," between Menalcas and Chremes, that it seems
scarcely doubtful that this is actually the subject of the painting.

Near the upper end of the Toledo the Cathedral is situated, not very
favorably for effect, as only the eastern side is sufficiently free from
buildings. It is a noble pile: Northern power and piety expressed by
the agency of Southern and Arabic workmen, and somewhat affected by the
nationality of the artificer.

The stones are fretted and carved more elaborately than those of any
French or English cathedral, but entirely in arabesques and diapering of
low relief, so that the spectator misses with regret the solemn rows of
saints and patriarchs that enrich the portals of our Gothic minsters.
These, however, are reflections of a subsequent date, and did not
interfere to mar the pleasure with which we sat in front of the southern
door, beneath the two lofty arches, which, springing from the entrance
tower, span the street high above our heads. For some time we sat,
unwilling to change and it might be impair our sensations by passing
inwards. Our reluctance was but too well founded: the whole interior has
been modernized in detestable Renaissance style, and in place of highest
honor, above the central doorway, sits in tight-buttoned uniform a
fitting idol for so ugly a shrine, the double-chinned effigy of the
reigning monarch. We turned for comfort to a chapel on the right, where
in four sarcophagi of porphyry are deposited the remains of the Northern
sovereigns. The bones of Roger repose in a plain oblong chest with a
steep ridged roof, and the other three coffins, though somewhat more
elaborate, are yet simple and massive, as befits their destined use. The
inscription, on that of Constantia is touching, as it tells that she
was "the last of the great race of Northmen,"--the good old bad Latin
"Northmannorum" giving the proper title, which we have injudiciously
softened into Norman.

In a small _piazza_ near the intersection of the main streets is a
Dominican church, whose black and white inla