What is now left of Saint Michael, the glittering hierarch? Can he still
endure the light of sun? Or has he not shrivelled into a spectral
Hermes, a grisly psychopomp, bowing his head in minished glory, and
leading men's souls no longer aloft but downwards--down to the pale
regions of things that have been? And will it be long ere he, too, is
thrust by some flaming Demogorgon into these same realms of Minos, into
that shadowy underworld where dwell Saturn, and Kronos, and other
cracked and shivered ideals?

So I mused that afternoon, driving down the slopes from Sant' Angelo
comfortably sheltered against the storm, while the generous mountain
wine sped through my veins, warming my fancy. Then, at last, the sun
came out in a sudden burst of light, opening a rift in the vapours and
revealing the whole chain of the Apennines, together with the peaked
crater of Mount Vulture.

The spectacle cheered me, and led me to think that such a day might
worthily be rounded off by a visit to Sipontum, which lies a few miles
beyond Manfredonia on the Foggia road. But I approached the subject
cautiously, fearing that the coachman might demur at this extra work.
Far from it. I had gained his affection, and he would conduct me
whithersoever I liked. Only to Sipontum? __Why not to Foggia, to Naples,
to the ends of the earth? As for the horse, he was none the worse for
the trip, not a bit the worse; he liked nothing better than running in
front of a carriage; besides, _e suo dovere--_ it was his duty.

Sipontum is so ancient that it was founded, they say, by that legendary
Diomed who acted in the same capacity for Beneven-tum, Arpi, and other
cities. But this record does not satisfy Monsignor Sarnelli, its