A Painter reproving a Pope.

the Virgin on His right hand, which is extended in condemnation. Above, in the angles of the vault, are groups of angels bearing the instruments of the passion. On the right of the Savior is the host of saints and patriarchs, and on the left the martyrs, with the symbols of their suffering. Below, is a group of angels sounding the last trump, and bearing the books of life and death. On the left, is represented the fall of the damned; the demons are seen coming out of the pit to seize them as they struggle to escape; their features expressing the utmost despair contrasted with the wildest passions of rage, anguish and defiance. On the opposite side the blessed are rising slowly and in uncertainty from their graves; some are ascending to heaven, while saints and angels are assisting them to rise to glory and bliss. Paul IV. took offence at the nudity of the figures, and wished the whole to be destroyed. On hearing the Pope's objection, Michael Angelo replied, "Tell the Pope to reform the world and the pictures will reform themselves" —a remark more pithy and caustic than true or safe to follow.

Returning to our lodgings, we spent the afternoon in religious conversation and prayer-far more profitable to our hearts, if not as novel and instructive to our minds, as was an attendance upon the worship of the gorgeous cathedral. While for purpose of information, we were glad of the opportunity thus afforded of witnessing the method in which the "Successor of St. Peter" and his colleagues worship Jehovah, we were but the more convinced that such worship has in it more of form than power, and that the promise, "wherever two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” attaches to the services in

Worship of simplicity and heart.

the humblest chapel of Christendom a value far, far beyond the most imposing display of throne and mitre and robe. and incense and choir, that ever thronged the ample, dark and antique chambers of the Vatican!

CHAPTER XXII.

St. Peter's-Vatican.

I AM IN ROME! the city that so long
Reigned absolute; the mistress of the world!
I am in Rome! the city where the Gauls,
Entering at sunrise through her open gates,
And, through her streets, silent and desolate,
Marching to slay, thought they saw God, not men.
Ah little thought I, when in school I sat,
A school boy on his bench, at early dawn,
Glowing with Roman story I should live
To tread the Appian, once an avenue
Of monuments most glorious, to turn
Toward Tiber, or climb the Palatine.

A thousand busy thoughts rush to my mind
As I exclaim-I am in Rome !

THE headings of this chapter give promise of more than the reader will find realized. However to convey a “tarryat-home traveler" to Rome, and yet forbid him even a glance at those world-renowned structures, in living glory and mournful ruin, were to be guilty of a sad omission. Arduous though the writer deems even a brief and imperfect description of these places, yet

"not to attempt

The labor, were a task more arduous still."

It is Monday morning. A Sabbath has afforded most welcome opportunity of repose to body and mind, and we are ready for a week of "sight-seeing." Carriage is at the door, and off we move at a rapid rate through long, narrow and uncleanly streets, over the bridge which spans the Tiber opposite the Castle of St. Angelo (a bridge built by

St. Peter's.

Piazza.

Entrance.

Hadrian as a passage to his mausoleum), when, turning an angle to the left, a few minutes bring us to the vicinity of the Cathedral. Entering a massive gateway, we are in the piazza or front yard of the church, and pause to gaze upon this spot of wondrous magnificence and beauty. We are in the center of a spacious ellipse, of which the longer diameter is eight hundred feet. On either hand, semi-circular porticoes, supported by four rows of columns, enclose space enough between the two inner rows for the passage of two carriages abreast, while the area they protect is capable of containing half a million of persons. Hither the multitude gather during the "holy week," to receive the Pope's blessing from the balcony of the Cathedral, which occupies the end opposite the entrance. After admiring for a little time the obelisk which graces the middle of this paved area, a solid mass of granite, eighty-three feet in height, with nine in breadth, brought from Egypt by the Emperor Caligula, and placed here by Pope Sixtus, in 1586, with fountains on either side, throwing up a ceaseless jet of water sixty-four feet, to fall glittering into basins of oriental granite, fifty feet in circumference, we moved slowly onward, wrapt in wonder and awe, at the unique and imposing objects all around us, until we reached the steps, and, alighting, dismissed our charioteer. Ascending the steps, we waited for our guide to remove the heavy leather-padded curtain which hangs before the entrance, (there being a door of brass, which is only shut once in twenty-five years), we stept within and stood, for a few moments, smitten with awe! Did we kneel? Did we make the sign of the cross? Neither-but, is it unmanly to confess the fact, that our eyes were moistened with tears, and our hearts oppressed as never before, when

Emotions upon entering St. Peter's.

not immediately engaged in religious worship? A popular writer says, that "this famous building, without equal in elegant art, has not the effect to produce a religious impression on the heart." If he mean that the emotions which it awakens are not in themselves and of necessity religious -that a person may enter, gaze, admire, reverence, and then leave, as entirely godless as when he went in-this may be true. We have an example of this in Lord Byron. elegant his "apostrophe!"

emn

"Worthiest of God, the Holy and the True,

Since Sion's desolation, when that He
Forsook His former city, what could be,

Of earthly structures, in His honor piled,

Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty,

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty-all are aisled
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled."

How

Multitudes without question, have like emotions of solreverence though equally removed, with this gifted bard, from the exercise of the truly religious affections. All this admitted, I cannot subscribe to the sentiment that there is no fitness in the place to awaken impressions of a sacred character. My own experience was against it. I wanted to pray and sing and preach there. I felt as once when standing alone upon the summit of a lofty mountain in New England. My head and heart were full of God,— of reverence and praise and heavenly delight. Nor did it subside so long as I kept my eye and mind upon the whole, instead of descending to those details, some of which excited emotions of a very different character. I walked the nave, six hundred and thirteen feet in length, one hundred and fifty-two feet high, and ninety feet broad; the transepts, four hundred and fifty feet. Standing under the dome,