b'\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n* \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nw f ( LI \n\n\nM A \nnA \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\' ; \n\n\n\n\n> r> t \n\n\'\\K I \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEUROPA; \n\nOR, \n\n\nNOTES OF A RECENT RAMBLE \n\n\nTHROUGH \n\nENGLAND, FRANCE, ITALY, \n\nANI) \n\nSWITZERLAND. ^ \n\n\nBy DANIEL c/eUDY, \n\nII - \n\nAUTHOR OF \xe2\x80\x9c LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c HEROINES OF MISSIONS,\xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c BURMAN APOSTLE,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9cANGEL WHISPERS,\xe2\x80\x9d ETC. \n\n\nL OWELL: \n\nNATHANIEL L. DAYTON. \n\n\n1 8 5 2 . \n\n\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by \n\n% \n\nDANIEL C. EDDY, \n\nIn the Clerk\xe2\x80\x99s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. \n\n\nV \n\n-\xe2\x80\x94 r \n\nfoikX\'lr* \n\n\nSTEREOTYPED AT THE \nBOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDltY. \n\n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\nTO \n\n\nHENRY A. MILES, D. D., \n\nA M> \n\n4 \n\nTWO OTHER F E L LOW- TRAVELERS, \n\n\xe2\x82\xacljis \'RnlmiiE is iiriiirnitii, \n\nAS A REMINISCENCE OF OUR PLEASANT TOUR, \n\n\nAND \n\n\nAS A TESTIMONIAL OF RESPECT. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n. \n\n\n5 \n\n\n\n\n! \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\nWhen I returned from Europe, a few months \nago, I had no idea of making a book, or adding \nto that very questionable department of American \nliterature known as \xe2\x80\x9c works of travel.\xe2\x80\x9d The \nresidence of a few months in any country does \nnot give one such a full and perfect idea of the \npeople as will enable him to advance opinions \nwhich will be of any considerable value to his \nreaders. And yet he must be a dull scholar if \nhe does not learn something which he can present \nin a way which will make it interesting and prof\xc2\xac \nitable. If he sees and hears independently, and \nwithout prejudice, his criticisms will not be entire\xc2\xac \nly worthless. He will at least give an idea of the \nway in which his own mind was impressed by \nwhat he saw and heard ; and though he might not \nbe able to give a perfect view of the real condition \nof society, he will be able to sketch its outlines, \nand perhaps enter slightly into its details. \n\nAs a man who gazes upon a beautiful cathedral \nfor a short time onlv will not be able to describe \n\nV . * \n\nA * \n\n\n\n6 \n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\nevery particular defect and excellency of the ar\xc2\xac \nchitectural design and finish, but will carry away \nwith him a general outline of the whole, and \nperhaps a distinct impression of some peculiar \nfeature, either of beauty or deformity, so the \ntraveler who passes hastily through a country \nmay give the impression which he received from \nhis stand-point of observation which will enable \nthe reader, in comparing his views with those of \nother visitors, to form a more correct estimate of \nthe great temple of the world than if he had not \nwritten. \n\nWhile in Europe, I endeavored to see and hear \nfor myself, and judge independently of any previ\xc2\xac \nous prejudice. In giving names, dates, times, and \ndistances, I have doubtless fallen into some errors, \nwhich the reader may correct at his leisure. I \nhave also, in some few instances, been presump\xc2\xac \ntuous enough to predict events, which the uncer\xc2\xac \ntain future, in its waywardness, may never bring \nto pass; and I leave time, the rectifier of all \nerrors and the reformer of all abuses, to read the \nproof of them. \n\nAs I have written for my own personal friends, \nand the members of my own congregation, and \nas the first edition of the work will be almost \nentirely private, I have allowed my own peculiar \ntheological sentiments to creep in now and then, \nmore or less, for which I do not feel disposed to \noifer apology or crave pardon. \n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n7 \n\n\nIf it be said that I have used the names of men \nfreely, and commented upon their modes of living, \nor style of public speaking, too fully, I have only \nto say, that I have illustrious examples in those \nEnglish and French clergymen, statesmen, novel\xc2\xac \nists, and poets who have journeyed in America \nas long as I remained in Europe, and w T ho, on \nreturning to the old world, commented as freely, \nand judged as hastily, as any writer on this side \nof the ocean could do on his return from the \nscenes of grief and glory beyond the deep. I \nhave endeavored to be just; and if telling the \ntruth about a nation is offensive, why, let the \npeople do as the pope does \xe2\x80\x94 proscribe railroads, \nand, as far as possible, keep all foreigners away. \nIf England is ashamed of her gin palaces and her \nstarving thousands, let her shut up the former \nand redress the wrongs of the latter. If France \nis ashamed of the coup d\xe2\x80\x99etat of her \xe2\x80\x9c prince \npresident \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 the democrat with a broken and out\xc2\xac \nraged constitution beneath his feet\xe2\x80\x94the Catholic \nwith the shame and guilt of perjury on his soul, \nlet not seven millions of voters indorse his course, \nand by their noiseless influence sustain his infa\xc2\xac \nmous usurpations. If Italy is ashamed of her \nbones and beads, crosses and cardinals, her \nsovereign, with his tiara and his dandy guards, \nlet her enslaved thousands rise and be men \nagain, as were the people of Rome, when even \n\n\n\n\n8 \n\n\nPIIEFACE. \n\n\n# \n\n\nPaul could boast that he was a citizen of that \nonce favored, but now fallen city. \n\nThe reader will perceive that a considerable \nportion of this work was written before the late \nimportant changes in Europe, and the whole was \ncompleted while those changes were taking place, \nand when their results could not be known ; and \nstill the traveler asks, \xe2\x80\x9c Watchman, what of the \nnight ? \xe2\x80\x9d for no morning has dawned, and nought \nbut faith can see a star shining amid the muta\xc2\xac \ntions and revolutions of the land to which, to-day, \nall eyes are turned in deep solicitude. \n\nBut patience, man ! to-morrow will come ; and \nsuch a morrow! Heard vou not how blood \n\nj \n\nmakes fat the soil, and bones enrich the earth ? \nKnow you not that freedom\xe2\x80\x99s tree shall grow \ngreener yet, where blood flowed fastest and men \ndied freest? Hath none ever told you, and have \nyou never read, that \xe2\x80\x9c God is in history \xe2\x80\x9d ? \n\nTo the kindness and generosity of my friends \nI am indebted for the tour which I have made : \nI am grateful. To my traveling companions I \nowe much of the pleasure and success of my \nundertaking: they are thanked. To God belongs \nthe praise for a safe return : it is acknowledged. \n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\ni. \n\n\nINTRODUCTORY \xe2\x80\x94THE VOYAGE. \n\n\nEarly Desire to travel \n\nPage \n\n. 25 \n\nMan in Gray \n\nAn old Book \n\n25 \n\nThe Hungarian \n\nThe Studies of late Years \n\n. 25 \n\nThe Variety \n\nThe ideal \xe2\x80\x94 the real . \n\n26 \n\nSabbath Days . \n\nSad Parting \xe2\x80\x94 glad Welcome \n\n. 26 \n\nDr. M.\xe2\x80\x99s Sermon . \n\nThe fine Ship \n\n26 \n\nSea Storm \n\nSea-sickness . \n\n. 27 \n\nIncidents \n\nPassengers .... \n\n28 \n\nAmusements at Sea \n\nThe Calvinist . \n\n. 28 \n\nFirst Sight of Land \n\nThe Mirth Maker \n\n29 \n\nThe parting Hymn \n\nThe steady Man \n\n. 29 \n\nOn Land again . \n\n\nII. \n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\nObjectionable Practice . \n\n. 36 \n\nMassive Buildings \n\nSt. David\xe2\x80\x99s Church \n\n36 \n\nBirkenhead \n\nDr. M\xe2\x80\x99Neile\xe2\x80\x99s Church \n\n. 37 \n\nChester \n\nAn eloquent Discourse \n\n38 \n\nRailway Station \n\nThe Docks \n\n. 39 \n\nRailway Travelling \n\nSt. James\xe2\x80\x99s Cemetery . \n\n40 \n\nThe Country . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\nIII. \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\nRecognized as Americans . 45 Cotton Factory \nPublic Streets ... 46 Factory Schools . \n\n\n2 \n\n\n\n10 CONTENTS. \n\n\nBoarding Houses \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n48 \n\nA Hack Ride . \n\n50 \n\nMachine Shop \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n49 \n\nThe Cathedral \n\n50 \n\nSick Box \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n49 \n\nPeculiarities . \n\n52 \n\nOperatives . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n50 \n\nA Night Ride \n\n53 \n\n\n\nIV \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\nFirst Impressions . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n54 \n\nJohn Angell James \n\n58 \n\nPapier Mache Works . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n55 \n\nHis Sermon, \n\n59 \n\nElectro Plate Works \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n56 \n\nIgnorance of American Habits \n\n60 \n\nTown Hall . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n55 \n\nIgnorance of American Geog\xc2\xac \n\n\nSplendid Organs \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n56 \n\nraphy . \n\n61 \n\nGrammar School . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n56 \n\nKenilworth and Warwick . \n\n62 \n\nStatue of Nelson \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n57 \n\nDudley Castle \n\n63 \n\nSt. Martin\xe2\x80\x99s Church \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n57 \n\n\n\n\n\nV \n\n. \n\n\nGENERAL \n\nVIEW \n\nOF LONDON. \n\n\nArrival .... \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n64 \n\nChrist\xe2\x80\x99s. \n\n76 \n\nLooking for Apartments \n\n\n65 \n\nTemple .... \n\n76 \n\nExtent of London . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n67 \n\nSt. Clement Danes . \n\n76 \n\nStreets \n\n\n68 \n\nSt. Margaret\xe2\x80\x99s \n\n76 \n\nParks .... \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n68 \n\nSt. Martin-in-the-Fields . \n\n76 \n\nPublic Gardens . \n\n\n68 \n\nThe Thames \n\n77 \n\nMonuments \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n69 \n\nThames Tunnel \n\n78 \n\nAmusements \n\n\n69 \n\nSmithfield .... \n\n79 \n\nBank of England \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n70 \n\nCock Lane .... \n\n79 \n\nBritish Museum . \n\n\n71 \n\nBillingsgate \n\n80 \n\nSt. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s Church . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n73 \n\nCovent Garden . . . \n\n80 \n\nSt. Mary Woolnorth . \n\n\n75 \n\nNewgate Market \n\n81 \n\nSt. Mary-le-Bow \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n75 \n\nLittle Girl .... \n\n82 \n\nAll-Hallows \n\n\n75 \n\nAn old Lady \n\n82 \n\nSt. Giles, Cripplegate \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n75 \n\nAn Incident .... \n\n83 \n\nSt. Sepulcher\xe2\x80\x99s . \n\n\n75 \n\nStarvation and Poverty \n\n84 \n\n\nVI. \n\nINDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\nOrigin of it . . .85 Mr. Paxton . . . .86 \n\nThe Building ... 85 Grand Opening . . . 91 \n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n11 \n\nThe Koh-i-Noir \n\n. 93 \n\nIndian Traps . \n\n. 100 \n\nModels \n\n93 \n\nPage\xe2\x80\x99s Oars \n\n100 \n\nKnitting Work \n\n. 94 \n\nMen in Soap . \n\n. 100 \n\nMachinery . \n\n95 \n\nAbuse of America \n\n101 \n\nCarved Work . \n\n. 95 \n\nThe Virginia Reaper \n\n. 101 \n\nElectro Plate Work \n\n9G \n\nClinton Carpets . \n\n102 \n\nBible Exhibition \n\n. 96 \n\nThe Clipper . \n\n. 102 \n\nFrench Department \n\n9G \n\nBobbin Machine . \n\n102 \n\nOther Contributions \n\n. 97 \n\nThe Lock Picker \n\n. 103 \n\nAmerican Department \n\n98 \n\nConcert in the Palace . \n\n103 \n\nCarriages \n\n. 99 \n\nAttendance \n\n. 105 \n\nMachinery . \n\n99 \n\nThe Productions . \n\n106 \n\nDaguerreotypes \n\n. 99 \n\nThe next Exhibition \n\n. 107 \n\nGreek Slave \n\n. 100 \n\n\n\n\ny ii. \n\nMINISTERS OP LONDON. \n\n\nChurch Service \n\n. 109 \n\nHon. and Rev. B. W. Noel \n\n121 \n\nClerks . \n\n109 \n\nChange of religious Sentiments 121 \n\nSinging \n\n. 110 \n\nStyle of Pulpit Address . \n\n122 \n\nSextons . \n\n110 \n\nRev. Henry Melville . \n\n124 \n\nJohn Gumming, D. D. . \n\n. 110 \n\nThe Golden Lecture \n\n124 \n\nJames Hamilton, D. D. \n\n114 \n\nLothbury Church \n\n124 \n\nRev. R. W. Overbury . \n\n. 115 \n\nCardinal Wiseman \n\n12 G \n\nRev. Edward Irving . \n\n115 \n\nCaricature of the Cardinal \n\n127 \n\nThomas Chalmers, D. D. \n\n. 115 \n\nControversy with Dr. Cummin \xc2\xa3 \n\n127 \n\nFormation of the Scotch Church 11G \n\nDr. Doyle .... \n\n127 \n\nExeter Hall Discourses \n\n11G \n\nThe Pontifical \n\n128 \n\nRev. William Brock \n\n. 117 \n\nExposure of Artifice . \n\n130 \n\nRev. Joseph Beaumont \n\n119 \n\nDr. Croly .... \n\n131 \n\nRev. Thomas Binney \n\n. 119 \n\nRev. Charles Stovel . \n\n131 \n\nRev. George Smith . \n\n120 \n\nRobert Montgomery \n\n131 \n\nSurrey Chapel \n\n. 120 \n\nRev. William Chalmers \n\n131 \n\nLondon Missionary Society \n\n120 \n\nComparative Eloquence . \n\n131 \n\nRev. William Jay . \n\n. 120 \n\n* \n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nVIII. \n\n\nX , \n\nBUNIIILL \n\nFIELDS. \n\n\nNonconformist Ministers \n\n. 132 \n\nRev. Samuel Wesley . \n\n132 \n\nMrs. Susannah Wesley \n\n132 \n\nRev. John Wesley \n\n133 \n\n\n12 \n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\nIsaac Watts, D. D. . \n\n133 \n\nAdam Clarke, D. D. . \n\n134 \n\nJohn Gill, D. D. . \n\n. 133 \n\nAn Anecdote \n\n134 \n\nJohn Owen, D. D. \n\n133 \n\nRev. Richard Watson \n\n134 \n\nRev. Richard Price \n\n. ia3 \n\nChamber in which Wesley died \n\n135 \n\nRev. George Burder . \n\n133 \n\nWhitefield\xe2\x80\x99s Tabernacle \n\n135 \n\nRev. Nathaniel Mather . \n\n. 133 \n\nMelancholy Memories \n\n135 \n\nWesley\xe2\x80\x99s Chapel \n\nCharles Wesley . \n\n134 \n. 134 \n\nTrust in Providence \n\n135 \n\n\n\nIX. \n\n\nROYALTY \n\nAND \n\nARISTOCRACY. \n\n\nHigh Life and Low Life \n\n136 \n\nBuckingham Palace . \n\n139 \n\nQueen Victoria \n\n136 \n\nSt. James\xe2\x80\x99s Palace \n\n. 140 \n\nPrince Albert \n\n136 \n\nLambeth Palace \n\n140 \n\nPrince and Princess of Prussia \n\n137 \n\nApsley House \n\n. 140 \n\nThe royal Children . \n\n137 \n\nNorthumberland House \n\n140 \n\nRoyal Annoyances \n\n138 \n\nHon. Abbott Lawrence . \n\n, 141 \n\nThe Duke of W ellington . \n\n138 \n\nA W alk in the Rain . \n\n141 \n\nEnglish Nobility . \n\n139 \n\n\n\n\nX. \n\nWINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. \n\n\nSplendid Apartments at Wind\xc2\xac \n\nResidence of Lord John Rus- \n\n\nsor Castle . \n\n143 sell .... \n\n145 \n\nSt George\xe2\x80\x99s Chapel . \n\n143 The great Grape Vine \n\n145 \n\nCenotaph of Princess Char\xc2\xac \n\nThe old Palace \n\n145 \n\nlotte ..... \n\n144 The impudent Barber \n\n146 \n\nAlexander Pope\xe2\x80\x99s House \n\n145 The outwitted American \n\n146 \n\n\nXI. \n\n\nPARLIAMENT \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 TOWER \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWESTMINSTER ABBEY. \n\n\nHouse of Commons \n\n. 148 \n\nThe Commons \n\n149 \n\nHouse of Lords . \n\n148 \n\nThe old Tower . . \xe2\x99\xa6 \n\n150 \n\nThe Throne . \n\n. 148 \n\nThe Murder of Nobles . \n\n151 \n\nThe Woolsack . \n\n148 \n\nThe Crown Jewels . \n\n152 \n\nEcclesiastical Title Bill \n\n. 149 \n\nAttempted Robbery \n\n153 \n\nWellington\xe2\x80\x99s Speech. \n\n149 \n\nLasting Impressions . \n\n153 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n13 \n\nWestminster Abbey \n\n. 153 \n\nChapel of Henry VII. . \n\n154 \n\nRoyal Coronations \n\n153 \n\nThe English Service \n\n155 \n\nThe old Chair \n\n. 153 \n\nDeath\xe2\x80\x99s Lessons to Royalty . \n\n155 \n\nThe Poet\xe2\x80\x99s Corner \n\n154 \n\nThe Place for a Friar \n\n155 \n\n\n\nXII. \n\n\n\nMEN AND \n\nTHINGS. \n\n\nFashionable Parade \n\n. 156 \n\nEnglish Dress \n\n158 \n\nEnglish Ladies . \n\n156 \n\nConformance to Custom \n\n159 \n\nAmerican Ladies . \n\n. 157 \n\nFamily Government \n\n159 \n\nEnglishmen \n\n157 \n\nThe Englishman\xe2\x80\x99s Nobility \n\n160 \n\nThe Use of false Hair . \n\n. 157 \n\nExceptions \n\n160 \n\n\nXIII. \n\n\n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. \n\n\nPoliteness of the Police \n\n161 \n\nMr. Greeley\xe2\x80\x99s Comparison \n\n166) \n\nOld Bailey .... \n\n161 \n\nThe Street Fight . \n\n166 \n\nLondon Courts . \n\n162 \n\nSabbath Schools \n\n166 \n\nNewgate Prison . \n\n162 \n\nMr. Noel\xe2\x80\x99s Sabbath School . \n\n167 \n\nThe