the image of the apostle, hundreds and thousands bend before it, pressing their lips to its brazen toe with the appearance of unaffected devotion. The ragged and the well-attired go through this ceremony, from the pope himself to the meanest peasant in his dominions who can enter the cathedral; and this is idolatry as truly as when the senseless brass was worshipped in ancient times. This stupendous temple is, indeed, one of the wonders of the world. Would that it were devoted to a pure and simple worship of Almighty God, and that incense and holy water, crucifixes and saints, were exchanged for a living faith in the Saviour of mankind! I have visited Crawford's and Thorswalden's sculptures; they are good. I have seen the fresco paintings of the Nozze Aldobrandini, hanging in the library of the Vatican; Guido's "Aurora," on the ceiling of an apartment in the Ruspigliosi Palace; and Raphael's "Sybyls," in Santa Maria della Pace. They are exquisite, as is also "the Cardinal Virtues," by Domenichino; and yet all of them are said to have one fault-" they do not breathe." The Vatican, the pontifical palace, is a pile of palaces. I dare not enter on the countless treasures of these marble halls, including the paintings, "the Transfiguration," and "the Commu nion of St. Jerome," by Domenichino, two of the master-pieces of the world. The Piazzo Navona is the largest market-place in Rome. I have been there, and seen the fountain with the rivergods on the rocks whence it issues. The tombs of Rome are full of solemn interest. Those of Adrian and Cecilia Metella, others on the Appian way, and the tomb of Scipio, not forgetting the Columbarium, which contained the remains of the freedmen of Augustus; which, reduced to ashes by fire, were deposited in vessels of terra-cotta, with covers. The bells of Rome seem always ringing; the streets of Rome are always crowded with idle men; labourers from the Campagna, facchini, (porters,) and others. I have seen the pope, at the festa of St. Peter: let the ceremony pass, for it suits me not. Rome begins to oppress me. While gazing around me, a strange assemblage of figures from the records of past ages appears to rise in view. Romulus and Remus, the Horatii and Curiatii, Tarquin the proud, Brutus the stern and noble-minded, Coriolanus the bold and selfish, Cincinnatus the patriotic and the humble, old Dentatus with his forty wounds, self-sacrificing Decius, cruel Cataline, ambitious Cesar, Cicero, Titus, and Trajan. Roman senators, lictors, and citizens, are strangely mingling with warriors, orators, and poets, priests, augurs, and gladiators, funeral rites, chariot racing, triumphal arches, glittering eagles, and imperial crowns. But enough. Popes, cardinals, carnivals and Easters, temples, trophies, porticoes and columns, statues, paintings, mosaics, cameos, and candelabra, with all the exhaustless stores of art and ages, must pass away, like the imaginary journey I have indulged in. Once more my map of Europe is folded, and once more can I say, in the land of my birth, Rome, thou hast gratified me; but keep thy glories: be it mine, with a humble spirit and a thankful heart, to look "for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God," Heb. xi. 10. STONEHENGE ON SALISBURY PLAIN. THAT things appear to us great or small, high or low, limited or extended, only by comparison, is a trite observation; but, independently of this truth, the circumstances in which we are placed sometimes impart a new character to the things around us: thus, he who ascends the weathercock of a church spire has a more fearful conception of height, than when he climbs a mountain many times higher; and the benighted wanderer on the moors of Westmoreland has a more oppressive sense of loneliness, than he who by day traverses alone the more extended steppe, the pampa, or the prairie. To one of our celebrated circumnavigators, the British Channel was a contracted space; while to me, when buffetted about by the angry billows, it has, more than once, appeared as a boundless ocean. These Wiltshire plains, too, that are now before me, by those who are accustomed to explore vaster tracts of uncultivated land, might be considered small; but, unbounded as they are to the eye, they somewhat oppress me with their magnitude. They are to me as "The loneliness of earth, that overawes The lama driver on Peruvia's peak." The silence, the solitariness, and the apparently immeasurable extent of these retired wilds, impress me with a sense of desertion. I feel that to be banished from my kind would be indeed an affliction; and I yearn with a kindlier feeling for the association and sympathy of my fellow beings. Here and there, I can espy on these widely extended downs a lonely hut, and, even now, in the distance, I can discern a shepherd in the midst of his straggled flock; nor is the barking of his dog altogether inaudible. Strange that, with huge Stonehenge in my mind, so small a thing as a daisy should arrest me; yet so it is: the one at my feet is strikingly beautiful, perhaps the more so, just now, as it grows so lonely. "Take but the humblest floweret of the field, |