tenant of the piratical crew, equally overpowered by the beauty of Chariclea, is seen disputing possession of the captive with his commander. In the mortal strife between these desperate men, the man of most authority, therefore deepest guilt, fell first, and Theagenes, taking advantage of the exhaustion of the survivor, assails and lays him dead at his mistress's feet. Near to the chimney-piece, on the right, is the next incident; Theagenes appears resting from fatigue, and Chariclea seated on an opposite bank looking towards him, with a countenance full of majesty. Some fierce people, who have descended from the neighbouring hills, taking her for a goddess, stand overawed by her presence. In the tenth partition, which is in perfect preservation, a corsair arrives from an adjoining island, and, putting all the admiring spectators to flight, makes the lovers his prisoners. In the central panel opposite the windows, Theagenes is painted expressing the feeling of jealousy that has agitated him for the first time, while a faithful slave, who watches over him, administers friendly counsel. On the ceiling, and to the right of the chimney-piece, is the twelfth part of the story. A conflict takes place between the islanders, and the corsair-chief carrying off Chariclea, secures her in a cavern, while he hastens to defend his own home from the violence of the people. Confusion alone is observable, terror spreads around, and in their fury the insurgents seem to spare nothing.

The next panel represents Theagenes, who has been wandering about the island alone, arriving at the entrance of the fatal cavern, where a dead body, which he concludes to be that of his lost Chariclea, excites his deepest anguish. But, while he stands absorbed in grief, he is startled at the sound of his name, pronounced by a faltering voice that is supposed to emanate from the deepest recesses of the cave. Directing his steps towards the spot whence the well-known tones escaped, he there finds his Chariclea at the point of death. In another division of the same tableau, the young priestess is represented as recovered from her sufferings, and, accompanied by her lover, who carries a torch in one hand, is proceeding to examine the boundaries of the cavern, and learn who the unhappy being was who had fallen a victim to its horrors.

At length the end of sorrow, like the grey light that bids farewell to a long night of winter, begins to appear in the story of Theagenes and Chariclea. In the next tableau, which is in the centre of the saloon, opposite the chimney-piece, are seen the faithful lovers, calm, tranquil, resigned; while Calasiris, who stands beside them, is announcing that they are in the power of Hidaspes, king of Ethiopia, and on the point of being sacrificed as victims to appease the wrath of their country's gods. The spectators, moved to pity at the sight, demand their release, and the king, at the same instant, being informed of the true birth of the priestess, grants the people's request, and recognises Chariclea as his much injured and long-lost child.

The last part of the pictorial history is the marriage of the lovers; Theagenes being represented as grand-priest of the Sun, and Chariclea high-priestess of the Moon-a most appropriate recompense for an affection actuated by such rigid principles of virtue.

Below this last tableau is a portrait, painted by himself, of the admirable artist who executed these subjects; he has placed the duke of Sully near him, and introduced

also Sebastian Zamet, an Italian, who had acquired an immense fortune for that age. This prince-merchant had the ability to please Henri Quatre so much, that he was a frequent guest at that great monarch's table, and was the depository also of many state-secrets, especially those connected with finance, on which he was his majesty's chief adviser.

Between the two entrances, but on the ceiling, is a painting of Louis XIII., seated on a dolphin, holding a sceptre in one hand and a laurel branch in the other; a number of cupids are dropping flower-wreaths on him, while they are also sustaining his crown. On the right of this design are represented, en camaieux, Hercules and Dejanira reposing after their fatigues; and, on the left, Diana and Apollo; Hymen, carrying a torch, and crowned by Graces and Cupids, accompanies the cipher of Henri Quatre; while two Fames, publishing his glory, harmonize admirably with all the ornaments of this apartment, the most chaste and sumptuous also in this ancient palace.

The saloon of Louis XIII., long neglected and unappropriated, in the year 1837 was completely restored to the beauty and brilliancy with which it appeared in the reign of Henri IV. Everything has been renovated and repaired, but nothing modern added. The pleasant conceits that covered the wainscoting, the luxuriant foliage, groups of fruit, and bouquets of flowers, the various ornaments of white and gold, so elaborately wrought that the sharpest sight is frustrated in attempting to trace their developments, have all resumed their primitive forms and original colouring. The carved wood-work of the chimney was incapable of restoration, decay having established his dominion over it: but the same excellent taste and solid judgment that directed restoration in the other embellishments, have been exercised in this instance; and the precise design, after which the chimney-piece was executed in wood, is now perpetuated in the whitest marble.

IN the street leading from the capitol to the cathedral stands the beautiful little church, dedicated to the martyr St. Saturnin, whose bones are enshrined within it. No longer retaining its lengthened classic name of Saturninus, but known by an abbreviated title, St. Taur, it continues to be held in the highest veneration, and no hour of the day is passed without a visit from a votary to the martyr's shrines.

It has been supposed by learned and accurate writers, that Christianity was introduced into this ancient city so early as the first century; while others, almost equally entitled to credit, insist upon its not being known there before the third. Whichever assertion may be correct, it is ascertained with perfect certainty, that St. Saturninus, or Sernin, to whom the cathedral is dedicated, flourished in the beginning of the third century, so that truth probably lies between, that is, that Christianity was preached at Toulouse in the first century, but not established there before the third; and, that the truly glorious work, the entire conversion of the inhabitants from paganism to Christianity, was accomplished by the tutelar saint of the Toulonese.

Amongst the noble edifices erected here by the Romans, was a capitol, which stood near the centre of the city, after the model of that at Rome, and having a temple also dedicated to Jupiter Capitolinus. The humble Saturninus had succeeded in getting a little chapel built for his followers, in the vicinity of Jove's temple, where he used to preach the gospel daily to his new converts, and, it so happened, that the way from his home to his chapel lay directly through the capitol. One day, as he was passing the temple, the priests were in the act of sacrificing to Jupiter, when, on the approach of the saint, all their oracles were observed to be suddenly silenced. Already jealous of the saint's success in making converts to faith in Christianity, they only waited a pretext for his destruction, and this appeared an opportunity not to be neglected. Labouring under the deepest mortification, and feeling themselves humiliated at a moment when they desired especially to be exalted in the esteem of their followers, they declaimed in violent language against the Christian doctrines, ascribed all honour to Jupiter and other members of the Olympic council, so that at last the passions of their hearers became excited, and, rushing from the temple in their ungovernable rage, they seized on the holy man as he passed, and doomed him to destruction. A bull, just smote by the erring axe, was chained to the altar, ready to be sacrificed to Capitoline Jove, and it was while the animal was infuriated with pain, that the heathen mob tied the venerable Saturninus to his horns, and goaded him on through the public highways. Impatient of its burden, the fugitive victim proceeded with all the violence of its nature, until at length the strained cords broke, and the bleeding and mangled body of the saint was flung to the ground, amidst the shouts of his inhuman persecutors.

Some pious ladies, who had been converted by his preaching, collected the remains of the martyr, and, having entombed them on the spot where he expired, raised a church there also, which was placed under his tutelage. This ancient temple was called the church of St. Saturnin du Taureau, in the lapse of time abbreviated into St. Taur, and it is now one of the regular parish churches of the city. The style of architecture, of the present structure, is neither classical nor uniform. It is a mixture of Italian, Gothic, and French invention; a number of statues placed around divide attention, destroying all unity, simplicity, and concentrated effect, by which alone sublimity in design is obtained. Nevertheless, the tout ensemble is particularly pleasing, although the decorations are more elaborate and enriched than is consistent with the best taste in ecclesiastical architecture.