Chapel \n\n162 \n\nA contemptible Remark \n\n167 \n\nThe condemned Chair . \n\n163 \n\nGin Palaces .... \n\n167 \n\nThe Place of Execution \n\n163 \n\nTheir Adornment \n\n168 \n\nThe Ragged School \n\n163 \n\nThe Customers \n\n168 \n\nGovernment of the Schools \n\n163 \n\nThe Woman and Babe \n\n168 \n\nMischievous Children . \n\n164 \n\nThe two little Girls \n\n169 \n\nThe Handkerchief \n\n164 \n\nThe old Man and his Wife \n\n169 \n\nField Lane . \n\n164 \n\nThe young Man . \n\n169 \n\nRagged School \n\n164 \n\nThe ominous Threat . \n\n170 \n\nThe Prayer Meeting \n\n165 \n\nDrinking Children \n\n170 \n\nThe Scholars \n\n165 \n\nDiluted Liquor . \n\n170 \n\nThe Dormitories . \n\n165 \n\nRum Drinking in America \n\n170 \n\n\nXIV. \n\n\nREFORM AND \n\nDEFORM \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 PEACE CONGRESS. \n\n\nThe Cause of Temperance \n\n171 \n\nMeeting . \n\n172 \n\nHabits of Clergymen . \n\n. 171 \n\nThe Sabbath School \n\n. 172 \n\nTemperance Meetings \n\n171 \n\nEnglish Anti-slavery . \n\n172 \n\nDenunciatory Speeches \n\n. 172 \n\nAmerican Slavery . \n\n. 172 \n\n\nB \n\n\n14 CONTENTS. \n\n\nDiscourteous Remarks \n\n173 \n\nProspects for the Future \n\n178 \n\nThe Invitation \n\n173 \n\nPeace Congress \n\n179 \n\nFreemasons\xe2\x80\x99 Hall Gathering \n\n173 \n\nThe silent Prayer \n\n179 \n\nHon. Horace Greeley\xe2\x80\x99s Speech \n\n173 \n\nSir David Brewster . \n\n179 \n\nReception given to Americans \n\n174 \n\nSpeech of Richard Cobden . \n\n179 \n\nRev. John Burnet \n\n174 \n\nMilitary Fortifications \n\n180 \n\nMr. Hanson\xe2\x80\x99s Speech \n\n175 \n\nA. Coquerell \n\n181 \n\nCaste of Color \n\n176 \n\nM. Girardin \n\n181 \n\nCaste of Birth . \n\n176 \n\nLetter of Carlyle . \n\n181 \n\nReligious Reforms \n\n177 \n\nLetter of Victor Hugo \n\n183 \n\nUnion of Church and State \n\n178 \n\nImpracticables \n\n184 \n\n\nXV. \n\nLONDON TO PARIS. \n\n\nSouth-western Railway \n\n. 186 \n\nThe English Channel . \n\n187 \n\nPersons in the Cars . \n\n186 \n\nThe Town of Calais \n\n188 \n\nArrived at Dover . \n\n. 186 \n\nNew Scenes, strange Sounds \n\n188 \n\nThe old Fort \n\n187 \n\nCars on French Railroads . \n\n188 \n\nPoor Debtor\xe2\x80\x99s Box \n\n. 187 \n\nThe French Pie . \n\n189 \n\nThe famous old Gun \n\n187 \n\nAn American at Table in China 189 \n\n\n\nXVI. \n\n\nVIEW OF \n\nPARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. \n\n\nArrival at Paris \n\n. 190 \n\nInfanticide \n\n196 \n\nA Morning in Paris . \n\n190 \n\nHospitals and Asylums . \n\n196 \n\nMen of France \n\n. 191 \n\nSt. Vincent de Paul . \n\n196 \n\nWomen of France \n\n191 \n\nConvent Life \n\n196 \n\nHouses in Paris \n\n. 191 \n\nLaw and Order . \n\n197 \n\nThe Boulevards \n\n191 \n\nNational Prejudice \n\n197 \n\nPlaces or Parks \n\n. 192 \n\nWaterloo .... \n\n198 \n\nPlace Vendome \n\n192 \n\nNational Forbearance . \n\n198 \n\nPlace de la Concorde . \n\n. 192 \n\nThe Catholic Religion \n\n198 \n\nLuxor Obelisk . \n\n192 \n\nNotre Dame .... \n\n199 \n\nPlace de la Bastille \n\n. 193 \n\nThe Revolution \n\n199 \n\nNational Falsehood . \n\n193 \n\nThe late Archbishop \n\n200 \n\nThe Cafes . \n\n. 194 \n\nThe Tomb of the Austrian \n\n200 \n\nThe Morals of the City \n\n194 \n\nEcclesiastical Habits \n\n200 \n\nThe Marriage Relation . \n\n. 195 \n\nThe Day Dream \n\n201 \n\nThe Contrast \n\n195 \n\nThe Madeleine \n\n202 \n\nOutside Appearances . \n\n. 195 \n\nA splendid Service \n\n203 \n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n15 \n\nThe Pantheon \n\n. 203 \n\nChapelle Expiatoire . \n\n205 \n\nTomb of Rousseau . \n\n204 \n\nThe Widow Capet \n\n206 \n\nTomb of Voltaire . \n\n. 204 \n\nThe Duchess of Angouleme \n\n206 \n\nThe Bones of Marat . \n\n204 \n\nThe Chapel of St. Ferdinand \n\n207 \n\nAdolph Monod \n\n. 205 \n\nDuke of Orleans \n\n208 \n\nM. Coquerell \n\n. 205 \n\nThe Count of Paris \n\n208 \n\nWesleyan Service \n\n. 205 \n\n\n\n\n\nXVII. \n\n\n\nPARISIAN \n\nLIFE. \n\n\nChamps Elysees \n\n209 \n\nThe Hippodrome . \n\n. 213 \n\nSabbath Parade \n\n. 210 \n\nThe Balloon Ascension \n\n214 \n\nGambling . \n\n210 \n\nTheatrical Exhibitions . \n\n. 214 \n\nThe out-of-door Opera . \n\n. 210 \n\nChateau des Fleurs . \n\n214 \n\nQuietness and Sobriety \n\n211 \n\nPublic Gardens \n\n. 215 \n\nThe Lower Classes \n\n. 212 \n\nGood Nature \n\n216 \n\nThe Wife . \n\n213 \n\n\n\n\nXVIII. \n\n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\nThe Triumphal Arch \n\n217 \n\nDivorce of the Empress Jo\xc2\xac \n\n\nPere la Chaise . \n\n218 \n\nsephine .... \n\n224 \n\nStriking Feature . \n\n218 \n\nHouse of Josephine . \n\n225 \n\nTombs of Abelard and Heloise \n\n219 \n\nVestiges of Revolutions \n\n226 \n\nTomb of Marshal Ney . \n\n219 \n\nMarat\xe2\x80\x99s House . \n\n226 \n\nChapel for Burial Services \n\n220 \n\nCharlotte Corday . \n\n227 \n\nA Funeral .... \n\n220 \n\nHouse of Admiral Coligny \n\n228 \n\nThe Morgue \n\n221 \n\nSt. Bartholomew\xe2\x80\x99s Day . \n\n228 \n\nTwo Bodies .... \n\n221 \n\nDuke of Guise . \n\n228 \n\nThe Dead-cart . \n\n221 \n\nPrincess Lamballe \n\n228 \n\nThe Hotel des Invalides \n\n222 \n\nCases of Suicide \n\n230 \n\nNapoleon\xe2\x80\x99s old Soldiers \n\n223 \n\nBibliotheque Royale \n\n231 \n\nJerome Bonaparte . \n\n223 \n\nGreat Picture of the United \n\n\nJoseph Bonaparte \n\n223 \n\nStates Senate \n\n231 \n\nTomb of the Emperor . \n\n223 \n\nOpinion .... \n\n232 \n\nThe Gobelins . \n\n224 \n\n\n\n\n16 \n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\nXIX. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON \n\nAND FRENCH POLITICS. \n\n\nLouis Philippe . \n\n\n233 \n\nThe Election \n\n256 \n\nLafayette \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n233 \n\nExtraordinary Language \n\n257 \n\nLedru Rollin \n\n\n234 \n\nThe Catholic Religion \n\n257 \n\nLamartine and Barrot . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n234 \n\nState of Society . \n\n257 \n\nThe Revolution \n\n\n234 \n\nPopular Education \n\n258 \n\nFlight of the King \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n235 \n\nPure Religion \n\n260 \n\nDuchess of Orleans . \n\n\n235 \n\nForty-two thousand Priests \n\n260 \n\nCount of Paris \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n236 \n\nRomanism .... \n\n260 \n\nDuke of Chartres \n\n\n236 \n\nEpiscopacy and Monarchy. \n\n261 \n\nCaptain Dunoyer . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n237 \n\nCharacter of the French \n\n261 \n\nLagrange .... \n\n\n237 \n\nParis rules the Nation \n\n262 \n\nMarshal Gerard \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n237 \n\nPublic Buildings . \n\n262 \n\nA Butcher\xe2\x80\x99s Boy \n\n\n238 \n\nPalace of Tuileries . \n\n262 \n\nSon of Marshal Soult . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n239 \n\nFontainebleau \n\n263 \n\nTheodore Lebran \n\n\n240 \n\nSt. Cloud .... \n\n263 \n\nLouis Napoleon \n\n\n240 \n\nVersailles .... \n\n263 \n\nLouis Bonaparte . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n240 \n\nLong-established Prejudices \n\n264 \n\nHortensia Beauharnais \n\n\n240 \n\nPolitical Millennium \n\n265 \n\nDuke of Montpensier . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n240 \n\nThe Ballot Box . \n\n265 \n\nInsurrection at Strasbourg . \n\n\n241 \n\nA Republic .... \n\n265 \n\nInsurrection at Boulogne \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n241 \n\nA Kingdom \n\n265 \n\nVirtues of Louis Napoleon \n\n\n242 \n\nHungarian Independence \n\n266 \n\nHis Morals . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n243 \n\nAn enlightened Calvinist . \n\n266 \n\nThe Press .... \n\n\n243 \n\nSpies and secret Officers \n\n268 \n\nThe public Voice . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n243 \n\nMarseillaise Hymn \n\n268 \n\nM. Kossuth \n\n\n243 \n\nThe Orator .... \n\n269 \n\nFirst of December \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n245 \n\nWashington \n\n270 \n\nGeneral Bedeau \n\n\n245 \n\nSidney. \n\n270 \n\nGeneral Changarnier \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n245 \n\nCromwell .... \n\n270 \n\nGeneral Cavaignac \n\n\n246 \n\nMirabeau \n\n270 \n\nColonel Charras \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n246 \n\nMadame Roland \n\n270 \n\nMademoiselle Odier . \n\n\n247 \n\nCamille Desmoulins \n\n273 \n\nArchbishop of Paris \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n247 \n\nHis dying Thoughts . \n\n271 \n\nThe famous Proclamation . \n\n\n248 \n\nDanton. \n\n271 \n\nAddress to the Army \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n248 \n\nHis Address to the Execu\xc2\xac \n\n\nAddress to the People \n\n\n250 \n\ntioner .... \n\n271 \n\nDecree of the Chamber \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n252 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS. 17 \n\nXX. \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\n\nChalons \n\n272 \n\nAvignon . ... \n\n275 \n\nBreakfast \n\n. 273 \n\nMarseilles .... \n\n275 \n\nRiver Saone \n\n273 \n\nMr. Hodge .... \n\n276 \n\nThe Rhone . \n\n. 273 \n\nChapel of Our Lady . \n\n278 \n\nLyons \n\n273 \n\nThe Ercolano \n\n279 \n\nSilk Manufactory . \n\n. 274 \n\nWhite Friars \n\n280 \n\nWaldenses \n\n274 \n\nThe Mediterranean \n\n280 \n\n\n\nXXI. \n\n\n\nGENOA. \n\n\nFete Day .... \n\n282 \n\nCity of Palaces . \n\n284 \n\nChurches of Genoa . \n\n283 \n\nChristopher Columbus . \n\n. 284 \n\nBones of John the Baptist \n\n283 \n\nAmusements \n\n284 \n\nThe Sacra Catino \n\n283 \n\nClara Novello \n\n. 284 \n\nUnhallowed Inscription. \n\n283 \n\nTwo Nights \n\n286 \n\n\nXXII. \n\n\n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94PISA \xe2\x80\x94CIVITA VECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. \n\n\nDreadfully unfair Night \n\n287 \n\nThe Campo Santo \n\n289 \n\nSix Horses . \n\n. 287 \n\nRecommendation . \n\n. 290 \n\nLeghorn \n\n287 \n\nGalley Slaves . \n\n291 \n\nJohn Smith . \n\n. 287 \n\nCivita Vecchia \n\n. 291 \n\nPisa .... \n\n288 \n\nFleas without Sheets . \n\n292 \n\nGrand Illumination \n\n. 288 \n\nAn Oration . \n\n. 292 \n\nSan Ranieri \n\n288 \n\nArrived at Naples \n\n293 \n\nThe Cathedral \n\n. 288 \n\nVesuvius \n\n. 293 \n\nThe Baptistery . \n\n289 \n\nNaples \n\n294 \n\nLeaning Tower . . . 289 \n\nXXIII. \n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\nValet de Place . \n\n296 \n\nGrotto of Posilippo . \n\n297 \n\nLazzaroni \n\n. 296 \n\nA Hermit \n\n. 297 \n\n\n3 B* \n\n\n18 CONTENTS. \n\n\nConvicts . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n297 \n\nElysian Fields \n\n301 \n\nPuteoli . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n298 \n\nRiver Styx \n\n301 \n\nBridge of Caligula \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n298 \n\nNero\xe2\x80\x99s Prisons \n\n301 \n\nLake Avemus \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xc2\xab \n\n298 \n\nTemple of Justice \n\n302 \n\nTemple of Apollo \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n298 \n\nTemple of Neptune \n\n302 \n\nSibyl\xe2\x80\x99s Cave . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n298 \n\nLake Agnano \n\n303 \n\nHuman Horses . \n\n\xc2\xab \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n299 \n\nCavern of Charon \n\n303 \n\nBaths of Nero \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n300 \n\nAmmonia Grotto . \xc2\xab \n\n304 \n\nTemples of Diana, \n\nMercury, \n\n\nSulphur Baths \n\n304 \n\nand Venus \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n300 \n\nCharacteristic Exhibition . \n\n304 \n\nJulian Port \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n300 \n\nThe Carlines \n\n305 \n\n\nXXIV. \n\nTHE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. \n\n\nSabbath in Naples \n\n306 \n\nChurch of the Black Prince . \n\n309 \n\nChurch of the Jesuits . \n\n. 306 \n\nThe Cathedral . \n\n310 \n\nSanta Chiara \n\n307 \n\nSt. January\xe2\x80\x99s Chapel \n\n310 \n\nSanta Severn \n\n. 308 \n\nA Bottle of Blood \n\n311 \n\nDead Christ \n\n308 \n\nA Miracle .... \n\n311 \n\nStatute of Vice \n\n. 308 \n\nThe high Altar . \n\n311 \n\nVirtue \n\n309 \n\nTricks and Artifices \n\n312 \n\n\n\nXXV. \n\n\nCATACOMBS. \n\n-CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94TOMB OF VIRGIL \n\n\nChristian Retreats. \n\n. 313 \n\nThe Vaults \n\n316 \n\nHired Mourners. \n\n313 \n\nGarden Lots . \n\n. 317 \n\nFrescoes \n\n. 314 \n\nThe Monks \n\n317 \n\nExtent of the Catacombs \n\n314 \n\nVirgil\xe2\x80\x99s Tomb \n\n. 317 \n\nThe new Cemetery \n\n. 315 \n\nLife in Naples . \n\n318 \n\nIts fine Location \n\nThe Chapels . \n\n315 \n\n316 \n\nPainting and Poverty \n\n. 319 \n\n\nXXVI. \n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nMournful Associations \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nCO \n\no \n\nDestruction \n\n321 \n\nPompeii from Naples . \n\n. 320 \n\nThe terrible Scene \n\n. 322 \n\nEarthquake \n\n321 \n\nPliny\xe2\x80\x99s Letters . \n\n323 \n\nRestoration \n\n. 321 \n\nHerculaneum discovered \n\n. 330 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n19 \n\nPapyrus Rolls . \n\n331 \n\nDownward Course of Things \n\n338 \n\nThe Excavations . \n\n. 331 \n\nPublic Offices . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n338 \n\nTheater .... \n\n331 \n\nTemple of Isis \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n338 \n\nBurial of Pompeii . \n\n. 332 \n\nThe Priests \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n339 \n\nStreets of Pompeii \n\n332 \n\nTheater \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nThe House . \n\n. 333 \n\nPantheon . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nHouse of Diomede \n\n333 \n\nForum . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nHis Family . \n\n. 334 \n\nSenate House . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nMen in the Stocks \n\n335 \n\nTemple of Justice \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nHouse of Sallust . \n\n. 335 \n\nThe Amphitheater \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nHouse of Pansa \n\n336 \n\nA Gladiator . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n340 \n\nHouse of the Tragic Poet \n\n. 336 \n\nArticles of Household \n\nFurni- \n\n\nHouse of the Fountains \n\n336 \n\nture . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n342 \n\nBarber\xe2\x80\x99s Shop \n\n. 337 \n\nMuseum at Naples \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n342 \n\nThe Apothecary\xe2\x80\x99s Shop \n\n.337 \n\nA Notable Day \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 * \n\n343 \n\n\n\nXXVII. \n\n\n\nVESUVIUS THE \n\nDESTROYER. \n\n\nHight of Vesuvius \n\n344 \n\nThe Cone .... \n\n346 \n\nEruptions \n\n. 344 \n\nThe Crater .... \n\n347 \n\nTorre del Greco \n\n344 \n\nAppearance of Vesuvius \n\n347 \n\nA Visit to Vesuvius \n\n. 344 \n\nOur Breakfast \n\n348 \n\nBalloon \n\n344 \n\nSad Event \n\n349 \n\nThe gentle Horse . \n\n. 345 \n\nDescription of an Eruption . \n\n349 \n\nFields of Lava . \n\n345 \n\nThe Tropia \n\n351 \n\nHermitage \n\n. 345 \n\nThe Descent \n\n351 \n\nObservatory \n\n345 \n\nNature and God \n\n352 \n\nLachryma Christi . \n\n. 346 \n\n. \n\n\n\n\nXXVIII. \n\n\nTHE \n\nROME OF \n\nTHE CA2SARS. \n\n\nThe Eternal City \n\n353 \n\nByron\xe2\x80\x99s Description \n\n. 358 \n\nPons ASlius . \n\n. 354 \n\nCircus Maximus \n\n359 \n\nSt. Angelo \n\n354 \n\nCircus of Maxentius \n\n. 359 \n\nThe Seven Hills . \n\n. 354 \n\nTemple of Romulus . \n\n359 \n\nRoman Forum . \n\n354 \n\nPalace of the Caesars . \n\n. 360 \n\nVia Sacra \n\n. 355 \n\nGolden House of Nero \n\n360 \n\nThe Corso \n\n355 \n\nIsland of Pandaleria \n\n. 361 \n\nThe Coliseum \n\n. 355 \n\nGrotto of Egeria \n\n361 \n\nIgnatius of Antioch . \n\n356 \n\nTemple of Bacchus \n\n. 362 \n\n\n\n20 CONTENTS. \n\n\nShip of the Tiber \n\n362 \n\nMamertine Prisons \n\n. 365 \n\nArch of Drusus \n\n362 \n\nCatacombs of Rome . \n\n366 \n\nArch of Constantine . \n\n362 \n\nTarpeian Rock \n\n. 367 \n\nArch of Septimius Severus . \n\n363 \n\nTomb of the Scipios . \n\n368 \n\nArch of Titus . \n\n363 \n\nTomb of Caius Cestius . \n\n. 368 \n\nBaths of Caracalla \n\n363 \n\nTomb of Augustus . \n\n369 \n\nBaths of Diocletian . \n\n364 \n\nTomb of Bib ulus . \n\n. 369 \n\nThe Pantheon \n\n364 \n\nThe Columbarium \n\n369 \n\nTomb of Raphael \n\n365 \n\n\n\n\n\nXXIX. \n\n\n\nANTIQUITIES \xe2\x80\x94RELICS. \n\n\nScala Santa . \n\n. 370 \n\nPictures painted by Luke . \n\n372 \n\nLuther \n\n371 \n\nCradle in which the Savior was \n\n\nThe Indentation . \n\n. 371 \n\nrocked .... \n\n372 \n\nTable on which was \n\neaten the \n\nItalian Credulity . \n\n373 \n\nLast Supper \n\n. 372 \n\nThe Knell of Rome . \n\n374 \n\n\n\nXXX. \n\n\nTIIE ROME OF \n\nTIIE POPES. \n\n\nExtent of the City \n\n375 \n\nLaocoon .... \n\n388 \n\nRoman Citizenship \n\n375 \n\nApollo Belvedere . \n\n388 \n\nSt. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s .... \n\n376 \n\nSleeping Cleopatra \n\n388 \n\nThe Relics .... \n\n378 \n\nBelvedere Antonius \n\n388 \n\nHead of St. Andrew . \n\n379 \n\nTorso Belvedere \n\n388 \n\nBronze Statue of Jupiter \n\n379 \n\nThe Library .... \n\n388 \n\nAnniversary of the Pope\xe2\x80\x99s Cor\xc2\xac \n\n\nThe Sistine Chapel . \n\n388 \n\nonation .... \n\n380 \n\nLast Judgment by Michael An\xc2\xac \n\n\nSilver Illumination \n\n381 \n\ngelo .... \n\n389 \n\nGolden Illumination \n\n381 \n\nThe Capitol .... \n\n389 \n\nSt. John Lateran \n\n382 \n\nThe Bronze Wolf \n\n389 \n\nFive General Councils . \n\n382 \n\nThe Dying Gladiator \n\n390 \n\nBaptistery \n\n383 \n\nInquisition Palace \n\n390 \n\nChurch of the Capuchins \n\n384 \n\nCloister of Tasso . \n\n390 \n\nCloisters of the Friars \n\n384 \n\nVenus of the Capitol \n\n390 \n\nSan Paolo .... \n\n385 \n\nEnglish Burying Ground \n\n391 \n\nChurch of St. Sebastian . \n\n386 \n\nThe Carnival \n\n393 \n\nThe Vatican .... \n\n387 \n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n21 \n\n\nXXXI. \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND \n\nTHE \n\nCATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\n\nDeath of Gregory XVI. \n\n\n399 \n\nHistory of this Relic . \n\n412 \n\nCamerlinque . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n399 \n\nMiracles performed by this \n\n\nCajetanina \n\n\n399 \n\nCoat .... \n\n413 \n\nPasquinades . \n\n\n400 \n\nJohn Ronge .... \n\n414 \n\nMastai Feretti . \n\n\n401 \n\nInterest taken in this Impo\xc2\xac \n\n\nThe Coronation \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n401 \n\nsition .... \n\n415 \n\nLambruschini \n\n\n402 \n\nWretched Intolerance of Ro\xc2\xac \n\n\nMettemich . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n402 \n\nmanism \n\n417 \n\nReform Measures \n\n\n402 \n\nIn England \n\n417 \n\nOpposition to Reform . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n402 \n\nIn France .... \n\n417 \n\nPius flies .... \n\n\n403 \n\nIn Rome .... \n\n417 \n\nThe Attack of the French \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n403 \n\nThe Press .... \n\n418 \n\nCorpus Domini . \n\n\n403 \n\nThe Bible a proscribed Book \n\n418 \n\nThe Nun \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n403 \n\nThe Rights of Conscience . \n\n418 \n\nThe sceptical Priest . \n\n\n404 \n\nFaith with Heretics . \n\n418 \n\nThe Gathering \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n404 \n\nExiles. \n\n418 \n\nMonkish Procession . \n\n\n405 \n\nA Kempis .... \n\n419 \n\nThe Hats \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n406 \n\nFenelon .... \n\n419 \n\nThe Pope .... \n\n\n406 \n\nCardinal Wiseman \n\n420 \n\nHis Body Guard . \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n406 \n\nThe apostate Newman . \n\n420 \n\nHis Bearers \n\n\n406 \n\nBishop Hughes . \n\n420 \n\nPersonal Appearance \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n407 \n\nOrestes A. Brownson . \n\n420 \n\nThe Benediction \n\n\n408 \n\nMazzini .... \n\n420 \n\nRev. Mr. Barry \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n408 \n\nThe Penitent \n\n421 \n\nRomanism \n\n\n409 \n\nA Case of Popish Jug\xc2\xac \n\n\nIts unblushing Absurdities \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n409 \n\ngling . \n\n423 \n\nThe Holy Week \n\n\n409 \n\nRome has not changed \n\n424 \n\nFeet Washing \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n409 \n\nStrages Huguenotorum . \n\n425 \n\nThe Agnus Dei \n\n\n410 \n\nThe Slaughter of the Hugue\xc2\xac \n\n\nChristi Missa \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n410 \n\nnots ..... \n\n425 \n\nMiserere .... \n\n\n410 \n\nTaxa Camarse Apostolic\xc2\xae . \n\n420 \n\nOutline of the Foot of the \n\n\nThe Fall of Rome \n\n427 \n\nVirgin .... \n\n\n411 \n\nBaptist W. Noel \n\n427 \n\nCoat of Jesus \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n411 \n\n\n\n\n\n22 \n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nXXXII. \n\n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\nLeaving mighty Rome \n\n428 \n\nHiram Powers . \n\n432 \n\nBook of Mormon . \n\n. 429 \n\nGenius of America \n\n432 \n\nRome to Civita Vecchia \n\n429 \n\nLiberty treading on Tyranny \n\n433 \n\nFlorence by Railway \n\n. 429 \n\nGreenough .... \n\n433 \n\nSan Victoria\xe2\x80\x99s Day . \n\n429 \n\nA great Work . \n\n433 \n\nA Horse Race \n\n. 429 \n\nChurches of Florence . \n\n434 \n\nThe Florentine Dives \n\n430 \n\nSanta Croce \n\n434 \n\nThe Flower Girls . \n\n. 430 \n\nCeiling of the Sistine Chapel \n\n434 \n\nThe Cathedral . \n\n431 \n\nSantissima Annunziato \n\n439 \n\nThe Baptistery \n\n. 431 \n\nSanto Spirito \n\n439 \n\nThe Bell Tower \n\n431 \n\nSanta Maria Novella . \n\n439 \n\nPitti Palace . \n\n. 431 \n\nThe Grand Duke . \n\n440 \n\nBoboli Gardens . \n\n431 \n\nRome to America \n\n441 \n\nConvents and Churches \n\n. 431 \n\nAustrian Soldiers . \n\n441 \n\nStudios \n\n432 \n\nMilitary Funeral \n\n442 \n\nPampaloni \n\n. 432 \n\nRelics and Rites . \n\n443 \n\n\nXXXIII. \n\n\nBOLOGNA AND FERRARA. \n\n\nThe Diligence . \n\n444 \n\nAffecting Verse \n\n. 446 \n\nSt. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s Day \n\n. 445 \n\nLines to Scipio Gonzaga \n\n447 \n\nBologna \n\n445 \n\nThe Plouse of Ariosto . \n\n. 448 \n\nAcademy of Fine Arts . \n\n. 445 \n\nRiver Po . \n\n448 \n\nTomb of St. Dominic \n\n445 \n\nThe Sermon . \n\n. 448 \n\nTwo Leaning Towers . \n\n. 446 \n\nAn Ecclesiastic \n\n449 \n\nThe Cemetery . \n\n446 \n\nPadua .... \n\n. 449 \n\nHights of St. Michael . \n\n. 446 \n\nSt. Antony\xe2\x80\x99s \n\n450 \n\nFerrara \n\n446 \n\nSt. Justina\xe2\x80\x99s . \n\n. 450 \n\nPrison of Tasso \n\n. 446 \n\nThe Comaro \n\n450 \n\nThe beautiful Eleanora. \n\n446 \n\nThe Pisani . \n\n. 450 \n\n\nXXXIY. \n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\n452 Shell Fish. . . . 453 \n\n. 452 Islands. 453 \n\n\nRide into Venice \nGondolas \n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n23 \n\nBridges \n\n453 \n\nNicolo Erizzo . ; \n\n455 \n\nTomb of Titian \n\n. 453 \n\nVerona ..... \n\n457 \n\nMonument of Canova \n\n. 453 \n\nThe Amphitheater \n\n457 \n\nSan Marco . \n\n. 453 \n\nThe Tomb of Juliet \n\n457 \n\nSt Mark\xe2\x80\x99s Square \n\n453 \n\nMilan .... \n\n458 \n\nDoge\xe2\x80\x99s Palace \n\n. 454 \n\nMilan Cathedral . \n\n459 \n\nGiant\xe2\x80\x99s Stairs \n\n454 \n\nA Funeral Service \n\n459 \n\nBridge of Sighs \n\n. 454 \n\nSpecimen of Italian Christians \n\n459 \n\nGovernment of Venice \n\n454 \n\nOriginal Painting of the Last \n\n\nArch of the Rialto \n\n. 454 \n\nSupper, by Leonardo da Vinci \n\n459 \n\nMurder of Donato \n\n455 \n\nAn Italian Patriot \n\n400 \n\nGiacomo Foscari . \n\n. 455 \n\n\n\n\n\nXXXV. \n\n\nTHE \n\nALPS \xe2\x80\x94PASS \n\nOF THE SIMPLON. \n\n\nThe Ascent \n\n402 \n\nThe Cross . \n\n. 405 \n\nChange of Climate \n\n. 402 \n\nWords of Bowring \n\n. 405 \n\nHouses of Refuge \n\n403 \n\nBrieg \n\n400 \n\nHospice \n\n. 403 \n\nA Procession \n\n. 400 \n\nGorge of Gondo \n\n404 \n\nSwiss Hat . \n\n407 \n\nSabbath on the Alps \n\n. 404 \n\nCatholic Rites \n\n. 407 \n\n\n\nX XXVI . \n\n\nSWITZERLAND \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. \n\n\nLausanne .... \n\n408 \n\nThe Prizes . \n\n. 470 \n\nThe Cathedral \n\n408 \n\nThe Difference . \n\n470 \n\nHouse of Gibbon \n\n408 \n\nHouse of Calvin . \n\n. 470 \n\nGeneva. \n\n00 \n\nKindred Spirits . \n\n471 \n\nLake Leman \n\n408 \n\nChurch of St. Peter \n\n. 471 \n\nCastle of Chillon . \n\n409 \n\nCalvin\xe2\x80\x99s Grave . \n\n472 \n\nBonnivard .... \n\n409 \n\nSir Humphry Davy \n\n. 472 \n\nMont Blanc .... \n\n469 \n\nThe Library of Geneva \n\n472 \n\nGreat Fete \n\n409 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII. \n\n\n\nFRANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\n\nFrench Custom-house \n\n. 470 An Adventure \n\n. 470 \n\nWet Clothes \n\n. 470 Dijon \n\n. . 477 \n\n\n24 \n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\nAn Englishman in a Dilemma \n\n478 \n\nStorm on the Channel . \n\n481 \n\nSpoorweg .... \n\n479 \n\nThe ludicrous Scene . * \n\n481 \n\nThe Frenchman\xe2\x80\x99s Chest \n\n479 \n\nArrival at Dover . \n\n482 \n\nBarren Heads . \n\n479 \n\nBurley Custom-house Officer \n\n482 \n\nA Mistake .... \n\n480 \n\nVictoria .... \n\n482 \n\nThe French Colporter \n\n480 \n\nThe Poet Laureate \n\n489 \n\nOpinion of Louis Napoleon . \n\n480 \n\nIlis Tribute .... \n\n483 \n\nArrival at Calais \n\n481 \n\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII. \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE- \n\n-HOME AGAIN. \n\n\nLiverpool . \n\n485 \n\nNapoleon\xe2\x80\x99s Prediction . \n\n491 \n\nThe Europa \n\n485 \n\nHealth to America . \n\n491 \n\nThe North Channel \n\n485 \n\nRomish Church \n\n492 \n\nRev. A. J. Sessions\xe2\x80\x99s Sermon \n\n485 \n\nThe Bible at Nice \n\n492 \n\nIceberg . . . . \n\n486 \n\nReligion in Hungary \n\n493 \n\nCollision with the Florence \n\n486 \n\nBigotry of Sweden . \n\n494 \n\nMan lost . \n\n487 \n\nAffairs in Germany \n\n495 \n\nHalifax .... \n\n487 \n\nAffairs in Austria \n\n495 \n\nHighland Soldiers . \n\n488 \n\nPersecution of Dr. King \n\n496 \n\nArrival at Boston \n\n488 \n\nCommunication of Dr. Devan \n\n497 \n\nHome. \n\n488 \n\nDependence on the Bible \n\n498 \n\nPresent Condition of Europe \n\n488 \n\nAmerican Jesuits \n\n499 \n\nStatement of Mr. Roussel \n\n489 \n\nAlarming Sentiments \n\n499 \n\nSocial Condition of France \n\n490 \n\nFarewell to the Reader \n\n504 \n\n\nEUROPA \n\n\ni. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 THE VOYAGE. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cVisit Naples, and then die,\xe2\x80\x9d is a saying of which \nevery traveler is reminded, as he pursues his way down \nthrough sunny France, and along the shores of the deep \nblue Mediterranean, to that city of wonders, and to that \nregion of buried wealth, fashion, and beauty, where \nGod has chosen to exhibit himself in awful forms of \ngrandeur and power, and where he speaks to man in \nthe thunder of volcanoes, and in the eloquent silence \nof deserted cities. I well remember, when a child, to \nhave found an old, musty book, containing a traveler\xe2\x80\x99s \naccount of his pleasures and perils in the south of Eu\xc2\xac \nrope. His description of old, hoary Vesuvius, which \nhad smoked and blazed, bellowed and thundered, there \nfor ages; of Rome, the city of seven hills; of massive \npiles, and grand old ruins, \xe2\x80\x94 stirred up smouldering \nfires, and awakened an intense desire to see what had \nbeen so graphically portrayed. \n\nThe studies of later years have increased the desire. \nI have scarcely been content with reading of battle fields, \nmonumental piles, old ruined towers and cities, palaces \nof dead and living kings, crowned monarchs, and a \n\n4 c \n\n\n\n26 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npresumptuous pope. Mine eyes have desired to witness \nscenes so long familiar to imagination, and become ac\xc2\xac \nquainted with men whose works I have read, and whose \nnames I have loved to honor. All through youth, fancy \ndrew vivid sketches of the vine-clad hills over which \nItalia\xe2\x80\x99s children gaze ; of Rome, that city where proud \nCaesar dwelt in his now ruined palace, and where the \nbroken fragments of temple, forum, circus, and sepul\xc2\xac \nchre are piled together in confusion; of Florence, that \nsparkling gem of the south, with its galleries of paint\xc2\xac \ning and sculpture, and the studios of its artists in \nevery street; of Venice, with its wave-washed piles, its \n\xe2\x80\x9c bridge of sighs,\xe2\x80\x9d its light, fantastic gondolas, propelled \nover sparkling waters, \xe2\x80\x99neath golden skies, to the sim\xc2\xac \nple melody of the boatman\xe2\x80\x99s song. The time when the \nreality should be substituted for the ideal, and I should \ncross the Tiber, by old, frowning St. Angelo, and pursue \nmy way along the Via Appia, amid the crumbling mon\xc2\xac \numents of the past, has been ardently desired. \n\nA few months ago, the way was opened by which \nthese desires could be gratified; and, with the three\xc2\xac \nfold purpose of securing health, recreation, and knowl\xc2\xac \nedge, I left the familiar scenes of home, and set sail for \nthe land of poetry and song. The sad parting, the \ntender farewell, the good-by song, and the last cordial \ngrasp of the hand you remember, while the hearty wel\xc2\xac \ncome given to the wanderer, on his return, has not yet \ndied out. \n\nI took passage, as you know, from Boston, in the \n\xe2\x80\x9c Daniel Webster,\xe2\x80\x9d the ominous name of one of the \nfinest packet ships that ever sailed from port. The \nhorror of the sea, which I had always felt, disappeared \nas I stood upon her deck, and contrasted her fine form \nand majestic proportions with the miserable craft which \n\n\n; \xe2\x80\xa2 W \n\n\n\nPi \n\nA \n\n\no\' \n\n\ncf \n\n\no CC H.C w \n3 3SI CD *1 \nH\xc2\xbb O P \nU1 rt c+*0 P \nO H\xc2\xbbN O\' P 3 \n>\xc2\xa3 OD CD ^ *\xe2\x80\xa2 H* \n07 O CD \n\xe2\x99\xa6d WHC OH \n\nJ O -PCtJ ^ \n\n3 O\'* o \n\np. Hi \n\n\xe2\x9d\x96 K 2 p \n\n3 0^ \n\nCTj <*{* \nH* <D CD \nfc* g Ifl \xc2\xbb\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\n\n*-\xe2\x96\xa0 ro \n\n03 \n\n\xc2\xbb ** I. \n\n\n< P\xc2\xbbG H \n0 - H> OD \n\n\nCD fl> 0> \nt-*\xc2\xbb 3 \xc2\xab \n\n\no -et \n\n\no O Q CO \n\n\nJS^IH \n\n$3 3 CD CD \n\n\nc+ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nP \n\n\nv \n\n\n69 p.,11. illus. (inc \nThe songs have pian \n\n\n1. Music\xe2\x80\x94Theory, I \ning. 4. Children\xe2\x80\x99s song \n\nLibrary of Congres \n\n\nMorin, Albertine < \n... La vie et la n \nLes Editions de l\xe2\x80\x99E \n\nlp.l., 5-38 p. 18\xc2\xa3 cm \n\nAt head of title: . \n\nOn cover: 3. mille. \n\n\n1. Chopin, Fryderyk \n\nl \n\n\nLibrary of Congres \n\n\nMorin, Albertine \n\n... La destinee \xc2\xa3 \nP. Q., Les Editions \n\n1 p. 1., [5]-16 p. 18V \n\nAt head of title: ... \nOn cover: 3. mille. \n\n\n1. Mozart, Johann \nt. Title. \n\n\nLibrary of Congres \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE. \n\n\n27 \n\n\nsometimes find their way across the deep. To tread \nthere seemed more like walking on the solid land than \non the quivering deck of a vessel, that might he stranded \non the first shore, or foundered in the first gale. \n\nOn one Saturday morning in April, we embarked. \nOver the side of the vessel kindly salutations were ex\xc2\xac \nchanged with friends, and the good ship swung off. \nAs she passed out of the harbor, a magnificent view of \nthe city was afforded. The tall spires, the smoking \nchimneys, and the towering monument on Bunker Hill, \ntokens and pledges of national piety, industry, and pa\xc2\xac \ntriotism, were the last objects that faded from our view. \nPassing, in rapid succession, the old fort, which grinned \nghastly, as if she wished to pour her iron hail down \nupon us; the splendid hospital on Deer Island, smiling \nas if in recognition of our bloodless mission; the old \nlight-house, which has long stood to guide the weary \nmariner to a safe anchorage, \xe2\x80\x94 we were soon out on the \nopen ocean. One can hardly tell the feeling of loneli\xc2\xac \nness and desolation which comes over the voyager, as, \nfor the first time, he loses sight of land. He is cut off \nfrom the great world. Above him is the broad expanse \nof sky; beneath him, a wide waste of waters ; around \nhim, the whistling wind makes melancholy music. The \nvessel, which, while lying at anchor, seemed to him a \nfloating palace, now dwindles to a speck, and himself \nsinks down into insignificance, in the presence of the \nawful grandeur of the deep. Soon, however, this loneli\xc2\xac \nness and the sense of the sublime are swallowed up in the \nirritating, exhausting sickness which usually attends the \nfirst voyage. I will not show my folly by any attempt to \ndescribe sea-sickness, or bewail what I suffered in cross\xc2\xac \ning the ocean. No one thus afflicted, on land or ocean, \nsecures sympathy. The poor landsman, however sick \n\n\n28 \n\n\nEUEOPA. \n\n\nhe may be, is the object of ridicule, the butt of wit, and \nthe sport of all. While he wishes to be cast into the \ndeep, or disposed of in the shortest way, the more for- \ntunate render themselves merry with his sorrows. My \nshare of sea-sickness \xe2\x80\x9c belonged to me and somebody \nelse,\xe2\x80\x9d as a good-natured Irishman on board told me, as \none day he