character which once distinguished that noble race. Had an American city the wealth of Rome, — her noble buildings, her rare collections of antiquities, her works of art, her classic ruins, and her rich store of memories, it would become a very paradise, under the free and enlightening influences of our institutions. But a pall is over Rome; the frown of Heaven rests on the city of blood, and all her ancient grandeur and present wealth cannot raise her above the curse. Not much can be expected of a city, however wealthy, where newspapers are suppressed, and the press is under the ban of an unbounded censorship; from which not a single railroad goes out, north, south, east, or west; where freedom of commerce is not enjoyed, and man is an ignorant and besotted slave to a tyranny such as is known nowhere else in all the world. Not much can be expected of a people who give the children's bread to support an indolent and licentious priesthood; who rob themselves and defraud nature to decorate the tombs of dead ecclesiastics; who bow obsequiously at the foot of a throne which they know is red with blood and black with crime. St. Peter's Cathedral loses its grandeur when I see it filled with a starved and impoverished people, who rise from their knees and leave their devotions to beg a penny of the traveler who wanders up the sounding aisle. The Vatican has no power to charm, when from its windows I look out upon a swelling, heaving, surging sea of wretchedness, which the streets of Rome ever present.

But we will forget this a while, and wander about among the objects of interest which here abound The great central object of attraction is the Cathedral of St. Peter's, which is supposed to be upon or near the spot where the apostle for whom it is named was buried.

It was at first an insignificant little chapel, which had more the appearance of a tomb than a temple. In the time of Constantine, this little structure was removed, and a fine church built on the spot, which in its turn gave place to the magnificent Cathedral. Any description of this immense building would fall so far below the reality, that I will not attempt it. It required more than three centuries to complete it; forty-three popes gave it their time and attention, and when finished, seventy millions of dollars had been expended upon it. It covers between five and six acres, (about two hundred and forty thousand square feet,) and is kept in repair at an expense of about thirty thousand dollars annually. The best idea of the building will be obtained if you imagine an immense circular area enclosed with the finest colonnade in the world, the front open, and the rear filled up by the Cathedral. In this area two fine fountains are ever playing, and between them a column, surmounted by a cross, rises to the hight of a hundred feet. The colonnades are formed by two hundred and eighty-four columns, sixty feet high, covered with spacious galleries. These form a magnificent entrance to the church, bending around the visitor as he advances, impressing him with an idea of strength and dignity. The front of the church is somewhat marred by a façade, which hides the proportions of the building, and but poorly compares with the architectural design of the monstrous dome. Passing between marble figures of Peter and Paul, we enter the church, and pause, almost overpowered with the effect produced. The colossal statues, the vaulted roof, the spacious aisles, the hurrying priests, and the wonderful dome, all produce in the mind a feeling of awful sublimity. The best idea I can give of the immense size will be conveyed

to you by the simple statement that twenty such churches as our own could be placed, steeples and all, within the walls of St. Peter's, and the area would not be full.

Beneath the dome the monument on Bunker Hill could be placed, and a steeple tall as ours added to that, and then they would not reach the dizzy hight. The hosts of Rome cannot fill the church; when all turn out and flock by thousands, priests, soldiers, and people, and all enter the temple, thousands more might gather there with ease. The form of the structure is that of a Latin cross, and in the center stands the high altar, beneath the dome, and over the ashes of St. Peter. The immense size of the church does not appear at the first; it requires time to recover from the surprise, and you must survey with a leisure eye the wonderful proportions. One becomes almost angry to see such a hollow performance in this cathedral. He is vexed at the improbable stories which are told him. He feels that they are out of place in the magnificent work of art, and has no patience with the guide who relates them as Scripture facts. Here, in an oratory, is kept a napkin, with which a weeping woman wiped the tearful, bloody face of Christ, when he was going to the cross. On this piece of cloth are still seen the stains of blood. During the holy week this sudarium is shown to the gaping people, by men who must know the imposition they are practicing. In another oratory is kept a piece of the true cross. A wonderful thing that "true cross must have been; for the true church, the infallible church, have pieces enough of it laid up to build a ship; and what is somewhat curious, it is one kind of wood in one place, and another sort in another place; showing, if all these be veritable pieces of it, it must have been composed of some dozen trees. But

the people never think of these things. The priest or the pope tells them so, and they ask no questions, cherish no doubt, express no unbelief. In another place is the head of St. Andrew, or a skull which is said to be his. Some few years ago, this relic was stolen, and the pope went into mourning on its account. He offered a large reward for its recovery. When stolen, it was covered up with jewelry of great value. The thief took off the jewels, and threw the worthless skull away. He was a wiser and a better man, perhaps, than the pope, who valued the skull more than its adornments. It was found, and great joy manifested at its recovery. Bells were rung; the monks of the neighboring convents turned out in solemn procession; the cannon of old St. Angelo thundered over the Tiber; and the pope gave to the people an extra benediction.

Here, too, is the old bronze statue of Jupiter, which has been christened by one of the popes1 as St. Peter. He is sitting in a chair, with one of his feet extended, the toe of which has been completely kissed away by the multitudes who visit the place. One of our little company, anxious "to do as the Romans do," as far as possible, performed the voluntary service with the utmost gravity, while another, who seemed to have less reverence for the heathen god, looked at the feet with the comical query, "I wonder if St. Peter had corns." The most noble conception of the Cathedral is obtained by ascending the dome. A broad, paved, spiral staircase leads up so gradually, that most of the distance could be accomplished on the back of a donkey. The summit is obtained at the expense of weary limbs. We reach the galleries within the dome, and look down

1 St. Leo.

upon the priests and worshipers below, who all seem like children. Still higher, it becomes difficult to distinguish them as human beings. From the outer gallery, beneath the cross, a noble view is gained of Rome, the old ruins of the past, and the broad Campagna, stretching away in the clear distance. Looking down in front of the church appear the piazza, the fountains, and the obelisk; on the left stand the Vatican and the pope's palace; on the right, the famous Inquisition house; before you rises old St. Angelo; along flows the Tiber, on its banks churches, temples, and ruins. We entered the ball, where we might have stowed away a dozen of us without much inconvenience.

We were there upon the 20th of June, which is celebrated as the anniversary of the pope's coronation. On this day, he gives to all poor persons who come to the Vatican a half Paul (about four cents) each, for the relief of their wants. Thousands come from the region round about, traveling for miles to gain from his holiness this pittance. As we looked down from the dome, we saw the poor wretches- men, women, and children crowding into the Vatican by regiments. We inquired if the pope gave the money with his own hands, thinking, if he did, we would call and claim his charity, that we might bring home the piece as a memento of the old man. We were, however, informed that Pius IX. never did such dirty work as giving money to the poor with his own hands. We were, however, disposed to thank him for giving it at all. This little piece of money is given for every child or member of the family; and many mothers we saw with one, two, three, or four babies, often borrowed for the occasion - good Catholies, indeed, but ready to cheat the very vicegerent of God himself.