traveller so deeply regrets is, after all, a great relief to one's feelings. It harmonises more with their mood and speaks their language. Bright fields and thrifty farm-houses and all the life and animation of a richly cultivated country would present too strong a contrast to the fallen "glory of the world." But the sterile earth, the ruins that lie strewed over the plain and the lonely aspect all things around it wear, seem to side with the pilgrim as he muses over the crumbled empire. Besides, his faith is not so grievously taxed and his convictions so incessantly shocked. He is not compelled to dig through modern improvements to read the lines that move him so deeply. There they are, the very characters the centuries have writ. He sees the foot-prints of the mighty ages, and lays his hand on their mouldering garments. As we passed over this mournful tract, every stone that lay in the sunshine seemed a history. We were on the Appian way, over which the Roman Legions had thundered so often, and in the very plain where the Sabines-the Volsci-the Pelasgi had in their turn striven to crush the infant empire.

At length we entered the gates, rolled over the Celian hill and descended into the heart of modern Rome.

The sensations one experiences in passing through the streets are odd enough. His feet are on a dead empire, and here an ancient obelisk and there a fountain or a ruin keeps up the mystery and awe with which he first contemplated the city. But suddenly an object passes between him and that ruin-he looks, and it is a modern belle-a Roman, with her French hat, finery and bustle, rustling by. He rubs his eyes and looks again. It cannot be for upon that proud marble front stands written in haughty characters, S. P. Q. R., "SENATE AND PEOPLE OF ROME." He turns; the black-eyed Roman has tripped by, but right among those grim, old columns is a blacksmith quietly shoeing a Roman's horse. Thus you go on, one moment reminded of Cæsar

-the next of tobacco-one moment imagining the haughty form that once passed beneath that arch—the next seeing a beggar crouched in his rags beneath it.

After I had become domiciled, the first object I sought was St. Peter's. Every body has written of St. Peter's, and every body says that the first view disappointed them-that the admirable pro

portion maintained throughout diminishes the greatness of the whole. It was not so with me. Although in general every thing is under my anticipations, this was beyond them.

As I stood in front of the noble area with the ancient obelisk rising in the centre, and the snow-white fountains sending up their foam against the fourfold colonnade that swept down in a semicircle on either side to where I stood, surmounted by their one hundred and ninety-two statues, and looked up to the front of St. Peter's rising majestically from its noble flight of steps, I lifted up my hands in amazement.

My astonishment was only increased as I ascended into the vestibule and entered the main body of the church. The rich marble floor-the lofty nave-the stupendous columns, and the wealth of statuary that leans out on every side, make it appear more like an artist's dream than an actual creation.

You are lost in the amplitude around you, and the men and women that creep over the floor are mere insects amid the gigantic objects that stand on every side. At length, as you approach the immense bronze canopy and gaze up into that solemn dome, circling away into the heavens, you exclaim, "It is enough!" It seems as if Art had fallen in love with her own creation, and in the enthusiasm of her passion had thrown away all her wealth upon it.

Truly yours.

SATURDAY BEFORE EASTER.

115

LETTER XXIV.

Saturday before Easter and Easter Sunday.

ROME, April, 1843.

DEAR E.-I will skip over the ceremonies of Holy week, and give you simply a brief sketch of Saturday before Easter Sunday, and Easter Sunday itself.

Saturday before Easter I gave up St. Peter's, as nearly the same thing was to be done over again, and went in the morning to St. John's, in Laterano, (as it is called,) one of the oldest and most magnificent churches of Rome. From its greater contiguity, it claims precedence of St. Peter's, and the feeling between the ri val churches, is not of the most brotherly kind. St. John's being the mother church, ought to be the residence of the Pope; but the conveniences and splendor of St. Peter's, correspond better with the tastes of his Holiness, and he you know is not a responsible being. The consequence is, that as soon as a pope dies, the College of Cardinals at St. John immediately assert their supremacy, by issuing new coin.