saw me leaning over the side of the ship, \nwishing I were a fish, or a bird, or something else as \ninsensible to the evils under which at that moment \nI was groaning. It was, however, some consolation to \nknow I was not the worst on board, but in my turn \ncould sport with those who were in deeper affliction. \n\nWhen sea-sickness somewhat abated, and I could \nclimb from my state-room to the deck, I began to study \nmy fellow-passengers. The captain of the ship was a \ngood-natured, frolic-loving man, who devoted himself \nto his passengers, of whom there were about fifty in \nthe cabin, and a large number in the steerage. His \nexperience and skill in the management of his vessel \ngave us a consciousness of safety, and his urbanity and \nkindness made the long voyage pass pleasantly away. \nOn our arrival at Liverpool, complimentary resolutions \nwere passed, to which we all gave our assent with \nhearty good wilL \n\nThe oldest man on board was Mr. A., a native of \nScotland \xe2\x80\x94 a very fat man, who had a very lean wife. \nThey were returning from the land of their adoption, \nto the land of their nativity, to attend the old kirk, \nand meet once more around the old hearth-stone. He \nwas a fine specimen of an old-fashioned Calvinist, to \nwhose ears there was nothing sweet in the tones of \nthe church organ, nothing true in a written sermon, \nand whose eyes could see nothing but a retrograde in \nthe movements of our times. Cromwell would have \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE. \n\n\n29 \n\n\ndelighted in such a man for a supporter, as he swept over \nfields of battle, singing the psalms of David. And yet, \nwedded to the past, and to the old Scotch Presbyterian \npast, he was a man of sincere and unaffected goodness, \nwhose life, doubtless, is more correct than many who \nboast a more liberal faith. \n\nThe next oldest man on board was Mr. B., a jovial, \nhale old gentleman, who would tell, for hours at a time, \nthe most improbable stories with as much gravity as if he \nbelieved them himself. He was, during the whole voy\xc2\xac \nage, our mirth-maker general, rattling away at the most \nunreasonable rate, alike upon politics, religion, morals, \nand philosophy. If a joke was to be perpetrated, a \nfreak of folly carried out, B. was ready. That he did \nnot \xe2\x80\x9c sow all his wild oats \xe2\x80\x9d in youth, was very evident. \n\nNext came Mr. C., a venerable man, upwards of \nsixty years, who was the first to retire to his berth at \nnight, and the first to leave it in the morning; the first \nto come to the table, and the last to leave it; \xe2\x80\x94 a strik\xc2\xac \ning instance of the value of good habits, and an illus\xc2\xac \ntration of the influence of a cheerful disposition to \nenable one to \xe2\x80\x9c hold his own,\xe2\x80\x9d in vigor of body and \nsprightliness of mind. He had sent over to the \n\xe2\x80\x9cWorld\xe2\x80\x99s Fair\xe2\x80\x9d a lock, which, in his estimation, all \ncreation could not pick, and a safe which all creation \ncould not burn. \n\nNext was Mr. D., a tall man in gray \xe2\x80\x94 gray hair, \ngray eyebrows, (gray whiskers, if he had any,) gray \ncoat, gray pants, gray vest, and, for aught I know, gray \nboots. He mingled little with us, but moved about \nwith a yellow-covered document protruding from the \npocket of his great gray coat. He was an amiable \nman, and was crossing the ocean with his wife, to see \nthe land and the graves of his fathers. \n\nc * \n\n\n30 \n\n\nEUUOPA. \n\n\nNext was Mr. E., a Hungarian, who boasted of his \nconnection with the distinguished refugees. He told \nus of the shrewd way in which he managed to butcher \nhis foes, and seemed to think cold-blooded murder a \nvery harmless amusement. According to his own state\xc2\xac \nment, he was a truer patriot than Ivossufh, and a braver \nman than Ujliazy. He evidently was a fool, or thought \nwe were fools. I set him down as a traveling pedler. \n\nBesides these, we had men of all professions and \nemployments \xe2\x80\x94 three clergymen, each of whom believed \nhimself right and the others wrong; a physician, whom \nI should not be afraid to trust, provided I had no \nother disease than sea-sickness; a tallow chandler, who, \nhaving all his life made candles to light the way of \nothers, was now going abroad to light his own candle; \ntwo young graduates of old Harvard, who, having fin\xc2\xac \nished their education, were going abroad in search of \ngenius; a fine couple of English people, who were on \ntheir way to the scenes of their youth; a butcher and \na baker; a watchmaker and a shoemaker; a dry goods \ndealer and a liquor seller; a file-cutter and a brick\xc2\xac \nlayer ; an old man nearly seventy years, and a child of \nthree weeks; one fat as an alderman, and one dying in \nconsumption; card players and Bible readers, \xe2\x80\x94 in fact, \nall sorts, white spirits and gray, forming one of the \nmost agreeable and cosy companies that ever sailed \nfrom Boston. \n\nWe endeavored to amuse ourselves as best we could \nduring the twenty-eight days we were on the deep; \nsometimes holding mock courts, and trying some of our \nfellow-passengers on fictitious charges; discussing grave \nmatters of law, life, and logic; singing songs and psalm \ntunes; and, for the want of work, turned boys again, \nand went to play. \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE. \n\n\n31 \n\n\nOur Sabbaths were spent according to our various \nideas of propriety. The first holy day we were on the \nwater was dismal in the extreme. But few of us were \nable to leave our beds, while from the poor, sea-sick \nobjects of commiseration came many a doleful sound, \nand many a significant exclamation. The second Sab\xc2\xac \nbath, too, passed very much in the same way. Storms \nswept over the deep, the billows ran high, and we were \ntumbled about in the most amusing manner. The most \nincorrigible were obliged to leave the cabin and seek \ntheir berths, and over all seemed to hang a deep, impen\xc2\xac \netrable gloom. \n\nThe third Sabbath there was an improvement. Early \nin the morning, we were aroused by the cry, \xe2\x80\x9c A ship! \na ship! \xe2\x80\x9d and a few minutes afterwards a Bremen vessel, \nher deck covered with human beings, her flags flying \nproudly, her sails all set, came sweeping by, to land \nher living cargo on American shores. At eleven, my \ntraveling companion, Dr. M., preached a sermon to the \nfew who were able to crawl in to hear him. He used \nfor his text that declaration of Jonah, \xe2\x80\x9c It is better for \nme to die than to live.\xe2\x80\x9d Most who heard it were very \nmuch of Jonah\xe2\x80\x99s opinion, and perhaps no more appro\xc2\xac \npriate theme could have been selected. The preacher \nflatly contradicted Jonah, declared that he knew noth\xc2\xac \ning about the matter, and proved most conclusively \nthat the poor sea-sick creatures on board, who almost \ndesired to be cast out into Jonah\xe2\x80\x99s uncomfortable sep- \nulchre, had better be quiet and contented where they \nwere. \n\nThe fourth Sabbath was a most lovely day. The sun \narose in the morning in all his beauty, and poured a \nflood of splendor over the waters. Two religious ser\xc2\xac \nvices were that day held on board, in which orthodox \n\n\n32 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nand heterodox, Arminian and Calvinist, Protestant and \nCatholic, Jew and Gentile, bond and free, united. \n\nYou would have been amused at the spectacle we \npresented, as, pale and cadaverous after our long sea\xc2\xac \nsickness, we two, friend M. and myself, stood up against \nthe boat which was on deck, and, with our sermons in \nour hands, preached to the congregation which came \nfrom cabin, forecastle, and steerage. There was to me \nsomething sublime in the song which swept over the \nwaters, and the prayer which went up from our float\xc2\xac \ning- Bethel to the God of ocean and storm. I never \npreached in such a chapel before, with the heavens for \na bending arch, and the deep ocean for a carpet. But \nGod preaches louder than man on the ocean. His \nvoice is heard in the wild roar of the sea, and in the \nmoaning wind, and the wide, wide expanse spread out \nnorth, south, east, and west. \n\nThough we had a long and severe passage, we had \nhut few dangerous storms; and those few were not con\xc2\xac \nsidered by the sailors as at all uncomfortable. On the \nSaturday evening of that week when the severe and \nterrible storm swept along your coast, destroying prop\xc2\xac \nerty, demolishing light-houses, and sacrificing life, we \nexperienced a gale, which, to those who had never seen \nthe ocean in its fury, was truly appalling. Just at \nnightfall, a mast, to which was attached a tattered sail \nand the oil jacket of a sailor, drifted by. As it mount\xc2\xac \ned on the waves, it seemed to nod mournfully, as if \ninculcating lessons of prudence. It appeared to fore\xc2\xac \ntell the storm, which soon was careering over the wide, \nwatery waste. I had never before seen the ocean \nlashed into rage, and the impression made on my mind \nwill never be erased. The night was dark; not a star \nsent down its twinkling rays; the rain fell in torrents; \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE. 33 \n\n/* \n\nthe ropes rattled against each other; the hoarse cry of \nthe officer on deck, and the almost chilling reply of \nthe sailor, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c Ay, ay, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 mingled with the blast; \ndeep thunders rolled, and vivid lightnings gleamed; \nphosphoric light seemed to crown every wave with fire, \nand our ship plunged about, as if mad with the storm \nwhich was crossing her track. To one who loves the \ngrand and the sublime, I know of nothing finer than a \nstorm at sea. All sickness, fear, and anxiety depart; \nevery other feeling is swallowed up in the one awful \nidea; and the beholder almost wishes to be wrecked, \nstranded, or foundered, \xe2\x80\x94 any thing, that he may see \nthe whole of such a grand catastrophe. \n\nThese storms give rise, sometimes, to most amusing \nincidents. One morning, while the company were at \nbreakfast, the ship was thrown upon a wave which \ncaused her to plunge and reel to such an extent, that \nthose who sat upon one side of the table canted over \nupon their backs upon the floor, in the twinkling of an \neye, while over them flowed streams of milk and honey, \nand upon them were piled meat and bread, table dishes \nand their contents. The ship\xe2\x80\x99s surgeon one day was \nadministering a bowl of gruel to a patient, when, by a \nroll of the vessel, the contents of his bowl were dis- \ncharged into his own bosom, and the doctor was forced \nunwillingly to take his own medicine. \n\nOur passage was so long, that all measures were re\xc2\xac \nsorted to for amusement. One fine morning, while the \nship lay becalmed in mid ocean, the intelligence was \ncommunicated to us that a bottle, containing some doc\xc2\xac \nument, was floating near us. It was at once conjec\xc2\xac \ntured to contain an account of some shipwreck. Our \ninterest was increased by the apparent zeal of the offi\xc2\xac \ncers, who lowered the boat, and brought on board the \n\n5 \n\n\n34 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nbottle. All gathered around to see it broken, and \nwhen the paper within was read, it was found to be \na harmless joke, which had been perpetrated upon us \nfor the purpose of keeping up our spirits another day. \nOut of it grew a mock trial, in which all the parts \nwere well sustained day after day, even to the use of \nhandcuffs and fetters. \n\nOn the 1st day of May, we saw land, for the first \ntime, in the dim and misty distance. A long, nar\xc2\xac \nrow stripe, like a bank of mist, was pointed out as \n\xe2\x80\x9c Crow\xe2\x80\x99s Head.\xe2\x80\x9d It was a joyful sight, and shout after \nshout burst from rejoicing lips. On the evening of \nnext day, Cape Clear light was recognized, and, soon \nafter, full in view was the coast of Ireland, with old, \nruined castles on its frowning hills. "We entered the \nMersey on Sabbath morning, and soon, passing by the \ntown of Birkenhead, the great commercial city of Liv\xc2\xac \nerpool was before us. Before leaving the vessel, we \nmet in the cabin, and sung a song which had been pre\xc2\xac \npared to the tune of \xe2\x80\x9c Poor old Ned,\xe2\x80\x9d an air which \nhad often been employed during our passage. \n\nThere is a good ship, the Daniel Webster is its name, \n\nAnd it sailed long ago \xe2\x80\x94 long ago ; \n\nIn spite of head winds, it has crossed the stormy main, \n\nIn the tracks where the good ships go. \n\nNow, if we must part, be it so; \n\nBut we\xe2\x80\x99ll say farewell ere we go ; \n\nFor we\xe2\x80\x99ve no more a home on the ocean foam, \n\nSince away we must go \xe2\x80\x94 we must go. \n\nAdieu to the ship, and the captain true, \n\nWho has kept us safe by his skill ; \n\nWhile each of his mates, and his jolly, jolly crew, \n\nHas toiled with a right good will. \n\nNow, if we must part, be it so; \n\nBut we\xe2\x80\x99ll say farewell ere we go; \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE. \n\n\n35 \n\n\nFor we\xe2\x80\x99ve no more a home on the ocean foam, \n\nSince away we must go \xe2\x80\x94 we must go. \n\nAs strangers we met, but with sympathetic hearts, \n\nEre we sailed, long ago \xe2\x80\x94 long ago ; \n\nNow, tears fill our eyes, as each one departs, \n\nNe\xe2\x80\x99er to meet, perchance, here below. \n\nNow, if we must part, be it so ; \n\nBut we\xe2\x80\x99ll say farewell ere we go ; \n\nFor we\xe2\x80\x99ve no more a home on the ocean foam, \n\nSince away we must go \xe2\x80\x94 we must go. \n\n* \n\nThe echo died away, and another song \xe2\x80\x94 sweeter, \npurer, and more befitting the sacred day \xe2\x80\x94 went up to \nGod from that company, about to be separated, never \nto meet again on earth. \n\nBe thou, O God, exalted high; \n\nAnd as thy glory fills the sky, \n\nSo let it be on earth displayed, \n\nTill thou art here as there obeyed. \n\nHere our voyage was finished, and, with bandbox \nand bundle, we prepared to go ashore, very willing to \nexchange \xe2\x80\x9c life on the ocean wave \xe2\x80\x9d for life on the solid \nland, where knives and forks would not dance together \non the table, and where our bed at night would not \nnow and then take a notion to stand on the head-board \nor foot-board, thus reversing the position of the sleeper \nto a most uncomfortable degree, \xe2\x80\x94 but where his head \nand feet would always be in their proper places, no \nlonger at the mercy of the storm, the winds, and the \nwaves. \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\nII. \n\n* * \n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\nWe soon passed the custom-house, had our baggage \nexamined, and were on our way to a hotel. Every \nthing was new and strange. I expected to have seen \na crowd of jostling hackmen, a multitude of beggars, \nand a swarm of pickpockets, but was agreeably disap\xc2\xac \npointed in finding the streets as quiet as our own, the \npolice officers, with a neat distinguishing livery, ready \nto bestow any attention, and the people free from that \nidle gaze with which a person is received in an Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan city, if he chances to arrive at an unusual hour, or \nin an uncomely plight. As we moved on, the corners \nof the streets were seen covered with notices of reli\xc2\xac \ngious meetings. This objectionable practice prevails all \nover England, and clergymen, on Saturday, have large \nplacards pasted on the corners of the streets, and on \npublic buildings, informing the people of the hour and \nthe subject on which they will discourse. Some of these \nnotices are several feet in length, and are worded so as \nto draw attention. One was headed, 44 Popery misrep\xc2\xac \nresented and represented; or, Which is which ;\xe2\x80\x9d and \nbelow followed a notice that Kev. Mr. Somebody would \npreach on Popery at a given hour. \n\nAfter dinner, I went out to find a religious service. \nI went to several chapels of our own denomination, but \nfound them closed, the prevailing custom being to hold \n<\xc2\xbbservice in the morning and evening. St. David\xe2\x80\x99s Church \n\n\nTHE THAME \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\n\n37 \n\n\nI found open. It would seat more than a thousand \npersons, and but twenty-four adults and thirty-one chil\xc2\xac \ndren were present. An