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once in a state of yawning listlessness. Indeed I had now witnessed the Roman ceremonial in all its forms; and confess myself at a loss to conceive what people can mean by styling it so very imposing. If my travels had produced no other good effect, they have at least succeeded in stripping this overweening hierarchy of all that prestige with which my imagination had enrobed her revolting superstitions. I am now riveted in my veneration and love for our own beautiful and stately Church, walking, as she does, majestically in her white and comely attire, equally removed from the fig-leaf nakedness of Geneva on the one hand and the trumpery over-dressing of Rome on the other."
And yet he found certain superiorities and primitive decencies in the Romish forms and features, such as he conceived represented genuine Catholicity:--
"The Basilica of St. Peter's eminently deserves the title Temple of the Universe; not so much from its mighty and magnificent dimensions, as because her everlasting doors are always 'lifted up,' and because her glorious altars are for ever open, with indiscriminate welcome, to the king and the beggar. Go when you will, no jealously-revolving gate regulates with hireling tenacity your admission to the aisles of this empress of cathedrals. You may see the sun kindle upon her gorgeous pillars with the joyous sparkle of the morning, and you may linger among the enchantments of painting, sculpture, architecture, the gigantic graces of her penetralia, until daylight in coloured shadows take its pensive leave. Surrounded by every object that can enlarge the heart and ennoble the intellect-eye and soul filled with the most vivid illustrations of the vast, the beautiful, the splendid, and the sublime-you are at full leisure either to indulge the gratification of taste in the variety of those masterpieces which surround you, or to pour out your heart in that tone of devotion to which those objects have attuned its chords, in adoration of that Great Unseen from whom alone all that is great and glorious can be derived, and in whose honour all are here displayed.
While thus engaged, you will probably perceive at your side a poor labourer, his brow still beaded with the sweat that earns his daily bread, a pale woman, with scanty and worn if not tattered raiment, or a child scarcely old enough to be acquainted with all the sin and misery to which he is heir, kneeling in simple adoration; and you are disposed to forget that their orisons are addressed to dead men, and that they are obstructed instead of forwarded by that phalanx of human intercessors which they have placed between themselves and that God who has said,
"I Am the Lord: that is My Name; and My glory will I not give to another, neither My praise to graven images!'
"These two eminent features of genuine Catholicity, universal opportunity for daily prayer and universal equality in the house of prayer-these two chief jewels of ancient Christianity-are, alas, wanting to the otherwise beautiful garments of the Anglican Church.
"As regards the first of these, the too prevalent cry in the present day is who will show us any good' in daily prayer?
"But the other breach of Catholicity in the Church of England is too glaring to be shielded by the most obstinate prejudice. What painful thoughts, for instance, are suggested to every affectionate son of that pure and apostolical branch of Christ's holy Catholic Church, by a comparison of the aristocratic divisions in cathedral stalls, or the curtained sanctity of the squire's pew in the village-fane, with the ever-open and impartial area of a Roman Catholic church.
"The one abashing and mortifying the poor Christian with the spectacle of his rich brother's superiority forced upon him, even in the very house and in the immediate presence of Him who is the Maker of them all; the other elevating the poor man's estimate of his importance in the scheme of salvation, when he beholds all difference (elsewhere so striking) between the wise, the wealthy, the noble, and himself, here entirely obliterated, and feels a foretaste of that which remains for him when all the glories of the temple and its worshippers shall be as if they had never existed."