But we will leave them to their quarrels for to-day. This morning is always devoted to the ordination of priests and the baptism of converts-such as Jews, Greeks, &c. Having heard that several Jews and Greeks were to be baptized, I went early to witness the ceremony. I was surprised to find the church so little crowded; and after listening a short time to the chanting of the priests, I began to roam over the church. Still few people came, and I began to suspect there was something wrong; so seeing a priest come out from a side chapel with a book under his arm, I accosted him. He told me that the ceremony was in the Baptistry, which is a separate building, erected by Constantine, and repaired by two popes. I immediately hastened to it, and

descending to the interior, saw the entire circle around the font, literally blocked with human beings who were patiently waiting the commencement of the imposing ceremony. Putting my foot on the plinth of one of the magnificent porphyry columns that support the dome above the font, and throwing one arm around it, I was enabled to get a bird's eye view of the whole.-After waiting a half hour or more, the bishops with the priestly procession entered. All were standing silent and intent, waiting the appearance of the Jews and Turks, &c., who were thus publicly to abjure their faith. The water in the font was blessed, and oil poured on it in the shape of a cross, and chantings uttered, but still no Turks appeared. At length a woman brought forward an infant, that seemed about three days old, and it was baptized. A second, that seemed its counterpart, was also brought to the bishop and baptized. Still the crowd stood in breathless expectation for the commencement of the interesting ceremony that was to crown the whole; but, alas! the whole was finished, and the bishop with his train wheeled away. I never beheld such blank looks of astonishment as for a few moments surrounded that font. -Every face expressed in the most emphatic language, “is this all-can it be all." And then one would turn to another with such a look of earnest inquiry, as much as to say, "what do you think." Those who had mounted benches and chairs, to overlook the throng, stepped down with such a softly step and shamed look, as if afraid to be noticed, and one after another began to slink away so quietly, and the whole pageant had ended in such a ridiculous farce, that I involuntarily burst into a laugh. Yet it was not on account of the ceremony, but the people.-Many a one had risen before her time of waking, and many a hurried breakfast taken, and many a scudi expended in carriages, and St. Peter's given up with reluctance to witness the baptism of two very small infants.

My friend and myself, after loitering around a while, and again seeing the poor creatures mounting "Scala Santa," on their knees, turned to walk home. St. John's, standing close by the gate that leads to Naples, it is a long walk from it to the centre of the city. We at first repented of our choice, for the sun was beating on our heads with terrific force; but we were soon amply repaid;

for this being the day whose evening saw the Son of God rise from the dead-it is filled with joyful celebrations. Yesterday, the Tenebræ and Miserere had been sung over the death and burial of the Savior; but to-day, there was no mourning. The Miserere was over, and the Jubilate commenced. About midday, as we stood on the Quirinal, suddenly every bell of the city seemed unloosed in its tower, and swung, and shouted out its hallelujah. You cannot conceive the exciting effect of so many bells ringing at once in their gladdest notes.-The city seemed fairly to lift under it; and suddenly from the far castle of St. Angelo, thundered forth the deep cannon, blending their sullen joy with the emulative bells, till the Sabine hills sent back the jubilee, and the sound came rolling down over the Quirinal, saying in wild, yet stirring accents, "Christ the Lord is risen to-day." As we walked along, from every corner guns were fired till the city shook again. However inappropriate the kind of joy, one could not feel indifferent to it. But after it had subsided away, and the city lapsed again into its usual quietness, it did seem strange enough. In viewing the pageantries and senseless ceremonies in honor of St. Peter, I have often wondered what the great Apostle would have said, had he foreseen it all; so now I felt that our Savior must have turned with pity and disgust from such a celebration of his résurrection. In St. Peter's on this day, the principal ceremonies are "blessing of the fire and incense "—the new light, (quite different, however, from our new lights at home,) and the blessing of the paschal candle, which is large as a small column.

Easter Sunday. This is the last great day of the Popish feast; and the Pope celebrates high mass in St. Peter's. This is done but three times in the year-this day-the festival of St. Peter and Paul—and Christmas. To-day also the Pope wears the Tiara or triple crown. It was first worn by Pope Sylvester, with a single coronet; Boniface Eighth, about the year 1300, added a second, and John the Second, or Urban Fifth-it is not certain which, added a third, making it a triple crown, representing the pontifical, imperial, and royal authority combined.

At any early hour the streets were thronged with carriages, and Rome turned out of doors, poured itself towards St. Peter's. It is a mile or more from the main part of the city to the church;