Sober reflections are necessarily banished or prevented by vivid sensations. It is not in the heat of battle that we can best calculate the consequences of victory or defeat. But ardent impressions supply the best fuel for subsequent cogitation, as collisions of flint and steel furnish the sparks that ultimately kindle the glowing flame.

It was not till after the third visit to St. Peter's, and the second ascent to its summit, that I was able to reflect with coolness on the origin, the object, and the end of an edifice, to which the epithet " nil simile aut secundum" may well be applied. My tribute of praise to its matchless perfections may not have been the less because not arrayed in language, which is inadequate to convey it. The most heartfelt admiration is, I apprehend, least noisy in its annunciation, as the most poignant grief is generally void of utterance. Those who feel but little, can afford to profess much ;-when feeling is overpowered, silence is the most eloquent, as well as the most natural mode of expression.

I have more than once observed that MAN is too apt to measure the attributes of his Creator by the standard of his own passions, propensities, and appetites. The GREAT and the LITTLE, in this world, are much gratified by presents-nay, even by compliments. A diamond snuff-box, an Arabian courser, or a sparkling aigrette, has sometimes set armies in motion, and settled or unsettled the fate of dynasties. Through every gradation of society, the bribe operates according to its own intrinsic value, the rank of the donor, or the dispositions (good or evil) of the receiver. A principle so universally diffused among mankind could hardly fail to shew itself in that paramount sense of duty, implanted by Nature in the human breast-ADORATION OF THE DEITY, whether expressed in superstitious idolatry or true religion. The blood of a calf, the entrails of a pig, or the milk of a goat began, however, in process of time, to be considered as presents or propitiations too ignoble and inefficient for Olympian Jove ;—and, as men came to feel the comforts or luxuries of splendid mansions for themselves, they could not do less than erect magnificent abodes for their GoDs, who condescended to spend the greater part of their time on earth, not, certainly, in pursuits the most decorous or moral for celestial personages. Of the stupendous edifices, the extensive establishments of priests, the bloody sacrifices, and the degrading

majority are unaware that our present state of existence is incompatible with long-continued pleasure or happiness. These would soon destroy the earthly fabric and corrupt its immortal tenant, the soul. A life of the greatest pleasure is, in reality, a life of the greatest pain-and as for a life of happiness, it exists only in the imagination of poets and maniacs. I believe that the greatest proportion of these much-desired objects is obtained by the earnest pursuit of them-and that he is the most fortunate who never gains possession!

modes of worship, which engrossed the attention or subjugated the reason of man, century after century, it is not necessary to speak. One thing appears pretty clear-that the ignorant multitude bribed, or hoped to bribe the Gods, through the instrumentality of the priests-while the crafty priesthood cajoled the people with the oracles of the gods.

It is greatly to be feared that, when a pure religion was revealed to Man, the latter was not always able or willing to shake off the trammels of an antecedent superstition. The gorgeous fane which I am now contemplating, would cast in the shade the magnificent temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline hill. Will any one say that it was not erected to honour the ashes of a MAN, rather than to form a place of worship for the ALMIGHTY? But, allowing that the design was solely that of testifying our veneration for the supreme Creator, is it to be supposed that the Architect of the Universe can be either pleased or propitiated by the mimic architecture, however splendid, performed by human hands? Is it to be imagined that the dimensions or ornaments of a place of worship can render that worship more or less acceptable in the sight of God? Certainly not. The next question that suggests itself to the inquiring mind is this can the inimitable statues, the beautiful paintings, the rare marbles, the polished pillars, the incalculable treasures of a temple like that of ST. PETER'S, contribute, directly or indirectly, to a more sincere and heart-felt adoration of the Divinity, contrition for our sins, supplication for pardon, or determination to reform, than a place of worship that merely protects us from the rains and winds, while performing our devotions to the MOST HIGH? It has been argued (and the argument is almost irresistible) that the feeble and plastic mind of man is disposed to the worship of his CREATOR, and to religious devotions in general, by the contemplation of solemn temples, filled with sensible representations of all the great historical facts, momentous miracles, and sublime truths of our holy religion-with images and delineations commemorating the origin, life, crucifixion, and resurrection of the Divine Founder of our Faith-with statues and paintings of saints and martyrs, who shed their blood, and laid down their lives in attestation of the heavenly mission and super-human works of our Saviourand all this in the midst of a gorgeous, mystical, and ceremonious ritual, performed by the delegated authorities of heaven-even by the vice-gerent of Christ on earth! It would be extremely difficult to start even a hypothetical objection to this line of argument, did not that sure and sole test of theoryEXPERIENCE-intrude itself on our sight, to confound the ingenuity of human speculations. Without reference to the sarcastic adage-" the nearer the church, the farther from God"—we may safely aver that, in no part of Christendom, have the precepts of Christianity less practical influence on the lives and actions of man than here in the very PATRIMONY of ST. PETER, where the churches would contain the whole of the population, and do contain the