Mr. White would prefer the picturesque to the convenient and the orderly. Let us now have a sample of his criticism in the department of art :
"I saw this morning, in the Church of San Gaetano, the most affecting picture of the Martyrdom of St. Laurence; which, from the tone of colouring and the touching expression of the young Deacon's fine countenance, I should attribute to Guercino. It is quite a departure from the general representations of this very favourite subject; where you mostly see the sufferer stark naked, and tossed about in true beef-steak style, on a most accurate gridiron, by one or two ruffians with fiery red skins and two pronged pitchforks: but here the dreadful but somewhat culinary engine of punishment is kept back, and is scarcely denoted by a bar, beneath which a dull smouldering red is kindling from the torch of an executioner; two others have seized and thrown down the martyr, and are stripping him; as usual, he is represented in the gorgeous vestments of his order; and though, doubtless, his attire was in fact of a far more simple description, yet the gorgeous cloth of gold and purple, and the exquisite texture of the white shirt which the tormentors are dragging downwards, form with their dishevelled splendours a fine contrast to the upper part of the martyr's person, of which the arms and breast are naked, and where one knows not whether more to admire the exquisite delineation of the flesh or the masculine beauty of its mould. It is his face, however, which engrosses one's attention in those upturned features there is no saintly grimace-it is the expression of a manly spirit glowing with affectionate faith, shaded, not shaken, by the certainty that he is about to undergo the most horrible torture that nature could sustain. It is a most poetical picture indeed!"
Learn how a picture may chase away romance and correct prepossessions :
"I have seen to-day a portrait of that unhappy Doge Foscari; and am reluctantly forced to confess that it has gone far toward dispelling the hal
lowed prestige with which his fate invested him. Gorgeously arrayed with such a robe and bonnet of crimson cloth of gold embroidery as these degenerate days cannot expect to look upon either in the massive substance of its flaming web or the vast branchwork of its flowered pattern, old Foscari has a fat foolish face, with ponderous flabby dewlaps, and an eye which, as far as the wrinkles of fat will permit it, twinkles with selfish fatuity, while the mouth (that decisive feature of every face) is most unquestionable as to its expression of timid, time-serving weakness. There is not one single elevated trait in the whole countenance. It is a regular corporation-face; and if hung up in half the town-councils in the Isle of the Blest, might be identified with as many mayors. It is, in short, just such a sensual, heartless, mean physiognomy, as one would attribute to the chief magistrate, who, yielding to the intimidation of his tyrant subjects, suffered himself to preside over the torture of his own son; and who, when even that horrible acquiescence in injustice, that violation of nature, that compromise of principle, proved insufficient to secure him in his paltry supremacy, died because the corno was taken from those imbecile temples which it should never have adorned. I am reconciled to his fate; he did not deserve the euthanasia."
Few tourists have threaded, at least few have given any such description of the interior canals of Venice as that which we now quote and close with:
"I thence directed my gondolier to row under the Bridge of Sighs, through the intricacies of the interior canals: and if ever a man wishes to be fed to the full with solemn, ay, appalling gloom, he may be gratified by following my example. From the weltering surface of a labyrinth of channels, let him look up, till it wearies him, to the awful roofs of the mansions, whose walls of immeasurabe height and scarfed with black masses of shadow and glaring moonlight, seem to close over his head and to barricade his path, as they interlace and confound each other in endless circuits; and he will have quite enough to kindle the torch of his darker imagination, even if he did not know those tremendous gulfs of masonry to be Venice, and those heart-sinking portals and windows of barbaric sculpture, the homes of her inexorable oligarchy. Yes, you may anticipate Naples, you may picture to yourself Rome, and Florence may have fulfilled much of your previous fancies; but no conceptions can prepare you for Venice."
ART. III.-Memoirs and Confessions of Francis Volkmar Reinhard, Court Preacher at Dresden. From the German. By O. A. TAYLOR. Boston.
THIS pleasant and instructive volume is partly an autobiography, contained in the letters of the remarkable man to whom they relate, and styled, with no very obvious propriety Confessions; and partly a delineation of his character compiled by the translator of the Letters from original sources. Altogether it is a most acceptable publica
tion. Students of any profession may read it with improvement; and students of divinity cannot carefully peruse it without receiving the most valuable hints for the pursuit and practice of their profession. Reinhard has long been revered on the continent as a distinguished preacher; but although he died so far back as 1812, and the present Memoirs have been for several years before the American public, yet, we believe, the particulars which we are about to notice are not so well known in Great Britain as to render it probable that they will be received with indifference. The single fact that for many successive years he published an annual volume of sermons, is sufficient to excite curiosity to know more of him.
