There is nothing in the present somewhat spick-and-span church to recall its former state in the 6th century. The patron of NÜrnberg, of the Escorial, and of Genoa; the young martyr, who from the earliest beginnings of Christian art has been one of its most popular subjects; the saintly deacon, who, as painted by Fra Angelico, charms us by his expression of sweet sanctity, and who, when depicted by the disciples of horrors, makes us shudder and close our eyes—S. Laurence, the deacon, has always been a favourite, and many are the churches dedicated to him. He was a native of Osca or Huesca, in Aragon, and acted as deacon (although a priest) to Sixtus II., bishop of Rome, in the middle of the 3rd century. He had the care of all the precious vessels of the church, and of the money. Times were bad, and Sixtus was denounced as a Christian; then Laurence, following the example of S. Stephen, petitioned the good bishop to allow him to share the captivity. Before Sixtus died he ordered Laurence to distribute all the money and treasure amongst the poor, and predicted his disciple's martyrdom as worse than his own. Laurence went about the city and distributed the alms, which, when the tyrant heard thereof, caused him so much anger that he thrust the deacon into prison, where he converted his gaoler. But the Prefect ordered him to give up his treasure. Then Laurence gathered together the poor and the sick, and presented them to the Prefect; and he being enraged, concocted a new and terrible torture. He made a sort of gridiron bed, upon which the young deacon was laid, and fire being placed underneath, the victim was roasted to death. "Seest thou not, O thou foolish man, being roasted on one side, thou shouldst turn me over, that the other be well cooked," are the words recorded to prove his steadfastness. Then he lifted his eyes to Heaven, and said, "I thank Thee, O my God and Saviour, that I have been found worthy to enter into Thy blessedness"; and so he passed away into bliss, and was buried in the Via Tiburtina.

SAINT-LAURENT.
SAINT-LAURENT.

GrÉgoire de Tours speaks of a monastery of S. Laurence in Paris; and S. Domnole, bishop of Le Mans, who died in 581, had been previously its abbot. This abbey has long since disappeared, and been lost to memory; and the parish, which since the 13th century has taken its place, became a dependency of the priory of S. Martin. The faÇade of the present building is no older than 1622; the nave and transept were erected in the 16th, the choir and apse in the 15th century. A niche containing a statue of S. John Baptist is commendable, and some of the details of corbels, gargoyles, cornices, and other exterior decoration are quaint and often grotesque: little beasties jumping about in foliage; small children in fool's caps tumbling about in grotesque attitudes; one little imp being whipped by the schoolmaster; Angels with animal continuations; a hunter shooting arrows at a salamander, and divers other monstrosities.

The interior is cold and uninteresting, the bosses being the best part of the decoration. They are of all manner of devices: S. Nicholas blessing his children; crowns, garlands, Angels' heads; foliage and draperies, and a mass of ornament and little personages—the Virgin and Child, S. John Baptist with his cross, S. Laurence and his gridiron, the scenes from the Passion, and many other conceits.

The apse has been disfigured, after the manner of S. SÉverin and S. Germain l'Auxerrois, by Corinthian columns, pilasters, monograms, and trophies—the work of Lepautre. The jubÉ has gone, and divers other Gothic "excrescences," and the church remains a grand example of the last century barbarism. Well has Victor Hugo described those gentlemen, so-called artists, who fell down and worshipped Fashion, as set by its 18th century votaries: "Les modes ont fait plus de mal que les rÉvolutions. Elles ont tranchÉ dans le vif, elles ont attaquÉ la charpente osseuse de l'art; elles ont coupÉ, taillÉ, dÉsorganisÉ l'Édifice, dans la forme comme dans le symbole, dans sa logique comme dans sa beautÉ. Et puis, elles ont refait; prÉtention que n'avaient eue, du moins, ni le temps, ni les rÉvolutions. Elles ont effrontÉment ajustÉ, de par le bon goÛt, sur les blessures de l'architecture Gothique leurs misÉrables colifichets d'un jour, leurs rubans de marbre, leurs pompons de mÉtal: vÉritable lÈpre d'oves, de volutes, d'entournements, de draperies, de guirlandes, de franges, de flammes, de pierre, de nuages, de bronze, d'amours replets, de chÉrubins bouffis, qui commence À dÉvorer la face de l'art dans l'oratoire de Catherine de MÉdicis, et le fait expirer, deux siÈcles aprÈs, tourmentÉ et grimaÇant, dans le boudoir de la Dubarry."