unrise, but
the glory is in them. The radiant pencil of Paul Veronese was early lost
by his birthplace and given to Venice, in illustration of the parable, but
even without her most glorious son native art makes a fair show in the
picture-gallery and churches. The picture which struck me most was a
fresco by Brusasorci in San Stefano, whither I had been drawn by the
report of its antiquity, which is said to be greater than that of any
other church in the town, going back to the seventh century. As on many
other occasions, I found that a building may be too old, the pristine
venerableness having been overbuilt by subsequent ages; but I was consoled
for my disappointment by this beautiful fresco--Saint Stephen surrounded
by the Holy Innocents. In the church calendar Saint Stephen is the first
martyr, and the Innocents are commemorated two days later: in the picture
the youthful deacon looks down with an air of paternal pride and affection
upon the lovely babes trooping before him with palms in their little hands
as he presents them to our Saviour, above in glory. There is a tenderness
in the expression of the martyr's face and attitude, as well as in the
conception of the group, which appeals to the simplest human feeling. The
juxtaposition of the protomartyr and the children is a perfect instance of
true ecclesiastical sentiment: it was not until long afterward that I knew
it to be a fine work of art.

San Stefano is on the left bank of the river, in the smaller and
less-frequented part of the town, and it was in further exploring the same
quarter that I wandered into a curious church which had somehow the look
of a cast-off garment, owing perhaps to the frequent patching it had
evidently undergone, and its appearance of being owned by nobody. It stood
open, empty of worshippers, with not even a beggar on the steps in
receipt of charitable custom--alone on a little island. It is the church
of San Tomaso Cantuariense, otherwise Thomas a Becket, whom it was odd to
meet so far from home: he was revered all over Europe for a long time
after his canonization, as this church proves, since he was adopted as its
patron in 1316, nearly a hundred and fifty years after his so-called
martyrdom; but to judge by its desertion he must be pretty well forgotten
now. It is hereabouts that, on emerging from a cat's-cradle of little
narrow cross streets, a very fine view of Sta. Anastasia from the rear
breaks upon one, the pentagonal apse, t