this compliance with the taste and habits of those around you. You expect, it may be, thus to win those whom a contrary conduct, you think, would disgust. But it may be worth while to inquire how far this is doing evil that good may come. And what if you should disarm some individuals of part of their prejudice against the professors of spiritual religion, and at the same time find the power of that religion decrease in your own soul, would not the loss be greater than the gain? But, unless I am mistaken, growing experience may serve to convince you that nothing really desirable is gained even with others by concessions of this sort. The people you would win, much as they now respect you, do probably not at heart respect you in the degree they would otherwise do. They are glad of the sanction which your example affords: you win them as companions, but, it may be feared, make them less likely to be won to Christ, and his self-denying religion. I do not myself see how a minister can, with reasonable hope of success, preach against the vanities of the world, if he either directly or indirectly sanction any one of those vanities. And surely, to use the mildest term, card-playing, in its least offensive form, is a vanity. It is a vanity which banishes, for the time, every thing serious from the mind as effectually as the grossest sin would do. Of card-playing, indulged in by professing Christians, and especially by ministers, I think it may be said that it tends to make them more lax, and the worldly better satisfied with themselves, and perhaps less scrupulous in their mode of self-indulgence. They hear of self-denial and a cross to be taken up; but they see that their minister will not deny himself even in so small a matter matter as card-playing. And naturally enough they may be led to reason thus; If cards be law ful for a minister of the Gospel, surely amusements less refined, the gambling house and the cockpit, may be allowed to us. Fallacious as such reasoning is, the mischief that may be done by it is incalculable. For my own part I am disposed to think that a minister should preach expressly against card-playing, and not merely leave it to be suspected that he does not approve it. Perhaps you think that I have said enough on this subject; yet, in drawing towards a conclusion, I will ask how far you think that any man can be justified in resorting in one single instance to an amusement by which he deliberately agrees to shut himself out, for he knows not how long, from that continual waiting on the Lord which is so necessary to renew our spiritual strength. Does not the unavoidable worldly business of every day form a demand upon our time and thoughts sufficiently large without our wantonly having recourse to art to make new calls on both? And let us recollect that the evil of card-playing does not end with this indulgence. In what state of mind will the card-player return to his home? Almost inevitably in one highly unfavourable to the best things. Who can at once exchange the thoughts of money lost or wonvictory or defeat-skill displayed or foiled in, for the mind that was in Christ Jesus who "pleased not himself *;" or of Paul when he said, "I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake+;" and again, "If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend‡?" I am, my dear sir, *Rom. xv. 3. very truly yours, HOMO. t2 Cor. xii. 10. 1 Cor. viii. 13. ROME, NAPLES, &c. We have been favoured with the following extracts from letters written very recently, by an artist travelling in Italy, to his friends in this country, and which communicate valuable information on the moral and religious state of the Romans in ancient and modern times. It is of great importance that Popery should be seen in what may be called its natural state; where it is domimant, and where it will be found inseparably connected with vice and filth and slavery and tyranny. To judge of popish sentiments and practices from the conduct or the testimony of a few cunning and deceitful priests in this coun. try, is just as wise as to form an opinion of the dispositions of a tiger, from seeing a well-fed and quiet individual of the species basking half a sleep, in the middle of a sultry day, in some wellfenced and secured menagerie. Naples, April 29, 1825. I had a most interesting day, wandering over the ruins of Pompeii. Besides the emotions that must arise in the mind of any traveller on visiting such a scene as this, I, as an artist, found amongst the various remnants of this once beautiful city, beautiful even in ruins, many objects of most peculiar interest. The best paintings discovered on the walls are removed to the museum at Portici; where access is easy, and where they may be examined at leisure; but the workmen are still going on with their arduous labour of removing the dirt and ashes from the town, and every week leads to some new discovery. Yesterday we saw a painted wall, from which the rubbish was but half removed; and the effect it has on the mind is indescribable. Graceful and beautifully painted figures, in all the freshness of their first state, are seen emerging from a bed where they have lain, for ages, hidden and unknown. Here are shops are I have been down into the only remaining part of Herculaneum. The town and palace of Portici are built on the bed of lava, which covers the ancient city. You are led, carrying lights