elderly man was preaching \nfrom the words, \xe2\x80\x9c Wherefore gird up the loins of your \nmind,\xe2\x80\x9d &c. The discourse was sound in doctrine, ably \nwritten, but drawled and jerked out in the most unpar\xc2\xac \ndonable manner. The children were at play, and the \nadults were asleep. On the evening of the* same day, \nI wandered out to the church of the famous Hugh \nM\'Neile, one of the best pulpit orators I heard in Eng\xc2\xac \nland. His church is far away from the noise and con\xc2\xac \nfusion of the city, in a beautiful park, and is a costly \nand elegant Gothic structure. Though so far removed \nfrom the mass of habitations and the crowded streets, \nit is always well tilled with an aristocratic audience. \nOn the evening in question, it was crowded. We en\xc2\xac \ntered after the service had commenced; a song of praise \nwas sweetly sounding through the aisles, and echoing \namid the arches overhead. As we passed up the aisle, \nwe were at once recognized as strangers, and several pew \ndoors were immediately thrown open to us \xe2\x80\x94 an in\xc2\xac \nstance of genuine politeness seldom shown so promptly, \nand with such apparent cheerfulness, in England or \nAmerica. Hr. M\xe2\x80\x99Neile is apparently about sixty years \nof age, tall and dignified in his demeanor, erect and \nmanly in his bearing, having a countenance full of life, \nand an eye flashing with the fires of genius and intel\xc2\xac \nlect. His tone is earnest, and his enunciation clear and \ndistinct. His hair is gray, bordering on snowy white\xc2\xac \nness, and is carefully arranged. His countenance is \none of the most expressive I have ever seen, and marks \nhim as a man of vigorous thought and energy. He \nhas recently entered into the arena of theological dis\xc2\xac \ncussion, as an opponent of the church of Rome; and \n\nD \n\n\n38 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfew men in England are feared more by the pope and \nhis cardinals than Hugh M\xe2\x80\x99Neile. \n\nAnd yet, with all his abilities, he has committed fol\xc2\xac \nlies which ordinary men could not survive. I was told \nby a member of his church, that, on one occasion, when \nPrince Albert was on a visit to Liverpool, he attended \nthe service performed by this distinguished man. The \npreacher, carried away by his enthusiastic love of \nroyalty, preached a discourse from that awful passage \nin the Book of Revelation, \xe2\x80\x9c Behold, he cometh with \nclouds, and every eye shall see him,\xe2\x80\x9d and an applica\xc2\xac \ntion of this language was made to the distinguished \nvisitor. The sermon which I was fortunate enough to \nhear was from the words of Paul \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c That thou mayest \nknow how to behave thyself in the house of God, w T hich \nis the church of the living God, the pillar and ground \nof the truth.\xe2\x80\x9d The introduction was very simple, and \nwas devoted to an explanation of the word \xe2\x80\x9c church,\xe2\x80\x9d \nand the different ways in which it is applied in the \nNew Testament. The \xe2\x80\x9c names given to the church \xe2\x80\x9d \nformed his subject. 1. The house of God. The earthly \ntemple, with its smoking incense, its swelling anthems, \nits robed priests, its flaming altars, its shekinah, and \nall its glory, is God\xe2\x80\x99s emblem of his church. As a \nhouse is builded, so the church is built. As the rough \nstones are taken from the quarry, smoothed and pol\xc2\xac \nished, so the sinner is taken from the depths of sin, \nchanged, purified, and put as a lively stone into God\xe2\x80\x99s \nhouse. Every disciple has some place there \xe2\x80\x94 the \nplace of a nail, or a brick, or a stone. 2. The church \nof the living God. Paganism is a dead religion; its \nforms, services, and ceremonies are dead. Papists wor\xc2\xac \nship a dead virgin, dead saints, dead relics \xe2\x80\x94 all are \ndead. Christianity lives; is full of activity; God has \n\n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\n\n39 \n\n\nbreathed into it his own living spirit. 3. The pillar \nand ground of truth. The proclamations of the an\xc2\xac \ncient kings were written out, and hung upon pillars, \nthat the people might read. The church, the minister, \nthe Christian, are to be God\xe2\x80\x99s pillars, to hold up his \ntruth, that dying men may read it. \n\nDuring the delivery of this discourse, the preacher \nstood with a small Bible in his hand, and was unem\xc2\xac \nbarrassed with notes. The sermon was ingenious rather \nthan profound, impressive rather than eloquent. It \nwas followed by an extemporaneous prayer, offered in a \nsubdued and melting tone, and seemed full of the true \nand unmistakable spirit of devotion. \n\nOn the following morning, I went out to see the city. \nLiverpool, you know, is the greatest commercial city in \nthe world. The docks, its principal attraction, are of \npeculiar construction, and admirably adapted to their \npurpose. They are built between the river and the \ntown, guarded from storms, and filled at high tide from \nthe river. Many of them can be entirely drained at \nlow tide, or kept full, as circumstances may require. \nThese docks, built at an immense expense, are capable \nof protecting a vast number of vessels, and distin\xc2\xac \nguish Liverpool from all other cities. \n\nOne would hardly select Liverpool as a place of resi\xc2\xac \ndence, independent of business considerations. The \nstreets are irregular, and filled with seamen and dock \nlaborers of the lowest class; houses, stores, and work\xc2\xac \nshops are strangely mixed together; and ignorance and \npoverty are more distinctly seen than in London. \nThere are some fine public buildings, among which the \nstranger admires the Exchange, the new Sailors\xe2\x80\x99 Home, \nSt. George\xe2\x80\x99s Hall, and several others. There are parks \nand cemeteries of great beauty. I wandered into St. \n\n\n40 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nJames\xe2\x80\x99s Cemetery, situated in a deep dell, surrounded \nby high hills, in which excavations are made for tombs. \nAlmost the first object which meets the eye, on enter\xc2\xac \ning, is a Grecian oratory, in which are several monu\xc2\xac \nments to the crumbling memory of the dead. On \nevery side are statues and efiigies, the poor memorials \nof once living, moving men. This burial-place is one \nof much rural beauty, and, from its picturesque situation \nin what was once a stone quarry, in the sides of which \nare several sculptured galleries of catacombs, draws the \nattention, and claims a visit from every stranger. The \ngreat object of interest, however, is the marble statue of \nthe lit. Hon. William Huskisson, formerly one of the \nmost distinguished citizens of Liverpool. The statue \nstands in a circular oratory, and was made in Rome by \nan English artist. There are several other burial-places \nin Liverpool, but to the sacred groves of none of them \ndid I find time to resort. \n\nPerhaps the stranger\xe2\x80\x99s attention is arrested, in an \nEnglish town, by nothing more than the heavy, mas\xc2\xac \nsive, frowning appearance of the public and private \nbuildings. The eye of an American, which has long \ngazed upon neat white dwellings and churches, enclosed \nin gardens of luxuriant freshness, soon tires with the \ndull monotony of a city all built of brick and stone, \nblackened by age and storms, and begrimed with the \nsmoke of the chimney and the dust of the furnace. \nThe buildings in Liverpool all look as if built to last \nthrough time. They seem to defy the heat of summer \nand the blasts of winter \xe2\x80\x94 the assaults of time, and \nthe ravages of fire and sword. Among the churches is \none of cast iron; and another for the blind, in which \nthe singing is done by, and the congregation composed \nchiefly of, the poor, unfortunate inmates of the blind \n\n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\n\n41 \n\n\nasylum, a charity which adorns the city of Liverpool \neven more than its docks, or its commercial advantages. \n\nWhile at Liverpool, I w T ent out to the new town of \nBirkenhead, which has grown up within a few years \nwith great rapidity, and much resembles some of our \ncities on the lakes, in its active enterprise and cheerful \nindustry. The principal object of interest here is an \nold, ruined abbey, built several centuries ago by Baron \nHaman Massie. It was once the home of religious \nmen, the seat of divine and holy influences; but, like \nthe religion which once flourished within its walls, it is \nnow broken down, and its beauty is entirely destroyed. \n\nA visit to the fine old town of Chester formed an\xc2\xac \nother excursion which I took with much pleasure. \nUnlike Birkenhead, Chester bears the marks of age ; \nold Homan remains appear on every side; and the an\xc2\xac \ntiquarian will find a hundred objects of study and con\xc2\xac \ntemplation. All around Liverpool are quiet, pleasant \nvillages, lying in great rural beauty, inviting the trav\xc2\xac \neler to turn aside from the busy hum of labor, and the \nconfusion of the crowded city,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c To nature, woods, winds, music, valleys, hills, \n\nAnd gushing brooks.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAfter surveying Liverpool and its environs, we re\xc2\xac \npaired, just at nightfall, to the railway station, to take \nthe cars for Manchester. The depot formed a remark\xc2\xac \nable contrast with those in our own country. It was \nerected in 1837, at an immense expense, and is lighted \nfrom the roof. The stone front has thirty-six Corinthi\xc2\xac \nan columns and four large arched gateways, and stands \nout in its nobility, fit exterior of this great palace of \ntransportation. On leaving the station, the train enters \na long tunnel, dark as Egypt, and dreary as night. \n\n6 d* \n\n\n42 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThis tunnel is six thousand six hundred and ninety \nfeet long, seventy-five feet wide, and fifty-one feet high, \nand passes directly under the city, while over it rise \nchurches, houses, halls, and places of trade and indus\xc2\xac \ntry. He who had never rode in a rail-car would hardly \nbe willing to begin by riding through this subterranean \npassage. The oppressive darkness, which can be felt; \nthe cold, damp chill, which pierces to the bones; the \nglaring lamp on the engine, and the screaming of the \niron horse, \xe2\x80\x94 all render the five minutes spent under \nthe streets and temples of the great mart of commerce \nmost unpleasant and disagreeable. \n\nOn emerging from this dark passage, the traveler has \nopportunity to examine the car in which he rides, and \nthe countenances of his fellow-passengers. The rail\xc2\xac \nway arrangements are very different in England from \nours in America. There are three classes of cars, and \nfor either of them the traveler purchases his ticket \nas he may choose. Having secured his ticket, he is \nsent into a room where he finds others who are to ride \nin the same class cars. If he he a third-class passen\xc2\xac \nger, he does not see those who are to ride in the first \nand second-class cars. They too are shut up, to await \nthe hour of starting. When this arrives, the first-class \npassengers are taken from the room where they have \nbeen held in durance, and seated in the cars, and the \ndoors are closed, and, in some instances, locked. Then \nthe second-class passengers are seated, and at length \nthe third. The cars are short, being only about eight \nfeet long and six wide, and are frequently divided by \na partition as high as the head of a person sitting. \nThe first class are well arranged, well fitted, and com\xc2\xac \nfortable ; hut the fare in them is so high, that few be\xc2\xac \nsides the nobility and the wealthy ride in them. The \n\n\nLIVERPOOL. \n\n\n43 \n\n\nsecond class are destitute of cushions, and almost every \nother comfort. On the hard seat, with the straight \nback, the passenger is compelled to sit, with his feet \ncovered up with boxes and baggage, gazing upon the \nplacards which are pasted up on the sides and ends of \nthe car. Generally these cars have two seats, each \nholding five persons \xe2\x80\x94 one half looking into the faces \nand trampling upon the feet of the other half. The \nwindow, or ventilator, as it should he called, is a small, \nsquare aperture in the door, like the window of a \ncoach, and sometimes has a slide of glass, but more \ngenerally of wood, to keep out the rain. Smoking, \nsnufl-taking, tobacco-chewing are all allowed; and these \nprivileges are improved by the English generally. The \nlast time I rode in the cars in England, I found myself \nin company with one Frenchman and his lady, two \nyoung men who were smoking the most abominable \ncigars, three apparently well-bred English ladies, and \nan Irish woman. The young men kept on smoking, \nthe rain dashed against the window of the car, and \ncompelled us to close it; and twice or thrice during the \nday, the Irish woman drew an onion of very respecta\xc2\xac \nble dimensions from her basket, and slicing it up with \nbread, devoured it eagerly, with as much apparent relish \nas if it were a finely-flavored peach. \n\nThe third-class cars are somewhat longer, and have \nrough seats, like some of our baggage cars, and are no \nmore comfortable or convenient. The fare is higher \nfor this class than in our country for the best. Con\xc2\xac \nnected with all the roads is what is termed \xe2\x80\x9c the Parlia\xc2\xac \nment train \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 a train which government compels every \ncorporation to run for the accommodation of the poor, \nat one penny, or two cents, a mile. But the accommo\xc2\xac \ndations are so wretched, the speed so slow, the stopping- \n\n\n44 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nplaces so numerous, that few who can pay higher fare \nare willing to ride in it. \n\nThe country between Liverpool and Manchester, \nthough not the best in England, is very fine \xe2\x80\x94 a very \ngarden; and when we passed through it, it was just \nbudding into the life of spring. The banks on each \nside of the road, and the borders, were all cultivated; \nand, as we rode on, flowers were seen blooming all \naround. Increasing our speed every minute, we whirled \nrapidly by the proud, old residences of aristocratic land\xc2\xac \nholders, and the rude, thatched cottage of the peasant; \nnow entering into cultivated farms, and then through \nfields of waving grain; now leaving in the distance the \nvillage church, imbosomed in rich foliage, like a gem \nconscious of its worth and beauty, and then rushing by \nacid works, tin works, tan works, glass works, which \nsend their noxious gases out to deaden the opening \nverdure of spring; now entering the more dismal re\xc2\xac \ngions of coal burning, and then through towns and \nvillages, towards the greatest manufacturing city of the \nold world. \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\n45 \n\n\nIII. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 % \n\nMANCHESTER. \n\nWe entered Manchester just at evening, when the \nstreets were filled with stern, hard-fisted men, returning \nfrom their daily toil, and squalid-looking women, flit\xc2\xac \nting along to some rude tenement, weary, faint, and \nsad. On every hand we met deformed and shapeless \nbeings, \xe2\x80\x94 some vending coffee, and some peanuts; some \nwomen, some men, and some children, \xe2\x80\x94 living prod\xc2\xac \nucts of a system which places mere children at the \nloom, and over the wheel, at an age when they are \nunable to endure fatigue, or resist the influence of \nconfinement and weariness. \n\nWe were amused at the readiness with which the \npeople in the streets recognized us as Americans. A \ngentleman stepped up as we passed along one day, and \ninquired if we were acquainted with Mr. B., a gentle\xc2\xac \nman of Philadelphia, who was then in the city. A \nlittle lad followed us along some distance, and at \nlength, to extract from us a few coppers, said, \xe2\x80\x9c I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nwhistle you Yankee Doodle for a penny, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d and \nforthwith commenced whistling our national air, to our \ngreat amusement. \n\nManchester is a large and beautiful city. I had pic\xc2\xac \ntured out a town of wretched appearance; long, low, \nnarrow streets, filled with beggars and thieves, and \nlined on each side by the miserable habitations of \nhalf-paid laborers. But I was agreeably disappointed. \n\n\n46 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe streets are wide, paved with a small, brick-form \nstone, and contain many very elegant buildings of a \npublic and private character. The churches are tine \nstructures \xe2\x80\x94 some of them erected at a very great ex\xc2\xac \npense. I have heard Lowell designated as the \xe2\x80\x9c Man\xc2\xac \nchester of America;\xe2\x80\x9d but it no more compares with \nthe Manchester of England, than does a little, rural \nvillage with the great and populous city \xe2\x80\x94 the crowded \nmart of commerce. \n\nThe first object of interest and study to the stranger \nin Manchester is the manufacturing system, with the \ncondition of the operatives, male and female. To see \nthe mills to the best advantage, we inquired for one \nwhich should be a specimen of all the others, and were \ndirected to an establishment owned and carried on by \nan enterprising manufacturer, who employs about five \nhundred persons. The outside of the mill was dingy \nand dirty, the bricks were of a very poor quality, and \ncovered and begrimed with smoke and coal dust. The \ninside was of unfinished brick or stone; the walls, \nfloors, stairs, all of one or the other of these mate\xc2\xac \nrials ; no wood-work seen except in the window frames, \nthe doors, and in the machinery. The floors were \nslippery with oil, the walls covered with dust and \nhung with cobwebs, and the windows cracked, broken, \nand shattered. The operatives were generally younger \nthan those employed in the mills in our own country, \nand would bear no comparison with that industrious, \ncheerful, and intelligent class of our own population. \nThey were very poorly dressed, and very dirty. Many \nof them were deformed, and seemed to groan as they \nmoved about, as if in bodily anguish. On the coun\xc2\xac \ntenances of some there were the marks of crime and \nwoe, the contemptuous scowl, and the lewd, wanton \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\n47 \n\n\nsmirk. On other countenances were the deep traces of \nsuffering and wretchedness; care and sorrow had made \nyouth look haggard and withered like age. The com\xc2\xac \nparison between our own cotton manufactories and \nthose in Manchester is altogether favorable to this \ncountry. The condition and character of the opera\xc2\xac \ntives, the construction and convenience of the mills, \nthe compensation paid for labor, and the pleasure de\xc2\xac \nrived by the laborer from his toils, \xe2\x80\x94 all far exceed, in \nour system, the same particulars in the English system. \nI noticed that the several rooms into which I entered \nwere very poorly ventilated. One large mill, with one \nhundred and sixty windows, on one side, was venti\xc2\xac \nlated by having several of those windows thrown up a \nfew inches each. The comfort and convenience of the \noperatives seem not to have entered the minds of the \nemployer, in many of these establishments ; and as you \nsee many of the operatives, with bare feet and shiver\xc2\xac \ning limbs, gliding over the cold stone or brick floor, \nyou feel justly proud of the more enviable condition \nof operatives in this land. \n\nConnected with the mill in which we spent the most \ntime is a school for children over nine and under thir\xc2\xac \nteen years of age, who are taught gratuitously. These \nchildren are employed in the mill a number of hours \neach day, the time being limited by law. Connected \nwith this establishment were about ninety of these \nchildren, one half of whom work, and the other half \nattend school, certain hours each day, so that forty- \nfive are at school, and forty-five are at work, all the \ntime. While we were present, the children sung \nseveral little hymns, and showed us specimens of \ntheir needlework, which would have done no discredit \nto persons of a more mature age, and in more elevated \n\n\n48 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nlife. The pleasure derived in visiting this school, \nwhich appeared very much as do primary schools \nin New England cities, was marred by a thought \nof the sad necessity which prompted its existence. \nThe generous employer we could praise; but the very \npleasure produced by the contemplation of his benev\xc2\xac \nolence w T as mingled with the sad evidences that this \nschool was but the result of the want of a proper \nsystem of general education, and deep, grinding pov\xc2\xac \nerty, which compelled the parent to send his little child \ninto a cotton mill at a very early and tender age, ere \nthe constitution was able to bear the fatigue, exposure, \nand pain. \n\nIn looking through Manchester, I missed a most \nimportant appendage to a manufacturing city \xe2\x80\x94 the \nboarding-houses for the operatives. Among us, long \nbrick edifices are erected, which have all the outward, \nand many of the internal, evidences of luxury and ease. \nOperatives at night are not driven away to rude and \nwretched tenements, where poverty and filth rule and \nruin, or to the den of infamy, or to the street, but have \na comfortable home provided. In Manchester, each girl \nboards herself where best she can; and consequently \nmany of them scarcely live at all. When they are \nsick, no care is taken of them; and they die uncared \nfor and unmourned. Vice must be the product of \nsuch an arrangement; and we have no \xe2\x80\xa2 reason to be \nastonished when we are told that many leave the path \nof rectitude and virtue, and sink into the depth of ruin. \nOne of the wisest and most humane provisions for the \ncomfort and safety of operatives in our American towns \nis found in the neat, spacious, and even elegant board\xc2\xac \ning-houses, in the kind and maternal care exercised by \nthe women who have the charge of them, and the wise \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\n49 \n\n\nrules which are adopted by the corporations to secure \nthe necessary ends of order and good behavior. \n\nBut Manchester is not famed for its cotton manufac\xc2\xac \ntures alone. A vast amount of machinery is turned \nout every year, which is carried to every part of the \nkingdom. I visited the Atlas Machine Shop, where \nseven hundred and fifty men are now employed, which \nnumber is sometimes increased to twelve or fifteen \nhundred. In the first room, several large locomotives \nwere being put together; and in some twenty rooms \nor more, into which we were introduced, all kinds of \nwork were in progress, from the forgery and the foun- \ndery which gleamed, sparkled, and blazed, to the neatly- \nfitted apartment where the artist was executing his de\xc2\xac \nsigns and preparing his models. \n\nAs I passed out, I noticed a box in the counting- \nroom, in a conspicuous place, on which was a respect\xc2\xac \nful notice requesting the visitor to drop in his tribute \nmoney for the relief of such of the workmen as should \nhave the misfortune to be deprived of health. The \nattendant informed us that, out of the large number \nemployed, some were sick all the time, and that large \nsums of money were collected in this way for their \nbenefit. I dropped in my piece of money with the \ngreatest pleasure, and regarded the plan as a most \nvaluable one, which, perhaps, might be carried out to \nadvantage even in this country of plenty and charity. \n\nWe closed our examinations of the manufacturing \nestablishments by standing at the gate of one of the \nmills, to see the operatives as they came out. At the \nappointed hour, the gates were thrown open, and the \nliving stream came pouring forth, upon which we gazed \nuntil we almost imagined we were in Lowell or Law\xc2\xac \nrence ; nor were we wholly undeceived until the last \n\n7 e \n\n\n50 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\none had passed from our view into some dirty abode, to \nswallow in haste an ill-prepared meal, and we aroused \nto see no familiar countenances and scenes, but to gaze \nupon the strange streets and buildings of one of the \ncities of the old world. \n\nThis much done, we bargained with a hackey to \ndrive us about the city, and show us the lions of the \nplace. We drove rapidly out to Manchester College, \na fine edifice, ornamented with turrets, and surmounted \nby a tower, and located in a charming spot; by St. \nMargaret\xe2\x80\x99s Church, which our driver (wishing to tell \nus it did not belong to the establishment) said was \nindependent of all religions; to the barracks of the \nhorse and foot soldiers, quartered here to the number \nof several hundreds, supported in their lazy dignity by \ngovernment; to Salford Borough Museum, a most val\xc2\xac \nuable institution, designed to bring the means of read\xc2\xac \ning and recreation within the reach of the poorer \nclasses \xe2\x80\x94 its halls filled with people of the lower \norder, its walls hung with fine paintings, its museums \nof the choicest selections, its windows commanding an \nextensive and beautiful view, and all brought by the \nhand of charity within the reach of the poorest la\xc2\xac \nborer, who has not a shilling which he can call his \nown; to the Exchange, one of the largest rooms in Eng\xc2\xac \nland, where several hundreds of men were all talking \nat once; to banks, halls, and parks, \xe2\x80\x94 until we began \nto feel acquainted with the city and its inhabitants. \n\nThere is a cathedral in Manchester; and never hav\xc2\xac \ning seen one, I was anxious to do so. The old church \ndignified by this appellation w r as built in the time of \nHenry VIII. Exteriorly it is rough, ragged, and un\xc2\xac \ncomely. The architecture is of no definite order, \nirregular, confused, and inelegant. On the tower, \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\n51 \n\n\nseveral hideous-looking images are carved, their heads \nprotruding, as if so many demons were glaring out \nupon the churchyard beneath. In entering the edi\xc2\xac \nfice, we pass through the yard, over the flat slabs laid \ndown to mark the graves of the dead. We reach the \nbuilding, and pass through the vestibule into the in\xc2\xac \nterior, where the floor is composed of marble slabs, \nbearing inscriptions nearly effaced by time. The walls \nare marred and disfigured by these mementoes of \ndeath. The interior compares with the exterior, as to \nthe confusion and irregularity of the architecture. In \nthe centre aisle is an eagle, with spread wings, stand\xc2\xac \ning on a ball. This serves as a reading-desk. Behind \nis the chancel, of very ample proportions, finely deco\xc2\xac \nrated, and very Popish in its appearance. On one side \nis a box, called the pulpit, into which the minister \nmounts when he performs that very unimportant ap\xc2\xac \npendage to the English church service \xe2\x80\x94 the sermon. \nThe pews all bear the marks of \xe2\x80\x9ca century ago.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThey are numbered and labeled, according to the rank \nand grade of those who occupy them. One was for the \ntreasurer, one for the recorder, and down through all \nthe grades of office in the city government. The fam\xc2\xac \nilies of these functionaries sit apart, in pews numbered \nand marked with their distinctive offices. One pew r or \nbench we saw marked \xe2\x80\x9c the stranger\xe2\x80\x99s pew.\xe2\x80\x9d A long- \nbench for the church-wardens bore the date of 1687. \nOn one side, under the gallery, was the baptismal font, \nof white marble, with inscriptions deemed appropriate \nby those who placed them there, such as, \xe2\x80\x9cNot by \nworks of righteousness that we have done,\xe2\x80\x9d &c. The \ncover of this vessel was a finely-carved piece of wood, \nsuspended by a chain from the ceiling above. It was \nspiral in its form, of Gothic order, and was about six \n\n\n52 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfeet high, from the top of the basin. We raised this \ncover, and dipped our sacrilegious hands into the font, \nwhich was filled with water, but were conscious of no \nhealing efficacy being derived therefrom. My idea of \na cathedral was not realized in this first specimen; \nand I went away thinking I could remember an old \nchurch in America more beautiful in my estimation, \nand associated in my mind with more hallowed mem\xc2\xac \nories, than this proud and venerable pile, which has \nstood on this spot so many years, and to which kings \nand princes came to worship in days of yore. \n\nHaving been in England a few days, I began to \nnotice the peculiarities of the people. We are accused \nof our \xe2\x80\x9cYankeeisms\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94 our \xe2\x80\x9cI reckon\xe2\x80\x9d and \xe2\x80\x9cI guess,\xe2\x80\x9d \nand similar phrases, which are peculiar to the States. \nBut we soon became convinced that our English friends \nhave nothing to reproach us with on that score. On \ninquiring the way to our hotel, we were told that it \nwas \xe2\x80\x9c a long bit of a way down; \xe2\x80\x9d or \xe2\x80\x9c a nice large \npiece up ; \xe2\x80\x9d or \xe2\x80\x9c a big, long way over.\xe2\x80\x9d If at the mu\xc2\xac \nseum we asked the name of a certain bird, we were told \nthat it was a \xe2\x80\x9chowl.\xe2\x80\x9d Frequently we were told \xe2\x80\x9cthe \nhair hout was ot,\xe2\x80\x9d and \xe2\x80\x9c Prince Halbert\xe2\x80\x9d was described \nas a nice young gentleman. These provincialisms, \nwhich sound so strangely to our ears, are familiar to \nthem; and our by-words and catch-phrases are as sin\xc2\xac \ngular and uncomely in their estimation as are theirs to \nus: so, in these respects, the two countries have no \nreason to reproach each other. \n\nWere I to sum up my idea of Manchester in a few \nwords, I should say it was a larger city, a more quiet \nand orderly city, a neater and more beautiful city, \xe2\x80\x94 \nmore desirable as a place of residence, and less odious on \naccount of its crowds of paupers, \xe2\x80\x94 than I had before \n\n\nMANCHESTER. \n\n\n53 \n\n\nimagined. I think the general impressions which exist \nin many minds in America in relation to this city are \nnot well founded, and a visit to it would dissipate \nmany of the erroneous impressions which now prevail \nso extensively. \n\nWe left Manchester for Birmingham one evening \nabout dusk. Like lightning, or very certainly faster \nthan I ever rode before, we passed towns which were so \nfar below us that we could look down upon the roofs \nand chimneys; brooks and little ponds, where, in the \nfading light, swans could be seen flapping in the water ; \ngreen bowers, where children, whose forms could scarce\xc2\xac \nly be seen, were at play, and rich fields of grain, which \nwaved in the night breeze, or nestled in the pale light \nof the new moon ; brick yards, where men and women \nwere employed; iron founderies, which sent out their \nlurid fires to render night more dismal; until all alike \nwere concealed from us in the darkness of the night, \nsave only some flashing fire from chimney, kiln, or \nfoundery, which lent a dismal aspect to the surround\xc2\xac \ning blackness. \n\ne * \n\n\n54 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nIV. \n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\nWe arrived at Birmingham late at night, and found \nthe streets full of disorderly and half-drunken people. \nSome kind of a festival during the day had given \xe2\x80\x9c lewd \nfellows of the baser sort \xe2\x80\x9d an unusual license to indul\xc2\xac \ngence, and we found our way to a hotel through clus\xc2\xac \nters of profane, irreligious, and abandoned men and \nwomen. My first impressions of Birmingham were \nunfavorable; and I have noticed, in all my journeyings, \nthat first impressions are the strongest, and cling to \nme sometimes after facts have proved that they were \nill founded. These impressions were confirmed by a \nconversation I had with a policeman, whom I found in \nfront of my hotel, who gave me a vivid description of \nsome of the scenes of crime in this place. Pointing to \na long, dark, narrow street, he said, \xe2\x80\x9c There are more \ncrimes carried on and concealed in that street than in \nany one of its length in the world.