those who belong to the “City of God.”  And this idea of the Sibyl’s sacredness continued to a late age in the Christian Church.  She had a place in the prophetic order beside the patriarchs and prophets of old, and joined in the great procession of the witnesses for the faith from Seth and Enoch down to the last Christian saint and martyr.  In one of the grandest hymns of the Roman Catholic Church, composed by Tommaso di Celano at the beginning of the fourteenth century, there is an allusion to her, taken from the well-known acrostic in the last judgment scene in the eighth book of the Oracula Sibyllina—­

    “Dies irae, dies illa,
    Solvet saeclum in favilla,
    Teste David cum Sibylla.”

The strange Italian mystic of the fifteenth century, Pico della Mirandola, who sought to reconcile the Christian sentiment with the imagery and legends of pagan religion, rehabilitated the Sibyl, and consecrated her as the servant of the Lord Jesus.  And he was but a specimen of the many humanists of that age who believed that no oracle that had once spoken to living men and women could ever wholly lose its vitality.  Like the Delphic Pythia, old, but clothed as a maiden, the ancient Sibyl appeared to them in the garments of immortal youth, with the charm of her early prime.

The dim old church of Ara Coeli in Rome, which occupies the site of the celebrated temple of Jupiter on the Capitol, and in which Gibbon conceived the idea of his great work on the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, is said to have derived its name from an altar bearing the inscription, “Ara Primogeniti Dei,” erected in this place by Augustus, to commemorate the Sibylline prophecy of the coming of our Saviour.  She was a favourite subject of Christian art in the middle ages, and was introduced by almost every celebrated painter, along with the prophets and apostles, into the cyclical decorations of the Church.  Every visitor to Rome knows the fine picture of the Sibyls by Pinturicchio, on the tribune behind the high altar of the Church of St. Onofrio, where Tasso was buried; and also the still grander head of the Cumaean Sibyl, with its flowing turban by Domenichino, in the great picture gallery of the Borghese Palace.  But the highest honour ever conferred upon the Sibyls was that which Michael Angelo bestowed when he painted them on the spandrils of the wonderful roof of the Sistine Chapel.  These mysterious beings formed most congenial subjects for the mystic pencil of the great Florentine, and therefore they are more characteristic of his genius than almost any other of his works.  He has painted them along with the greater prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Jonah, in throne-like niches surrounding the different incidents of the creation.  They look like presiding deities, remote from all human weaknesses, and wearing on their faces an air of profound mystery.  They are invested, not with the calm, superficial, unconscious beauty