greater part of its wealth! Of FAITH, indeed, we have a superabundancebut of GOOD WORKS, a lamentable scarcity. Is not the latter a natural consequence of the former? Faith renders good works unnecessary, and procures absolution for bad ones. Christ died to atone for the sins of all; but the Catholic-I mean the ROMAN Catholic, crucifies him hourly for his own private ends. Hence we see the finger perpetually tracing the holy cross on the outside of the head, while the devil is prompting all kinds of bad thoughts and actions within! Hence we behold every transaction in life commence and terminate with a religious ceremony-from the vetturino, who crosses himself before he begins to cheat you in the morning, to the brigand who mutters a prayer to the Virgin, before he murders you in the mountains.

All effects must have their causes. If this lax morality and skin-deep religion be not the consequence of that implicit faith in plenary indulgence and easy absolution, which the army of martyrs, the legions of saints, and the redundancy of priests deal out to supplicant, not repentant, sinners, we can, in no other way, account for the evil.

So much for the spiritual effects of these gorgeous temples, with the treasures which they enshrine, and the countless multitudes which they nurture in idleness! the incalculable masses of gold, and the inconceivable amount of labour which must have been wrung from an impoverished land, to erect that splendid tabernacle, and the ten thousand other edifices of a similar kind in this holy territory, offer a convincing but melancholy explanation of that abject poverty and extreme exhaustion, every where visible around these magnificent mansions of the gods. The moment we enter their portals, we are dazzled by a blaze of diamonds, agates, chrysolites, porphyries, and every species of precious stone, encircling and emblazoning the most exquisite productions of the painter and sculptor. The moment we issue from these sanctuaries, we are engulphed in a chaos of human wretchedness, squalid mendicity—and sometimes of loathsome depravity! In Rome, we are alternately led through paradise and purgatory. In the VATICAN, we associate with Gods in the human form, and men in the attitudes of the gods. In the streets we awake to the sad reality of man's first disobedience his fall—and all the variety of human woe!

ALBANO.

After a three hours' drive, we at last breathe a purer and keener air, and experience a corresponding increase of mental energy and corporeal vigour. From this height, we have a complete view of the dreary Campagna, girt by a crescent of rugged Apennines on one side, and laved by the placid Mediterranean on the other. The monotony of this scene of desolation is only broken occasionally by mouldering tombs, lonely watch-towers, tottering

aqueducts, and the narrow winding Tiber. In the centre is ROME herself, weeping and drooping, like Niobe, in the midst of her fallen and lifeless children. Her hills are bald from age and misfortune-or partially covered with ornaments that betray rather than conceal the ravages of Time! We eagerly turn from the depressing prospect, to linger round the shores of a tranquil and glassy lake, perched on this airy eminence, and capable of being easily turned through the streets of the Eternal City, to wash away every particle of her impurities—or pursue our journey amid hanging woods, romantic dells, and giddy precipices that command extended views of the pestilent maremma, smooth and untenanted as the wide ocean that bounds the western horizon. Albano is the Hampstead of Rome, and the inhabitants may be distinguished from their more sickly Roman visitors, by some slight appearance of health. But although the air is less oppressive here in Summer, than on the level of the Campagna; yet the vicinity, on three sides, of highly malarious grounds, renders Albano a precarious residence during the almost tropical temperature of Summer or Autumn. The crater of an immense extinct volcano is now the lake of Albano; and the ancient subterranean conduit of its waters to the plain, may shame the modern, and even compete with the ancient aqueducts. The sepulchral vases, dug from beneath a flood of lava that ran from the now silent volcano, long before Æneas landed on the Latian shores, form one of the greatest curiosities at Albano— far more ancient, but far less intelligible, than the relics of Pompeii.

