recalcitrant, they are quietly relieved of their functions, and
forgotten. This is what has happened in Italy to God the Father and the
Holy Ghost, who have vanished from the vulgar Olympus; whereas the
devil, thanks to that unprincipled versatility for which he is famous,
remains ever young and popular.

The art-notions of the Cinque-Cento are also to blame; indeed, so far as
the angelic shapes of south Italy are concerned, the influence of the
Renaissance has been wholly malefic. Aliens to the soil, they were at
first quite unknown--not one is pictured in the Neapolitan catacombs.
Next came the brief period of their artistic glory; then the syncretism
of the Renaissance, when these winged messengers were amalgamated with
pagan _amoretti_ and began to flutter in foolish baroque fashion about
the Queen of Heaven, after the pattern of the disreputable little genii
attendant upon a Venus of a bad school. That same instinct which
degraded a youthful Eros into the childish Cupid was the death-stroke to
the pristine dignity and holiness of angels. Nowadays, we see the
perversity of it all; we have come to our senses and can appraise the
much-belauded revival at its true worth; and our modern sculptors will
rear you a respectable angel, a grave adolescent, according to the best
canons of taste--should you still possess the faith that once
requisitioned such works of art.

We travellers acquaint ourselves with the lineage of this celestial
Messenger, but it can hardly be supposed that the worshippers now
swarming at his shrine know much of these things. How shall one discover
their real feelings in regard to this great cave-saint and his life and
deeds?

Well, some idea of this may be gathered from the literature sold on the