"Now, Cassidy,' says he, the priest is gone-sind up the divil.'

"Wid many stories ov a simylar kind Saint Sinan an' me father spun out the night 'till the small hours kem on; an' the Lord pardon me for sayin' the like, but I b'lieve the truth is best to be tould, they both got mighty capersome in their lickor, an' med futballs o' the blessed man's hat an' wig an' ould Dan's sow-westher. At last the little cantankerous ould chap that brought in me father kem an' whispered in his air

"Take my advice, an' be joggin', before his holiness grows throublesome, an' gives you some job to do that 'ill put you to the pin Ο your collar.'

"Thrue for the cute crathur; the word wasn't out ov his mouth, whin Saint Sinan hekupped out

"Da-Da-Dan Crot-ty,' says he, I-I'm-I am a be-bee-lever in the tranrans-mig-rashin' ov sowls,' says he, 'an', Da-Da-Dan Crot-y, I want you to get for me one o' the ravens out o' the top o' the round tower.'

"Don't ax me, an' I'll be behouldin' to you,' says me father; for I never was any thing ov a climber; moreover, I always get a swimmin' in the sight,' says he, whin I sit up long, an' 'tis late an' dark now; change the subject, sir,' says he.

"Well, begor, this med his holiness turn a little rusty. "Why d -n your blood, you skulkin' ould toper,' says he,-an' 'twas remarkable, for a blessed man, how kindly he tuk to blasphemy, whin the dhrop o' dhrink put him off his guard, I curse an' command you, on the three pains o' death, to do me biddin', or I'll thransform you into an

ould coldoy, an' leave you three feet undher ground.'

"An' wid that he med a sign to the spirsawn in the green cloak an' red cap, an' the chap called Punch an' Boxer wid him, an' they guarded me father out o' the place off to the foot o' the round tower; the thievin' dogs shovin' me poor ould fellow along whenever he'd lag at all or look round for help.

"Up wid you now, me lad o' wax,' says the little sinthry, or 'twill be worse for you. Saint Sinan is a mighty pleasant fellow whin he's in humour,' says he, but if you're wise you'll not cross him.'

"Instead of doin' his biddin', Dan Crotty only sat down at the butt o' the steeple, an' biginned to pillilew as if all belongin' to him wor dead. gor, he ruz sich a lamentashin that id soon brought out the saint himself to see what on airth was the matther.

Be

"The Lord guide an' guard us, 'tis dangerous to be rovin' afther nightfall at all in blessed places. If 'twasn't a thing that my mother happened to light on her husband that night, an' he dreamin' away an' talkin' an' singin' thro' his sleep, undher the canopy ov heaven, myself thinks 'tisn't be wringin' his red nose 'till he roared, she'd bring him to stir himself, an' go home to his vartuous bed. LITTLE JOHN."

Rome, April, 1838.

I HAVE not said a word of the ceremonies of the holy-week, though they are just now the all-engrossing subject of public attention. Truly, if their efficacy and merit be measured by the eagerness and numbers of the votaries of religion and fashion assembled to witness their celebration or partake of their benefits, they well claim a word from me and a place among the miracles of modern Rome. To me she exhibits none so striking as the durability of her power. Ages in succession have seen her supreme in war, in art, in religion. And now, though her laurels are faded, her arts extinct, (or living only in the past,) her spiritual glory obscured, she is at this moment the capital of the world, the centre of attraction to all civilized nations. The deserted city is filled with life, the silent streets are peopled with busy crowds, the churches are thronged day and night, the pageants and processions endless. Of all the exhibitions, two only have interested me; of these, the interest would have been greater, if the actors had not plainly allowed us to see how little the reality of religion is blended with these outward forms-how little the conviction of truth sanctifies the ceremonies in which they mechanically act the part allotted to them.