\xe2\x80\x9d Hence, I retired \nto rest with no very favorable idea of the good habits \nof the people of Birmingham. But the sun of the \nnext morning, which arose bright and beautiful, and \nshed a flood of gladness over the great city, gave a more \nfavorable representation than did the dark streets the \nevening before; and as I pursued my way from one \npublic edifice to another, from one great industrial \nexhibition to another, all the impressions of the last \nnight were effaced by the display of beauty, skill, and \nwealth which meets the eye in every direction. \n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\n55 \n\n\nMy first visit was to the Papier Mache Manufactory, \nwhere the whole process was laid open to us. The \nmanufacture of papier mache articles is much more \nsimple than I had believed. The basis of the work is \na coarse gray paper, four sheets of which are pasted \ntogether and dried, then four more, until the substance \nis of the required thickness. The thick hard board \nthus made is then cut and cast into the proper form \nand size, and then painted and coated. The pearl is \nthen glued on, and a varnish applied to the whole, \nwhich is rubbed down with pumice stone, until the \nsurface is even. Figures are then drawn or painted \naccording to the taste of the artist, after which the \nwhole is washed and polished. In the saloon con\xc2\xac \nnected with this establishment, we saw a great variety \nof articles thus made, such as chairs, tables, chess\xc2\xac \nboards, lounges, and ornaments of all descriptions. \n\nWe next came to the Electro Plate Works of \nElkington, Mason, & Co., where the process of plating \nwith silver and gold was shown us. Six hundred per\xc2\xac \nsons, mostly women, are here employed, and articles of \nimmense value are continually being turned out. The \nsaloon, into which we were shown by the very gentle\xc2\xac \nmanly proprietors, was full of the finished articles, \nforming a rich display, such as can be seen nowhere \nelse in England. A day we spent in visiting the \ndifferent manufactories of the place. From the Electro \nPlate Manufactory, we passed to the Glass Works, next \nto the Bronze and Brass Works; then, to Gillott\xe2\x80\x99s \nSteel Pen Manufactory, and thus through whatever of \ninterest we could discover. \n\nThe stranger in Birmingham is urged to visit the \nTown Hall, said to be the most spacious room in \nEngland. It is built from the model of an ancient \n\n\n56 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nGrecian temple. It stands upon a rough, coarse base\xc2\xac \nment, on which rise beautiful marble columns, each \nweighing twenty-six tuns, and being thirty-six feet high, \nforming one of the most beautiful exteriors seen in \nEngland. The hall is one hundred and forty-five feet \nlong, sixty-five broad, and sixty-five high, making six \nhundred thousand cubic feet, and is capable of seating \nnearly five thousand persons, and standing an indefi\xc2\xac \nnite number of others. \n\nIn this hall is an immense organ, which is thus \ndescribed by an inhabitant of Birmingham: \xe2\x80\x9c The organ \ncase is forty feet wide, forty-five feet high, and seven\xc2\xac \nteen feet deep. The largest wood pipe measures, in the \ninterior, two hundred and twenty-four cubic feet. The \nbellows of the organ contains three hundred square \nfeet of surface, and upwards of three tuns w T eight upon \nthe bellows are required to give the necessary pressure. \nIt is calculated that the trackers in the organ, if laid \nout in a straight line, would reach above five miles. \nThere are seventy-eight draw stops, four sets of keys, \nand above four thousand pipes. The weight of the \ninstrument is about forty tuns; it cost about four thou\xc2\xac \nsand pounds, and in the depth, powder, variety, and \nsweetness of its tone, far surpasses any in Europe/\xe2\x80\x99 \nThis latter assertion is a matter of doubt, inasmuch as \nthere are one or two others equal, if not superior, to this. \n\nFrom the hall I found my way to the grammar \nschool founded by Edward VI., in 1552. The build\xc2\xac \ning used by this school is a fine Gothic edifice, of very \nelaborate design, quadrangular in form, with a front \none hundred and seventy-four feet long, and was erected \nat a cost of about forty thousand pounds. The school \nis divided into two departments, one for the study \nof the English branches, and the other for the classics. \n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\n57 \n\n\nThis school was founded, and originally supported, by \nthe income of a piece of land amounting to but thirty- \none pounds. In consequence of improvements being \nmade on and around it, the income has now increased \nto seven thousand pounds. About five hundred boys \nare here educated, without expense to their parents, by \none principal and twelve or fifteen assistants. The \nprincipal received us with much courtesy, and con\xc2\xac \nducted us through the various apartments. His salary \nis four hundred pounds. This school forms a most \nnoble charity, and is one of the ornaments of that great \ncity. There are four other schools, which, in a city \nof about two hundred and twenty thousand inhab\xc2\xac \nitants, give instruction to about one thousand children, \non the same foundation. \n\nAs I left the school, and passed along to St. Martin\xe2\x80\x99s \nChurch, which was said to be a curiosity in its way, I saw \nthe celebrated statue of Nelson, in bronze, which was \nexecuted nearly a half century ago, at an expense of \nabout twenty-five hundred pounds. Statues of Nelson \nmay be found all over England, as thick as gods in \nIndia. He is the naval hero of the nation, and \xe2\x80\x9c Nile \xe2\x80\x9d \nand \xe2\x80\x9c Trafalgar \xe2\x80\x9d are names known to the most ignorant \nchildren in the highways. His notable words, \xe2\x80\x9c Eng\xc2\xac \nland expects every man to do his duty,\xe2\x80\x9d form the motto \nof thousands, and are inscribed on marble and engraved \nin brass and iron. \n\nWe arrived at the old church, which was built about \nnine hundred years ago, by William de Birmingham. \nIt was cased with brick about two hundred years ago, \nto keep it from falling down. The most notable things \nabout this church are the effigies in marble, as large as \nlife, which are supposed to have been made about ten \ncenturies ago, and are here preserved. Very curious \n\n8 \n\n\n58 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwould they be in some museum of antiquities, but in a \nChristian church are only deformities, which turn the \nmind of the worshiper away from the true God. As \nI stood in this venerable structure, and looked up to its \ncrumbling walls, the brevity of man impressed itself \nmost powerfully upon my mind. Here, I thought, is an \nedifice which has outlived its designer, and all who saw \nit rise; and even the page of history does not tell when \nits foundations were laid, while brief man continues \nonly threescore years and ten, and then decays. There \nare some singularly constructed and singularly named \nchurches in all the old English towns. I frequently \nsaw churches called by the follo wing names: \xe2\x80\x9c All \nSaints,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c St. Catharine\xe2\x80\x99s,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c St. George\xe2\x80\x99s,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c St. Bride\xe2\x80\x99s,\xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c St. Sepulcher\xe2\x80\x99s,\xe2\x80\x9d and one or two blasphemously bore \nthe name of \xe2\x80\x9c St. Savior.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs my object in traveling was more to see men than \nthings, I inquired one evening for some place of literary \nentertainment, or religious worship, and was informed \nthat Rev. John Angell James was to preach in his \nlecture-room in Carr\xe2\x80\x99s Street. I found the place, and \nwent into a small room, dingy in appearance, irregular \nin form, poorly lighted. The people were singing as I \nentered, all over the house, in one of the most harmo\xc2\xac \nnious discords I ever heard. Mr. James was in the \npulpit ; he is about sixty years of age, inclining \nslightly to corpulency. His hair is gray, his counte\xc2\xac \nnance full, and beaming with English good nature. \nHe is not like our lean, pale, cadaverous looking \nclergymen, who glide like specters into their pulpits, \nand squeak out a dolorous sound which they call a \nsermon, and retire, as their congregation sometimes \nimagine, to their tombs, but a robust Englishman, who \nlooked as well able to hold the plough, or eat a dinner, \nas to write a sermon. \n\n\nl \n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\n59 \n\n\nHis text, on this occasion, was from Isaiah. His \ntheme, as near as I could discover, was, the presence \nof God the joy of the church. This was treated under \ntwo general divisions: 1. God in the church. ( a.) By \nthe mediation of Christ. (5.) By His providences. \n( c.) By His Holy Spirit. 2. The duty of the Christian \nto rejoice in this fact, (a.) Because the condition of \nthe church is secure. ( h.) Because her progress is \nonward. ( c.) Her ultimate triumph is certain. This \ndiscourse was evidently delivered without much previ\xc2\xac \nous preparation. The style was heavy and lumberous, \nand I left the chapel disappointed. Had this been my \nonly opportunity of hearing this distinguished man, I \nshould have regretted that I heard him at all. But \nwhen I listened to him afterwards, in Exeter Hall and \nother places, all I had ever anticipated in his eloquence \nwas more than realized. \n\nAt the close of the service, I had a few minutes\xe2\x80\x99 \nconversation with him. His conversational powers are \ngreat; he inquired about our country with much in\xc2\xac \nterest, and said, \xe2\x80\x9c All the world is looking to Amer\xc2\xac \nica.\xe2\x80\x9d He evidently has few of those feelings common \nto the people of England, which lead them to look \ndown with contempt upon any thing and any person \nfrom America. His comprehensive mind looks upon \nthe vast extent and rising energy of the new world \nwith a pleasure and solicitude which indicate his ac\xc2\xac \nquaintance with our institutions and prospects. And \nhere I may remark, that I found throughout England \na great degree of ignorance, among people generally \nwell informed, in relation to our country. The people \nare acquainted with the plans and politics of France, \nAustria, Russia, and other Eur\xe2\x80\x99opcan nations, but seem \nto be almost entirely destitute of information as to \n\n\n60 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nour geography, institutions, and progress. The gen\xc2\xac \neral tone of remark in many circles would indicate \nthat the people of America are but a step removed \nfrom barbarism, descendants of Indians \xe2\x80\x94 Indians them\xc2\xac \nselves, slightly improved. A few instances of this will \nshow my meaning. In conversation, one day, with a \nwell-educated physician of London, our remarks turned \nupon the modes of living in America; and one thing \nleading to another, I was soon aware that my kind and \nintelligent host believed that Americans, instead of \nrising and quietly retiring from the table after dinner, \nwould throw their feet upon the board, and, if they \nwished, spit across, on, or under the table, as was most \nconvenient. The habit of spitting is considered pecu\xc2\xac \nliarly odious, and peculiarly American; and many per\xc2\xac \nsons imagine that we are in the vulgar habit of spit\xc2\xac \nting in the pulpit, at the table, on ladies\xe2\x80\x99 dresses, and \nin the hats of friends. But as vulgar as the habit is, \nand as prevalent among us as it may be, it cannot be \nmore objectionable to them than the vulgar habit of \nsnuff-faking, which prevails in Europe, is to us. I \nhave seen snuff taken in the stage, in the family, in \nthe store, at the table, and in the pulpit, by men who \nmake the highest claim to gentility and fashionable \neducation. A distinguished clergyman in Paris, on the \nday when I went to hear him, paused at the close of \nevery division of an able discourse, and deliberately \ndrawing his snuff-box from his pocket, used its con\xc2\xac \ntents, and then went to preaching again as furiously as \na farmer would go to mowing after a potent dram. \n\nOf our geography they seem to know as little as of \nour habits. A clergyman asked me one day if New \nEngland was in Massachusetts. Had I asked him if \nEurope was in Italy, he would have ridiculed my \n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\n61 \n\n\nignorance, and justly too; and yet my question would \nhave been as reasonable as his. A gentleman who was \npresiding at a temperance meeting in Exeter Hall \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe editor of a London paper -\xe2\x80\x94 introduced a speaker \nas from Portland, Massachusetts. He was corrected; \nbut, making another blunder, he said, 44 The gentleman \nis from Maine , Massachusetts.\xe2\x80\x9d Should the presiding \nofficer of a meeting in America introduce a speaker \nas from Scotland , England, the children present would \nsmile at his ignorance; and yet the moderator of a meet\xc2\xac \ning in England feels no blush if lie makes such a mis\xc2\xac \ntake with reference to our country. You may remem- \nber that, on one occasion, Mr. Webster was spoken of \nby a distinguished Englishman as a 44 member of the \nUpper Senate of New York\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 a blunder very pardon\xc2\xac \nable in a child or an ignoramus, but not in a statesman \nor a man of letters. \n\nOne day, on the platform of Exeter Hall, I met \nwith a distinguished member of the society of Friends. \nHe asked where I was from, and who I was, and added, \n44 Why, thee talk our language as well as we do\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94the \npoor man evidently thinking we used here the dialect \nof the Indians, or the brogue of the Irish, when the fact \nis, the English language is used nowhere in the world \nwith as much purity as in New England; and of this \nfact all Englishmen who have ever visited our country \nare aware. I repeatedly heard the remark, when I in\xc2\xac \nformed friends with whom I became acquainted where T \nwas from, 44 Why, you are no darker than our people! \xe2\x80\x9d \nor 44 You are as light as an Englishman ! \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94as if they \nexpected I was of a copper color, when all the blood \nwhich flows in my veins I have derived from an Eng\xc2\xac \nlish ancestry. In the great exhibition, in the depart\xc2\xac \nment of America, are two model Indians, adorned in \n\nF \n\n\n62 \n\n\nEUROPA \n\n\nall tlie quills, feathers, and laces of an Indian chief and \nhis wife, or squaw. An intelligent-looking lady one \nday was overheard to ask a member of the House of \nCommons, with all apparent seriousness, if \xe2\x80\x9c all Amer\xc2\xac \nicans w r ere like these.