An image of our Saviour is shown at Rome, which, some time before the sacking of that city, wept so heartily, that the good fathers of the monastery were all employed in wiping its face with cotton; thus following the example of the statue of Apollo, which, according to Livy, wept for three days and nights successively. This phenomenon resembles another, which is recorded respecting a statue of Orpheus, in Libethra, which was made of cypress wood. When Alexander the Great was on the point of setting out upon his expedition, various omens occurred; among them, this statue was in a profuse sweat for several days. Aristander, the soothsayer, gave a favourable interpretation to this apparent indication of fear, by saying it was emblematic of the labour the poets and historians would have to undergo, to celebrate the actions of the Macedonian monarch. Mrs. Piozzi mentions a ludicrous metamorphosis of one statue at Rome. “A beautiful statue of Diana,” says she, “with her trussed up robes, the crescent alone wanting, stands on the high altar to receive homage in the character of St. Agnes, in a pretty church dedicated to her, (fuor della porte) where it is supposed she suffered martyrdom, and why? for not venerating that very goddess Diana, and for refusing to walk in her processions at the new moons. ‘Such contradictions put one from oneself,’ as Shakspeare saith.” The incredible absurdities of some of the assertions made by the possessors of sacred relics, ought to have been sufficient, in the name of common sense, to convict them of imposture. What can be at once more ridiculous and irreligious than the following? The monastery of St. Benedict, in France, had for time immemorial been supposed to possess that invaluable relic, the head of John the Baptist. Many years since, however, the monastery of St. Francis overthrew their claim, by declaring, that in their dormitory they had discovered the genuine caput: and one of the friars testifying to its being the real head, in the most solemn manner asserted that when, in a holy fervour, he frequently kissed the lips, he found they still retained the flavour of locusts and wild honey. So strong a proof there was no withstanding; the claim of St. Francis was admitted, and established by the conclave. The recital of one forgery only recalls another, and it would be easy to recount well-authenticated tales, which would fill a volume. An exhibiter of holy relics showed with much veneration the sword with which Balaam smote the ass.[6] Being reminded that scripture only recorded Balaam’s wish for such a weapon, he adroitly replied, “Ay, and this is the sword he wished for.” Those who have through motives of curiosity visited many of the shrines abroad may have remarked an incredulity often lurking about the countenances of the holy men who exhibit them: the bolder, indeed, will openly laugh, when questioned as to their own belief on these subjects.