On Easter Sunday we had tickets for St. Peter's, to see the procession and service. The aisle of a place of worship lined with soldiers was a novel sight to us. The two most imposing moments were those, when the pope was borne up the magnificent aisle, attended by richly-dressed cardinals, bishops, and priests, the great officers of his household, and splendid bodyguard; the second, on the elevation of the host, when the soldiers sunk on their knees, their musquets striking with a sudden and startling clang upon the marble pavement. The length of the service would have been wearisome had I not found untiring interest in watching the various groups of listeners and gazers-worshippers there were none, except among the lower

classes. For these, the Easter ceremonies still possess the vitality and holy influence which have ceased to give them value with the rich and great. Nothing can be more touching than the heartfelt devotion with which the poor and lowly kneel before the shrine of a favourite saint; the humble spirit in which they pour out their prayer to the chosen intercessor, in whose gentle offices of mercy they implicitly confide. A feeling so real, earnest, and profound, commands respect. But in the groups composed of the rich and gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen, priests in black or purple robes, cardinals in white satin, scarlet and gold, bishops of Constantinople and Antioch, &c. &c. and the Exarch of Greece, I saw nought but vacant looks, lounging attitudes, and irreverence, approaching too nearly to that which pained me in the Synagogue of Leghorn. Then followed the benediction.

In the noble piazza of St. Peter's, encircled by its matchless colonnade, thousands and thousands were assembled for the closing ceremony of the holy-week. A more striking scene can scarcely be conceived. Every nation on the earth, every grade of society, seemed to have sent forth its representative. Every age, colour, form, and dress might be seen in this motley crowd. Peasant girls, with their picturesque costumes of many colours, gold ornaments, and brilliant eyes— way-worn travellers- pilgrims-and shepherds from the Campagna-even brigands from the mountains, mingled with the nobles and gentry of every land. The sky was one unbroken vault of azure, the sun shed a flood of glory on every object; and every voice was hushed, every eye lighted up with expectation. At length the pope appeared on a balcony elevated far above us. The soldiers and people in the foremost ranks fell on their knees. His lips moved he gently waved his arms and all was over. Every one rose. The deep silence and awe-struck expression gave way to the loud murmur of glad voices, to joyous looks

I

and animated gesture. No sound, indeed, had reached them, but they felt that he, whom they regard as the vicegerent of the Highest-the representative of God on earth, had blessed them, and by his blessing had purified them from sin. The peasants come from all parts of Italy to participate in the advantages of this valued benediction. The ceremonies have been curtailed of late years, whether from economy or policy I cannot say. should think the evident indifference, not to say contempt, of the upper classes for the forms of the church, will slowly, but surely, undermine the gigantic power of this wondrous fabric. You rightly conjecture that the new aspect in which Catholicism is presented to us here-the universal church, ourselves the tolerated sect-gives fresh interest to the question of her continued stability. It appears to me, that though every principle of our moral nature may find in the bosom of this ancient church a sphere of action adapted to it, with a wisdom so farsighted as to extort our admiration, there must lie in her assumed perfectibility, which rejects every idea of change, the germ of that sure decay, which sooner or later must prove fatal to every institution that attempts to oppose the onward progress of the human mind. But whilst reason, at least my reason, condemns the limiting doctrines of the Catholic church, it is not in the presence of her august temples, of the lovely and benign forms in which her creed is embodied here, that my imagination can refuse its homage to her grand and venerable character. I can now readily comprehend her boundless influence over adherents, in whose minds faith in her infallibility is combined with the love and fear she so well knows how to foster. Dr. Channing has treated this subject with his accustomed liberality nd ability.

To-morrow the Capitol will open, the Vatican the day after. As they will leave no time or thought unoccupied for many days, I will now tell you of the minor objects that have happily interested us since I last wrote. We have at length seen one of Raphael's frescos the Sibyls of Santa Maria della Pace. A slip of the pen has classed it with minor objects, but it is a speaking monum nt of the sub.