After climbing up some steep and woody acclivities, we reach that dilapidated and miserable MAN-ROOST, LA RICCIA, overlooking the deadly plain that stretches away to the almost uninhabitable Ostia. The complexions and features of the wretched inhabitants prove, beyond all doubt, that they are not beyond the range of the malaria, however elevated above its source. Their physiognomy alone, unaided by recent and too authentic tale or history, would excite a suspicion that we are here within the sphere of a more dangerous evil than malaria-BRIGANDISM! From Albano, indeed, to Velletri, (the first night's rest on the road to Naples,) the country presents a wild and tumultuous scenery that, under better auspices, would be beautiful or even romantic. The tranquil, or the moderately excited mind of the traveller, would recal, at every step, the most pleasing recollections. LAVINIUM, with all its Virgilian associations, would rise on his view-while Horace's journey to Brundusium, along the same road, would induce him to saunter with slow step, rather than to accelerate his pace, over the most classical ground in Italy. But, alas! that noble, god-like, rational, immortal-villainous animal, MAN,

Wild as the raging main,

More fierce than tygers on the Lybian plain,

banishes, by the memory and the terror of his atrocities, every sense of

pleasure every feeling of security, till we labour up the eminence, on which stands the bandit town-the Volscian City-the birth-place and patrimony of Augustus !

VELLETRI---PONTINE FENS---TERRACINA.

From the principal inn of this eagle's nest, we have a most magnificent view of the Pontine Marshes in front, stretching away to the verge of the horizon, at Terracina-the Volscian Mountains, on the left, rising abruptly, and somewhat fantastically, from the Pontine Fens; crescented and crowned with villages, whose exteriors are as white as their interiors are dark and dismal-whose inhabitants were lately robbers, and are now beggars! To the right, the eye wanders over an almost interminable plain of Maremma, supplying abundant nutriment for every animal but MAN, against whom the plains of Italy seem to have waged eternal warfare!

From Velletri we started at the dawn of day; and the groups of terrible figures, through which we passed, at the corners of the streets, apparently în close divan, and scowlingly examining the carriages, as they cautiously descended the steep defiles, were not at all calculated to tranquillize, much less exhilarate the mind of the traveller, advancing towards a scene of desolation and death, that has been the theatre of murder and robbery for two thousand years. Yet the remembrance of several incidents, that seemed ominous or even alarming at the time, but which proved to be quite fallacious in the end, deprived the Velletri bandits of half their terrors. One of these incidents I shall here relate, as it may save some unpleasant emotions in the minds of others.

When ascending the mountain of Radicofani, at the close of evening, we were startled by the sound of a horn from a neighbouring mountain on the right. On directing our eyes to that quarter, we saw three gaunt figures striding down the side of a hill, and waving their caps. The postillions (three in number) immediately stopped, and answered the signal. They then alighted-got into close conference-and allowed the horses to creep up the mountain at a snail's pace. The three strangers soon joined them, and entered into earnest consultation with the postillions, frequently eyeing the carriages, and even pointing to them. The courier had gone forward to the inn, and we had no protection whatever. The strangers took out bottles, and plied the postillions with rosoglio freely. After half an hour's confabulation among these parties, the postillions mounted, and the strangers, after making us some obsequious bows, darted off the road to the right, and soon disappeared. During this scene, we preserved perfect composure, and neither asked the drivers any questions, nor urged them forward on the journey. After supper, at the Caravansera on the summit of the mountain, and while

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