s finished by his son Sebastian. Having kept faith and
maintained his honor, he did enough." The worthy canons, however,
discovered just one and forty years afterward that Maestro Sebastiano
had done somewhat too much. For he had on the fourth stall, counting
from the bishop's seat, on the right-hand side of the choir, inserted
amid the ornamentation certain Latin words, inscribed over a carving of
three vases intended to represent reliquaries, which may be translated
thus: Over the first vase, "The shadow of the ass ridden by our Lord;"
over the second, "The feet of the Blessed Virgin as she ascended into
heaven;" over the third, "Relics of the Holy Trinity." These strange
inscriptions remained where Maestro Sebastiano had so audaciously placed
them till the May of 1571. At that date we find a record in the
cathedral archives which, after rehearsing the words in question, and
describing the position of them, proceeds: "Which words, placed there
and written scandalously, and in a certain sort derisive of the
veneration for holy relics, and in contempt of the Christian religion,
the very reverend canons" (So-and-So--names rehearsed) "ordered to be
removed and entirely canceled, so that they should no longer be seen or
read." Can it be supposed that this very extraordinary inscription in a
choir frequented daily by the canons of the church had entirely escaped
notice for more than forty years? Surely this is impossible. Should we
not rather see in the fact that the chapter of 1530 noticed the mocking
words with probably a shrug and a smile, whereas the chapter of 1571
took care that they were removed, an interesting and curious commentary
on the change which the intervening years had brought about in the
spirit of the Church, and another unexpected indication of the
difference between the Church of the worldly, pagan-minded Clement VII.
and that of the energetic, earnest bigot Pius IV. That such a difference
existed we know full well, but this passage of the Todi archives is a
very curious proof of it.

T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.

REST.

In deepest weariness I lay so still
One might have thought it death,
For hush of motion and a sleep of will
Gave me but soundless breath.

And yet I slept not; only knew that Rest
Held me all close to her:
Softly but firmly fettered to her breast,
I had no wish to stir.

"Oh, if," I thought, "death would but be like this!--
Neith