lime power of his genius. One less fertile would have shrunk from the difficulties presented by the situation destined for this noble creation. But so graceful is the grouping, it seems almost to have gained a new beauty from what in other hands would have remained a serious defect. Painted

at the desire of his friend, Agostino Chigi, the group follows the form of the arch over the altar of his chapel. Its masterly execution, harmonious, though faded colouring, leaves little doubt of its being the work of Raphael's own hand. The symmetrical arrangement-two sibyls at each side of the arch, is judiciously varied by the light aerial forms of the attendant genii, who deliver to them the divine decrees, written in Greek characters on tablets and strips of parchment. The sibyls themselves, not less happily contrasted in age and attitude, are noble majestic beings, combining the grace and beauty of woman with the elevated character assigned to them, as prophetesses, by an early Christian tradition. To it we are indebted for some of the noblest efforts of art-the noblest type of woman's beauty in its grandest form. Four prophets, I thought them poor creatures, painted above, are so inferior in effect and execution, that they are generally assigned to Timoteo della Viti, though probably designed by his master. We have also endeavoured to see Raphael's Isaiah, painted on one of the pillars of St. Agostino. The light is bad, and the evil increased by the flickering glare of the altarlamps; I have, therefore, some hesitation in confessing it appeared to me an exaggerated and affected figure, with a singular if not dislocated knee. I have just been told, however, that this knee is a very fine one-one of the few parts untouched by profane restorations. But as I have not yet set up as an authority in painting, and have promised you my own opinions, I leave my (probably) ill-founded criticism, giving you an opportunity of correcting it on Michael Angelo's authority: modest on my part is it not? Mrs. Jameson's French lady would add, "et généreux." The government has a fine establishment for the encouragement of engraving, the Calcografea Camerale, which employs the best artists to copy the pictures and statues which are to be engraved; these draw

ings form an interesting collectionwhich we were allowed to see. The engravings are well executed, and sold at a moderate price. We were sorry, however, to observe some unwarrantable liberties in draping one of Canova's groups: it is said, too, that the practice in this country of engraving from highly finished chalk drawings, executed by artists devoted to this branch, is unfavourable to the faithfulness of the engraving,*—each copy exhibiting in some degree their individual peculiarities of taste and feeling.

The beautiful art of cameo-cutting is carried to great perfection here. Despite the temptations that assail us in the cameo shops, we find them the best and most pleasant resting-places, when our attention has long been exercised in palaces and studios.

Giro

metti, first in the art, works only in stone-pietra dura. His beautifullyexecuted classical subjects are destined for royal and imperial cabinets. In these, the stone itself is of great value. The most prized are the oriental onyx, black and white in layers; and the sardonyx, cornelian, brown and white. Some heads are so wrought as to show four shades of colour-these are the most valuable. One set of specimens, containing eight cameos of different sizes, Girometti values at three thou

sand pounds. In cutting the shell cameo, too, the Roman artists are unequalled. Subjects from the antique, &c, are executed with great accuracy, and in the highest style of finish; the colour of the ground varies from shades of light brown or cinnamon to the most prized-a red orange. Fine heads, and delicately-executed groups of figures, may be bought from fifteen shillings to four or five pounds. A tempting and beautiful Medusa, in shell, is three pounds: the same in stone, forty pounds. A likeness, well executed in stone, ten pounds; in shell, four or five pounds, according to the workmanship. Before we leave Rome I hope to send you a list of the names and addresses of the different artists, which will make you independent of of your valet de place. We are told by good authority that these gentry

expect a fee for every party they conduct to a shop or wareroom, and recommend those masters only who yield to the demand: the most respectable will not submit to this tax, and strangers are consequently often taken to inferior houses.

The mosaic work is another beautiful art. We have not yet seen the government manufactory, which is carried on in the Vatican. Works of large size only, as tables, copies of pictures, &c. &c. are executed there. The smaller works, such as are sold in England, are here in much greater variety of pattern, and considerably lower in price. We have seen Poggioli, who is considered one of the first mosaic workers, at his laborious employment. I find the Roman mosaic is composed of pieces of coloured glass made in Venice, not marble, like the Florentine; they are called smalti, and are said to contain eighteen thousand different tints. The beauty of the work, the gradation of the tints, and cost, depend on the minuteness of the pieces: they may be drawn out to the fineness of a thread. Each piece is separately attached to the ground of stone or metal with a strong cement: when finished, the whole is ground and polished to a level surface. It is a tedious process, and in large subjects seems scarcely worth the time they cost. We saw the top of a small table which had occupied two men a year and a-half -the price eighty pounds. A ruin or a group of flowers of two inches square will occupy a good workman two months: a broach of this size varies in price, according to the work, from one to five pounds-I have heard, indeed, to twenty pounds. Inferior, but yet very pretty work, is extremely cheap. The Roman pearl, as we call it, is manufactured here, not, as I used to think, of glass, but of alabaster, cut into the required shape, and covered with a paste made from the scales of a small fish found in the Mediter

ranean.

