immense and magnificent the ranges commanded from this centre! From this pinnacle of art in Italy could we fly "with the speed of fire" to that of nature on Mont Blanc, it seems as if the change from Time into Eternity would hardly be greater. Yet it is little more than three days since we were in the midst of those snows, that in this setting sun blaze like the walls of heaven. And now we long to be there again. The sight of such mountains makes the Cathedral dwindle, makes you feel as if, while Art can indeed be beautiful, there is nothing but Nature that can be truly sublime. Now we turn again upon the marble tower, along its wilderness of spires and statues. How admirably the sculptures are finished! Half way up the grand spire, you have the best view of them, more than four thousand in all, though not all at once visible. The immense size of the building, and its innumerable recesses, admit of their distribution in such a way, that you would not dream there were more than five hundred in all.

The structure is indeed a master-piece of gorgeous art, and in speaking of it Wordsworth observes that "the selection and arrangements of the figures are exquisitely fitted to support the religion of the country in the imaginations and feelings of the spectator." But does the piety of the people, does the religion of the Cross, as well as the religion of the country, increase and strengthen by the beauty of such gorgeous churches? It has been remarked that the age of great architectural splendor in churches is also an age of decline in spiritual worship. The beauty and glory of the form are far more considered than the indwelling spirit. Take Wordsworth's words as a definition, and call the Romish Cathedral a series of figures selected and arranged to support the religion of the country, and you have a most accurate description. Whether the satire were intended, or the writer was unconscious of it, makes but little difference. It is the religio loci, and not the preaching of the gospel, for which these great edifices were destined; it is the half paganized system of superstition, instead of the gospel, for which they are best adapted.

This magnificent pile, when Lanfranc undertook to rebuild it, was styled a Church for the Mother of God, and on her account the people brought their offerings. Then afterwards did the fierce Galeazzo Visconti take up the work of rebuilding, in order to ex

piate his great crimes. Then another uneasy sinner, on his deathbed, paid, for the same purpose, the enormous expiatory gift of 280,000 crowns. After all this, Napoleon took up the work, as a matter of imperial taste, splendor, and ambition, and nearly finished it. So, though it has been centuries in building, no man can be said to have put a stone in it out of love; it is all the work not of Faith, but of Superstition; so that, instead of regarding these Gothic architectural piles as the consequence or proof of a sense of religion in the Middle Ages, or as the natural growth or expression of a devout spirit, they must rather be considered as the price paid by an age of superstition, for a vast insurance on the world to come. It is not the gospel in a believing heart, but the Law acting on a guilty conscience, that has reared such structures. So, though some of them are a great material Epic, full of beauty and grandeur, yet they cannot be considered as a true product of the gospel, or of a simple religious spirit, any more than the Iliad of Homer itself.

If they were religious edifices, then ought the ceremonies of religion in them to be of such august simplicity and grandeur, so free from mere human artifice, so superior to all superstition, so shaped and imbued by the spirit of the gospel, that every man on entering might feel irresistibly that it is the gospel. But, as Wordsworth says, it is the religion of the country. You are made to feel that while there is a great deal of worship in the Roman Catholic religion, there is very little religion in the Roman Catholic worship. You are compelled to make this distinction, by observing the round of superstitious ceremonies, and studying the crowds kneeling before the multitudinous altars, pictures, effigies and images.

As to the effect of the gospel of Christ, preached simply, plainly, boldly, fervently, amidst all this power of superstition, I believe it would be irresistible. The hearts of the Italians are human hearts, as good naturally, as any other hearts in the world, and perfectly accessible. Doubtless God will yet raise up native preachers of the Cross among them, who will be as successful as Paul ever was at Rome. He hose grace kindles the fire in such hearts can keep it burni e it spread like the summer lightning from cloud to ve of Inquisitors can stop

The word of God shall "yet

it, no persecution can put it out. have free course and be glorified” in Italy, and when it does, then will that Man of Sin, that Son of Perdition (and I leave it with my readers according to their own pleasure to say who or what he is) be consumed by the Spirit of the Lord's mouth, and destroyed by the brightness of his coming.

CHAPTER XLV.

Silvio Pellico, and the Bible in Italy.

MILAN was the city of one of Silvio Pellico's prisons. What a touching account he gives of the power of the Bible over him! The time is hastening, when it shall no longer be a strange book in Italy, nor its doctrines hidden. For six or seven days Silvio had been in a state of doubt, prayerlessness, and almost desperation. Yet he sang with a pretended merriment, and sought to amuse himself with foolish pleasantries. "My Bible," he says, covered with dust. One of the children of the jailor said to me one day, while caressing me, 'Since you have left off reading in that villain of a book, it seems to me you are not so sad as before."" Silvio had been putting on a forced gaiety.

"It seems to you?" said he.

"was

"I took my Bible, brushed away the dust with a pocket-handkerchief, and opening it at hazard, my eyes fell upon these words. And he said to his disciples, It is impossible but that offences will come, but wo to that man by whom the offence cometh. It were better for him that a millstone were cast about his neck, and he thrown into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.'

"Struck with meeting these words, I was ashamed that this little child should have perceived, by the dust with which my Bible was covered, that I read it no more, and that he should have supposed that I had become more sociable and pleasant by forgetting God. I was completely desolate at having so scandalized him. You little rogue, said I, with a caressing reproof, this is not a villain book, and during the several days that I have neglected to read in it, I am become much worse. My singing that you have heard is only a force-put, and my ill humor, which I try to drive

away when your mother lets you in to see me, all comes back when I am alone.

“The little child went out, and I experienced a degree of satis faction at having got my Bible again in my hands, and at having confessed that without it I had grown worse. It seemed as if I were making some reparation to a generous friend, whom I had unjustly offended, and that I was again reconciled to him.

"And I had abandoned thee, O my God! cried I, and I was perverted! and I could even believe that the infamous laugh of the cynic and sceptic was suited to my despairing condition!

"I pronounced these words with indescribable emotion. I placed my Bible on a chair, I kneeled down upon the earth to read it, and I, who weep with so much difficulty, burst into tears.

"These tears were a thousand times sweeter than my brutish joy. I saw my God again! I loved him! I repented that I had so insulted him in degrading myself, and I promised never more to be separated from him, never. How does a sincere return to the path of duty comfort and elevate the soul!

"I read and wept and lamented during more than an hour, and arose full of confidence in the thought that God was with me, and that he had pardoned my delirium. Then my misfortunes, the torments of the trial, the probability of the torture, appeared to me a very little thing. I could rejoice in suffering, since I might fulfil a sacred duty, which was to obey the Saviour, in suffering with resignation."

There are still hearts like Silvio Pellico's in Italy, and when the word of God comes to this people, it will have all the greater power for having been so long kept from them. When the spirit of the mouth of the Lord kindles the fire, it will spread among Italian hearts like a flame in the dry grass of the prairies. Under this fire the superstitions of Romanism would perish. The Idolatry of forms can no more stand against the burning spirit of God's word, than the seared leaves and withered branches of the woods in autumn could stand before a forest conflagration.

Frank-hearted Silvio Pellico! How many a man has let the dust grow thick upon his Bible, not in prison merely, but even his family Bible, even with dear children around him, and never confessed his sin, never gone back with tears of contrition to that Holy

PART II.

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