in your hands, through a good many dark passages, which are supposed to be a theatre; but there is little to be seen, and the cold and damp of the place, with the hissing noise of scorpions around you, diminish a good deal the pleasure of the visit. Were this the only remnant of a buried town to be seen, we should look at it with more interest; but Pompeii has all the charms of day-light and of beauty: there we can wander far and linger long. We know Herculaneum is buried in lava, but we see Pompeii opened again to our view; we can stand on the same pavement on which the ancients stood, and look round on the same delicious scenes which excited their admiration and inspired their songs. I have not yet ascended Vesuvius. From the appearance it has presented since I have been here I should not have suspected it to be volcanic. It is as peaceable as any hill in England; not the smallest smoke or vapour issue from it. Rome, during the last week of my stay there, was the scene of much parade and splendour. As I thought it would be the only opportunity in my life, and moreover being desirous of knowing how far my mind might be affected by it, I attended all the pompous ceremonies of the church. The pope goes through a complete imitation of the latter acts of the life of Christ, and at last prostrates himself before the altar in the Sistine chapel, while the Miserere is sung, which is a sort of attempt to set to music the passion and agony of the Redeemer. Every thing that music can do is done by the choir. All that acting can do is done by the pope, who certainly performs his part to admiration; but, after all, my Protestant feelings partook of horror rather than devotion, and I recoiled from these scenes as I should from any thing avowedly blasphemous. In truth, there is so much of the ludicrous mixing up perpetually with the pious observances of the Romans, that one can scarcely avoid laughing even at their most solemn ceremonies. The fast of Lent, in which the most rigorous abstinence from flesh is enjoined, terminates on Easter-day, and then you see all the tables of the eating houses decorated with flowers, and the joints of meat gilded and illuminated. Bladders of fat are hung out at the ham shops, brilliantly ornamented; and every thing denotes an overflowing joy that the days of fasting are over, and that the season is again restored when all may eat, drink, and be merry. The illumination of St. Peter's, and the splendid fire-works from the castle of St. Angelo, terminate the whole. As the rockets fly up and disperse in the air, all remembrance of the penance and abstinence of Lent vanishes. The giorni di grasso (days of fat) are commenced, and the whole of the people give themselves up to merriment and pleasure. Naples, June, 1825. I am still here hard at work, and making from time to time little excursions into the country; excursions which have now become a matter of business as well as pleasure. The neighbourhood of Naples furnishes subjects of interest for every taste. The philosopher finds abundant occupation in contemplating the wonders of nature. The lover of antiquity and of art has a rich treat in exploring the monuments of the ancients; and his curiosity is ever kept alive by the continued excavations going on at Pompeii. The readers of Virgil and Horace are surprised with some classical association at every step they take; and the Christian feels particular interest in treading on the very spot (Puteoli) where Paul first landed in his way to Rome. Had I not made this excursion to Naples I should have gone away with a very imperfect idea of the beauty of Italy. of Italy. You, who are yourself a genuine lover of nature, can conceive the raptures I have felt in wandering through these delicious scenes. The orange groves of Sorrento, where the air is perfumed with sweets;-the romantic and " ever-varied paths of Vico and Siano, paths too steep and too ruggedfor even a mule to keep his feet. The enchanted ground of Amalphi, the huge caverns and overhanging rocks where all that is sublime and lovely in nature is heaped together in the most profuse variety, and where the whole seems more like the fantastic creation of fairy land, than the ordinary march of nature; all the ideal visions of my youth, and all the inventions of my riper years, have been realized, exceeded, a thousand times exceeded, by the rich and voluptuous assemblage of beauties which are scattered with an unsparing hand round the Bay of Naples, and the still more interesting Bay of Salerno. Antiquities, merely as antiquities, do not much affect me. When I have once realized the sentiment of departed greatness, I can do no more; but the beauties of nature take me by storm. History has but one page: Nature is inexhaustible. My companion and I have been in many places where Englishmen have never trodden. Most travellers content themselves with seeing the regular lions, and that in the smallest possible time. We wander amongst the mountains, and share the hospitality of the cottagers. "Are you real Englishmen ?" is a question that is often asked; and "what can have brought you to this place so far from home?" When we tell them that the beauty of their country has tempted us ;that we are delighted with their delicious fruits, their grapes, their figs, and their oranges, their eyes sparkle with pleasure; they make us come into their houses, and set before