Among the manufactures of Rome I should not omit the most profitable -the ingenious fabrication of antiquities. You may provide yourself with a whole museum of originalissime an

tichità, at a cost little more than four or five times their value. Etruscan vases, bronzes, cameos, coins; heads, hands, and ears of gods, emperors, and sages, are dug up every day-by those who bury them-to the great advantage of their finances, and the delight of amateurs who purchase them. If not as ancient as they look-ils meritent bien de l'être-they are, at all events, as dirty, dingy, well-cracked, and mutilated as any antique ought to be: what more do collectors need?

We have been making a pilgrimage to the different churches, beginning with St. Peter's, which I shall reserve till I can discover my own real opinion -now enveloped in such a cloud of opposite conclusions I know not where to find it. Among the ruins and occupying part of the ancient buildings of Diocletian's baths, which in extent and splendour are said to have surpassed all others, are two churches. One of the original halls has been converted into a granary; another, into the church of St. Bernardo, attached to the convent adjoining; it is a fine but deserted-looking building, lighted by a lofty dome. The great central hall, now dedicated to Santa Maria degli Angeli-altered by Michael Angelo into the noble form of a Greek cross-is three hundred and fifty feet in length. The vaulted roof is supported by sixteen fine columns-eight of them ancient, the others perfect imitations. In consequence of the dampness of the ground the pavement has been raised, which has injured, it is said, the proportion of both building and columns. This alteration, like some other more important ones, may have been made after the death of the great master; the artists who succeeded him, and the popes who employed them, being quite competent in their own eyes to improve the plans of all their predecessors. You know that considerable alterations were made in his noble plan of St. Peter's, which has essentially impaired the grandeur of the edifice: an audacity the more surprising, as he was considered by his cotemporaries no less eminent as an architect than a sculptor and painter. A high authority asserts, our age has come to a different and juster conclusion, that his style in architecture is heavy rather than grand. Even the majestic church, in which I have left

you so long, is not without this fault; it is in some parts heavy and overladen. It contains several paintingsnone, I think, of note or interest, but Dominichino's fresco of St. Sebastian. His frescos, said to be the very best of later times, exhibit greater strength of colouring, with less coarseness, than his oils. In this, as in many of his pictures, the composition is crowded. The multiplicity of figures, though individually interesting and expressive, disturb rather than enhance the effect of the whole. But in expressing the varied emotions excited by the painful scene of the martyrdom, he has been singularly happy, and has given more variety, with less insipidity, to his women and children than is his wont.

Saint Stefano Rotunda, formerly, it is said, the temple of Claudius, is a damp, dreary building, rarely opened for service, being in a neighbourhood infected with malaria. The arches of the Claudian aqueduct (noble objects those aqueducts are, our underground doings are not half so picturesque,) look scarcely more dilapidated than the ugly exterior of the church. The interior, however, with its beautiful circular colonnade of ancient columns, has an air of simple grandeur and elegance which repaid us for our visit. Formerly the colonnade was double. The outer row of columns is now walled up, perhaps to strengthen the building; but it has an unhappy effect on the beauty of the whole. Christianity, too, as in other churches, steps in to decorate and disfigure, and, by erecting a hideous baldachino and arching over the altar, contrived to mar the simple grandeur of the edifice, as well as exhibit the barbarous taste of pope Simplicius and his architects. Neither has the painter been idle. The whole extent of the walls is covered by some unremembered genius of the day, whom we can condemn to no worse purgatory than his own, so horrible are the martyrdoms and all the details of suffering in which his pencil has revelled, con amore.

The view from San Gregorio, on the Coelian Mount, over some of the most deserted parts of the ancient city, like every distant view of it, is of a mournful and picturesque character. The Colosseum and palace of the Cæsars, with stately arches of broken aqueducts, are the striking objects it