It is no strange thing that a man should write and preach a sufficient number of sermons to form a volume, year after year; but it is passing strange that he should be able to write such as would find readers. The strangeness disappears only when we become acquainted with the man, and learn the fertility of his resources, the industry, ardour, and perseverance with which he devoted himself to the profoundest and most various studies, and the enthusiasm with which he alike mastered philosophy, philology, literature, rhetoric, and theology. The account of his indefatigable studies puts to shame our notions of hard labour, and gives a picture of one of the very few men who appear to have believed practically with Cicero, that it is requisite for an orator to be a diligent student, and familiarly acquainted with all subjects. It is the frequent infirmity of eloquent men to trust to their gifts and to shun toil. They are too readily seduced to prefer the showy to the profound, and to live by occasional excitement, rather than by steady application. Not such was Reinhard. His education was most rigid, his training most severe, and the intellectual discipline to which he subjected himself before commencing preacher seems to have surpassed that which most men undergo during a long life. The habits of application thus formed he did not permit himself to lose, but kept to them strictly and methodically in the midst of his fame. Thus it was that he not only became but continued to be a great man; not only acquired, but sustained his popularity. Let our scholars and professional men observe how he spent a day.
He rose at six, throughout the year, and employed the first hour in committing to memory his next sermon,-for he always preached memoriter, and the getting by heart was a wearisome drudgery which never grew less, as he grew older. Then followed until dinner the study of the Scriptures, composition, and professional business; and one hour always he devoted to speaking. Hear this, ye spouters, young and old, who fancy there is no necessity for this practice, but that you can easily become Ciceros without it! Then he dined, allowed a few minutes to the newspapers, and twice a week looked at the public journals. At three o'clock he returned to his studies;
at six or seven took a little exercise; passed the evening in study and in writing letters of business, and "closed the evening by reading, or causing his wife to read to him, some easy, enlightening, soothing piece." This course must have occupied not less than twelve hours; and those who are aware how much may be accomplished by four hours' hard study a-day, who remember that Priestley, for instance, accomplished his multiplied works by means of six hours a-day, will not wonder, that the regular adherence to a plan, which proposes twelve hours of study, should enable such a man as Reinhard to do all that he is said to have done. In order to form some idea of what this was, let it be noted, that he wrote and committed to memory a sermon every week, read and gave a written judgment on some thousands of printed works every year, while a professor at Wittemberg delivered four lectures daily, besides other academical duties, occasional authorship, active duties in the church government, and an extensive correspondence. This too in the midst of constant ill health.
"He was ever active in business, but his activity was not of a tumultuous, extravagant character, reckless of the laws of nature, and calculated to exhaust and ultimately to annihilate the body. On the other hand, the day was divided into the most regular order, and in such a manner as to save the most time. Every hour had its destination. From this order he was always unwilling to deviate. As soon as the hour arrived he went about his business, as soon as it had elapsed, he left it; nor could the choicest company chain him beyond the stated period. Nor was he mechanical in his habits of this kind; for his hours were alternated with reading, writing, study, walking, &c.; so that the day was agreeably diversified, while his strength was preserved from one day and hour to another for regularly prosecuting his works."
This punctuality, method and perseverance were the cardinal points on which his eminence rested.
It is a pleasant and profitable thing to read from a man's own pen, the history of his intellectual growth, and the various processes by which that growth was retarded or promoted. He is undoubtedly as liable to commit some error in writing about himself as another would be in writing of him. To know and to tell of one's self, or of any one, the truth, the exact truth, and nothing but the truth, is obviously impossible. But there are some items in every one's intellectual and moral theory which can be made known only by himself. If he speak of himself, therefore, with a tolerable degree of fairness, he will not fail to give instruction to those who honestly desire to know the secret workings of another's mind and heart, in order to be aided in the management of their own. Reinhard has set before us in his Confessions, a picture of his processes and principles of study, and the various contrivances, if we may so term them,