us the choicest productions of their gardens. They listen to all we say with the greatest eagerness, and, when we go, shower down blessings on our heads. My companion, who manages the Patois, (the common dialect,) a great deal better than I do, is very fond of talking to them about religion. sometimes tell him we shall have the priests down upon us; and I really believe, were we to stay long in any place, this would happen. The people seem every where ripe for reform; but they are kept in astate of most deplorable ignorance. When the Bible is described to them, they can scarcely believe such a book can exist. They know of no authority but the Church, and no law but the ipse dixit of the priest. Dr. Conyers Middleton wrote a book,* to prove that the observances of the Roman-Catholic Church are purely of pagan origin, and that it is only the ancient worship of the gods bunglingly engrafted on Christianity. I have not seen the work; but the idea struck me most forcibly on going to see a festa, which is held at a little village, at the foot of Mount Vesuvius. It is the feast of the Madonna del Arco; a Madonna celebrated throughout the kingdom of Naples, for the extraordinary miracles she has performed. In memory of these miracles the church is filled (like the little church of Nôtre Dame at Lyons) with representations in painting, in wood, or in wax, of all the accidents and deformities that can disfigure the human frame, all of which have been cured by the miraculous power of this wonderful virgin. In the intervals of the masses that are said by the priests, the people go down on their knees, and, placing their tongues on the floor, proceed in this attitude from the church door to the altar, licking the dust all the way. By the time they arrive before the virgin they are completely exhausted: they however remain on their knees (their tongues and their noses blackened with filth), till they have gone through a certain number of prayers, and then leave the church with the full assurance of having obtained the favour of the Madonna, and having gained indulRecently republished. gence from many years of purgatory. Their throats are then cleansed in the village with abundant libations of wine, their heads decorated with oak leaves and branches of peeled nuts, that are made to hang like grapes about their hair; they are placed upon donkies, and carried home to Naples, singing drunken songs in praise of the Madonna del Arco, who heals all diseases, redresses all wrongs, and fulfils to the utmost, the desires of all her votaries. Such a mixture of filth and piety, drunkenness and devotion, must have had its origin in the ancient Bacchanalian orgies, of which it is a most lively and animated illustration. At Rome I had seen the people crawling on their knees through the holy doors, falling down in the dirt whenever the pope passed by, and, what is a still greater exertion, ascending the holy staircase, which they tell you once was Pilate's; but never did I see them in a state of such filthy degradation as at the festa of the Madonna del Arco. I wish all our senators would come out and see the real state of Italy; they would not be quite so loud in defence of what they miscall emancipation, but which in fact is opening the door to the increase of the worst of slavery. I have seen the whole of the respectable population of Rome assembled in the splendid church of St. Peter, and I have seen them fall down instantaneously on their knees, at the sight of what are called the holy relics, which are exposed by the priest from an elevated gallery, on particular occasions. Once I found myself the only individual who maintained an erect posture; and I stood up alone amidst the kneeling multitude. I have seen the horses, asses, and dogs brought up, on St. Anthony's day, to be blessed by the priest, and then the riders have driven through the city like madmen, thinking no harm could come to them. I have seen people of all ranks and ages prostrate themselves before the statue of St. Peter; and, after saying a short prayer, most humbly kiss his toe. To such an extent is this carried, that the great toe of the image (it is so wretched a thing I can hardly call it a statue) is from time to time worn away, and the brazier is called in to supply another, that the toe-worshippers may not miss the object of their adoration. But a letter would not suffice to relate half the instances of the most degrading superstition and image-worship which I have witnessed; and yet this is the Catholicism of an enlightened age, which some of our statesmen would hold up to a Protestant country as a thing to be encouraged, supported, and patronised! That I might not labour under any misunderstanding about the matter, I have made it my business to hear their sermons and addresses from the pulpit and the altar. But I cannot describe, and you could scarcely believe, the nonsense with which my ears have been insulted on these occasions. I have heard the most paltry, lying inventions of ghosts and goblins, gravely addressed to respectable audiences, and boldly asserted to have passed under the priest's own observation. They must be totally unacquainted with the nature and effects of Popery, or else have little love for their fellow-creatures, who would advise the adoption of a measure calculated to rivet the mind in this state of ignorance, degradation, and misery. VIATOR. |