\xe2\x80\x99\' \n\nIf I should say that this ignorance of and prejudice \nagainst America was found in all circles, it would not \nbe true. Where America is knoAvn, she is appreciated; \nand among all the people of different nations, I have \nfound none more agreeable and kind than our English \nfriends. When once you get under the cold, icy, out\xc2\xac \nside crust of English life, you find the finest and most \ndelightful society in the world. \n\nBut we return to Birmingham. To its credit be it \nsaid, it has, with its two hundred and twenty thousand \ninhabitants, about sixty churches, some fifty of which \nare evangelical, and but few theaters; many pious min\xc2\xac \nisters, and few preachers of error; many scenes of \npure and reasonable recreation, and very few which are \ndegrading and vicious. It is one vast workshop \xe2\x80\x94 one \nindustrial exhibition, in which all trades are represented. \nHere may be found all kinds of iron work, glass works, \ntin and brass works, button manufactories, pin and pen \nfactories, electro plating, papier mache working, India \nrubber works, manufactories where fire-arms, metallic; \nfurniture, cloth, and almost every other namable article \nis produced in the most finished manner, and in the \nlargest quantities. \n\nNor docs the stranger find the country surrounding \nBirmingham to be destitute of interest. Out at a little \ndistance is Coventry, and the old ruins of Kenilworth \nCastle, and Warwick Castle and town, in which still \nremain the evidences of former greatness \xe2\x80\x94 the halls \nwhere kings and queens reveled in luxury. Still beyond \n\n\nBIRMINGHAM. \n\n\n63 \n\n\nis Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of William Shak- \nspeare, with the old house in which he was born still \nstanding. Still farther off is Dudley Castle, memorable \nin the history of the past, and living with the associa\xc2\xac \ntions which link the past to the present and the future. \nIndeed, every inch of ground in this vicinity is historic; \nevery cliff, and hill, and vale bring to mind some scene \nof glory or shame of which poets have sung, or over \nwhich orators have grown eloquent. \n\nWe left Birmingham early one morning for London, \nthe Babylon of modern times; and into that great city \nour readers, in the next chapter, will be taken. \n\n\n64 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\nv. \n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\nOne day, about ten o\xe2\x80\x99clock in the morning, I found \nmyself in a London omnibus, rolling away from the \nrailroad station, towards I knew not where, near the \ncenter of the great city. Where we were \xe2\x80\x9c put down \xe2\x80\x9d \nmattered little to myself and associates. We had no \nhome; and one part of the city was as likely to afford \nus a stopping-place as another. The streets were \nblocked up with carriages and cabs, and crowds of \n\\ busy men were moving to and fro. Now we were \nobliged to wait until the street-way could be cleared; \nand anon we were dashing on by proud churches, well- \nfilled stores, and grand residences. Near the Bank we \nleft the \xe2\x80\x9c bus,\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x99 and commenced our search for a tem\xc2\xac \nporary home. We soon found that we could live any \nwhere, and at any price; for, notwithstanding the \ncrowded state of the city, we found \xe2\x80\x9c apartments to \nlet \xe2\x80\x9d in great abundance. We soon engaged lodgings, \nincluding breakfast, service, &c., for three shillings and \neightpence per day. Under this arrangement, we were \nto find our dinner and tea where we could, which usu\xc2\xac \nally cost about three shillings more, making our daily \nexpense six shillings and eightpence. To this was to \nbe added the expense of washing, sight-seeing, riding, \nand other extras, which we found, notwithstanding the \ncheapness of our board, to amount to a considerable \nsum by the close of the week. \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n65 \n\n\nMy companions, being somewhat particular as to \nwhat they ate and where they slept, determined to \nmake an effort to improve our condition, and forthwith \ncommenced a most amusing search for a new abode. \nOne of the visits which we made, one morning, I may \nas well describe. Seeing a notice on the window of a \nhouse on G\xe2\x80\x94 Street, informing the public that \xe2\x80\x9c rooms \nwere to be let,\xe2\x80\x9d we inquired. An elderly lady, stiff and \nstarched, opened the door, and in a shrill tone inquired \nwhat we wanted. Our first business was to examine \nthe lady. We eyed her from head to foot \xe2\x80\x94 from her \ncap, which was none of the cleanest, and that covered \na head which certainly had not been too neighborly \nwith the comb, down to the shoe, which, as she walked, \nwent up and down, down and up, in heelless propriety. \nHaving satisfied ourselves on this point, we were shown \nup over a narrow and crazy staircase, into a bed-room, \nwhich we were informed would do for two. The bed \nwas a small one; but our persevering hostess surveyed \nus leisurely, and decided that one of my companions \nand myself could occupy it comfortably \xe2\x80\x94 on the prin\xc2\xac \nciple, I suppose, that he, being a man of aldermanic \nproportions, could occupy two thirds, while I, being of \nmuch smaller dimensions, could content myself with \nthe other third. The room was also small; but here \nour Yankee ingenuity suggested a plan by which all \ndifficulty arising from this might be obviated, which \nsimply was, that each could use it half of the time. \nSo far so good. We now began to inquire what could \nbe done for our companion; for we were three. We \nwere escorted into another room, which w r as to be our \nparlor, and in the middle of which w r as a rickety sofa, \non which were some bed-clothes. This was the bed for \nthe third. Now, it happened that, while the bed was \n\n9 f* \n\n\n66 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nvery short, the man was very long. But we measured \n(with the eye) the bed, and then the man, and finally \nconcluded that, with a few crooks and turns of the \nlower limbs, he could be made to stay thereon ; and we \npronounced it \xe2\x80\x9c very good.\xe2\x80\x9d But it is not to be sup\xc2\xac \nposed that we should be received without some inquiry \ninto our plans and characters ; and the good lady began \nto ask who we were, and what we wanted in the great \ncity. The rules of her house, she said, were strict: \nshe had some boarders already, who were very correct \nin their habits, among whom were two persons con\xc2\xac \nnected with the \xe2\x80\x9c gentry,\xe2\x80\x9d which she thought a great \ninducement for us to stop with her. We had been in \nLondon so short a time, that we had seen none of the \ngentry; and you may judge how much this fact must \nhave weighed with us. In reply to all her questions, \nwe told her that we were three very modest, amiable \nmen from America, who had come over to see the \nFair; that we were clergymen, and, of course, would \nkeep very good hours, and behave properly; that we \nwere very well-bred men, and would endeavor not to \noffend the delicate ears of the \xe2\x80\x9c gentry \xe2\x80\x9d whom we \nmight meet at her house. We left the door with the \nremark, that, if we decided to make her house our \nhome, we would call again in a few hours. \n\nI will not tell you how many visits like this we made, \nbefore, a few days afterwards, we found ourselves lo\xc2\xac \ncated in the family of a fine, intelligent English woman, \nin Arundel Street, within a walk of five minutes of \nExeter Hall on one side, and St. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s on the other \xe2\x80\x94 \nmidway between the Strand, flowing with life, and full \nof beauty, and \xe2\x80\x9c old Father Thames,\xe2\x80\x9d covered with gay \nsteamers, and alive with its busy industry. Here our \nexpenses were slightly more than at the place where \nwe stopped on our arrival. \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n67 \n\n\nBeing now comfortably settled, we began to look \naround, and attend to the objects of interest which \nevery where presented themselves. London is a won\xc2\xac \nderful city, forming, with its environs, a vast mass of \nbuildings, packed in and piled up, and crowded with \npeople. \xe2\x80\x9c You can travel,\xe2\x80\x9d says one, \xe2\x80\x9ceighteen miles, \nfrom Brentford to Stratford, through an uninterrupted \nsuccession of thickly-planted houses.\xe2\x80\x9d The city of \nLondon itself is a very small spot, with St. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s for \nits center, extending in one direction to Temple Bar, \nand in the other to Aldgate. The lord mayor presides \nover this little territory, while the city of Westminster, \nthe Tower Hamlets, and the different boroughs, are \nunder other administrations. But while the city is \nsmall, London, in the aggregate, is a vast and densely- \npopulated territory, stretching east and west eleven \nmiles, and north and south six miles, lying on both \nsides of the River Thames, linked together by bridges \nof wood, stone, and iron; having within its limits, \naccording to the nicest calculations, two hundred and \nfifty thousand houses, two million and one hundred \nthousand inhabitants, with one hundred and twenty- \nfive thousand visitors, constantly coming and going, \nswelling the mighty tide of life which is ever sur\xc2\xac \nging in and out of the open gates. I have walked \nalong the streets for hours, bewildered with the din and \nconfusion of the scene. The impressions which I \nreceived as a man were very much like the impressions \nwhich I received as a child, when I first visited a great \nmanufacturing establishment. The noise, the hurry, \nthe confusion of the whole scene, arrested the current \nof life, and I felt awed as I gazed upon the revolving \nwheels, and hard-working engines, products of the \ngenius of man. And when I roamed day after day \n\n\n68 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nalong the streets, through the crowded thoroughfares, \nup the little alleys, and down the obscure lanes of the \ngreat metropolis, all alive with industry, and moving \nwith human beings, I felt awed by the imposing mag\xc2\xac \nnitude of the spectacle. \n\nSome of the streets of London are wide and spa\xc2\xac \ncious ; others are narrow, overhung with warehouses, \nand abound in filth and wretchedness. Along some, \narmies might move by companies and regiments; while \nin others, two wheelbarrows might find it hard to pass. \nSome of these streets are straight, and some crooked in \nall directions ; some running on for miles, and some \nshort and dark; some containing the abodes of nobles, \nand some the hovels of thieves and beggars. \n\nThe parks of London, which are very numerous and \nfinely laid out, and which have been called the \xe2\x80\x9c lungs \nof the city,\xe2\x80\x9d are open during the day, and furnish \nplaces of exercise and recreation for thousands of \nthe people. These parks are decorated with flowers, \ntrees, and ponds, and appear like gardens in the midst \nof palaces. The wisdom of the government in saving \nthese open grounds from the encroachments of com\xc2\xac \nmerce and industry, and keeping them devoted to health \nand recreation, is apparent. Hyde Park is the largest, \nand contains four hundred acres. Through it flows \nthe Serpentine, on which little pleasure boats are seen \ngliding about, and aquatic birds amuse themselves, and \nfurnish sport for the beholder. \n\nThe public gardens at Kensington, and in Regent\xe2\x80\x99s \nPark, and in other places, are open summer and winter, \nand draw great crowds ; in summer to enjoy the shady \nwalks, and in winter to find amusement and instruction \nin the zoological exhibitions which are held there. \n\nIn the parks, and indeed all over London, noble \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n69 \n\n\nstatues and monumental piles, to commemorate illustri\xc2\xac \nous deeds, and perpetuate illustrious names, are found, \nwhich add remarkably to the beauty of the city. In \nTrafalgar Square rises a most beautiful column, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Designed for Nelson of the Nile, \n\nOf Trafalgar, and Vincent\xe2\x80\x99s heights \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor Nelson of the hundred fights.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn Carlton Gardens rises the noble column of the \nDuke of York, on which a bronze statue of the old \nman stands looking down from the elevation of one \nhundred and twenty-four feet, upon the moving crowds \nbelow. \n\nIn Fish Street is a Doric shaft, two hundred and two \nfeet high, erected in commemoration of the great fire \nwhich, in 1666, swept with desolating fury through \nthe city, reducing it to a heap of smouldering ruins. \nAround its base, life swarms, heaves, and surges, while \nabove is seen an urn of blazing fire, which glistens in \nthe sun, and is the expressive memento of a conflagra\xc2\xac \ntion such as Europe never saw in a time of peace \nbefore. Besides, there are many columns and statues, \nin stone and bronze, of Nelson, Wellington, the kings \nand queens of the past and the present, orators and \nstatesmen, warriors and priests, which rise all over the \ncity, like so many expressions of living gratitude to \ndeparted worth. \n\nThe people of London have sufficient amusement. \nExeter Hall is open almost every evening for some \nkind of entertainment. Oratarios and concerts are held \nevery week, and sometimes every evening of the week. \nPublic lectures of a literary and scientific character are \nadvertised in every paper. Churches are open at almost \nall hours ; twenty-one theaters, as the guide-books \n\n\n70 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ninform us, are in full operation. Exhibitions of paint\xc2\xac \nings, panoramas, and dioramas are placarded on every \ncorner. Wax figures, bronze work, marble statuary, \nare presented for the examination and patronage of the \npeople. Public gardens, in which are many pleasures \nduring the day, and music and fireworks in the even\xc2\xac \ning, are continually open; while performances of a \nlower character, immoral, beastly, and degrading, are \nheld covertly and in concealment. Whatever may be \na man\xe2\x80\x99s taste, he can find something which will accord \nwith it; whatever may be his inclination, he can find \nsomething to gratify it. He can select the purest soci\xc2\xac \nety and pleasures, the most refined and delicate enjoy\xc2\xac \nment, or plunge down into the depths of shame and \ninfamy. He can feast his soul on the refinement and \ndelight of literature and religion, or he can bury himself \nin the shades of crime, and conceal himself in dens of \nvice, into which the sun does not penetrate at noonday. \n\nOf the public buildings of London I have but \nlittle time to speak: some will come up hereafter, \nothers will be passed over altogether. Let us walk \naround the city, directing our steps to objects of the \ngreatest interest. We are in front of the Bank of \nEngland, an imposing structure, built in imitation of \nthe Temple of Venus at Tivoli. Men in gold and \nscarlet question us as we pass up, and servants in buff \ncoats, red vests, dark pants, and a bank medal attached \nto one of the buttons, politely conduct us through the \npremises. We find this pile of buildings to cover a \nsomewhat irregular area of eight acres, built in the \nmost secure and durable manner, and filled with offi\xc2\xac \ncers and clerks, who are actively engaged. About one \nthousand men are employed as clerks, porters, and \nwatchmen. At night, forty soldiers are on the ground, \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OE LONDON. \n\n\n71 \n\n\nand every measure taken to prevent robbery. We see \nhere men counting out bills to a vast amount, shoveling \ngold like pebbles, and handling money as if it were a \nuseless thing. We pass through some sixty depart\xc2\xac \nments, where all the various branches of banking are \nperformed, from the stamping of the paper to the \ndistribution of it to the people. In the vaults below \nthe ground, bars of gold, and checks which have been \ndrawn, one by government to the amount (I think) of \none million of pounds, are shown us, and we pass from \nplace to place with no little wonder at the magnitude \nof the operation. Vast as the whole is, the most per\xc2\xac \nfect order prevails. Each one knows his own business, \nand attends to it; and like the clock which indicates the \ntime on sixteen different dials in as many rooms, so is \nall this vast human machinery moved by one man, \nwho is at the head, and presides over all. We are told \nthat the expense of carrying on this great banking \noperation is about two hundred and twenty thousand \npounds annually. The whole is on a scale of grandeur \nand magnificence unequaled by any banking institution \nin the world. \n\nWe next wend our way to the British Museum, one \nof the finest buildings in London, as vet scarcelv com- \npleted, situated in Bloomsbury. Here the visitor must \nspend many an hour, if he would see to any valuable \npurpose this wonderful collection. We pass from \ngallery to gallery, from hall to hall, from saloon to sa\xc2\xac \nloon, in our pleasing task. In one gallery we find the \nrelics discovered by Layard at Nimroud, brought here \nat an immense expense; colossal heads; monuments \non which unread inscriptions yet appear; idols of huge \nproportions and fanciful construction; chariots and \nhorsemen. In other departments, we see splendid \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n72 \n\ncollections of birds, from the tiny hummingbird to the \nbald eagle, from the goldfinch to the peacock; ani\xc2\xac \nmals, from the mouse to the elephant, the walrus, and \nthe mastadon; human skeletons embedded in lime\xc2\xac \nstone ; Egyptian remains in vast variety; mummies, \nsome as they were brought from the land of mythology; \nothers partly unrolled, and others entirely exposed. \nEvery age and clime have sent contributions to this \ngreat collection, and here, daily, antiquarians, artists, \nand scholars come to study out the mysterious lines \nwhich are written on every feature of the past. The \nlibrary connected with the Museum is the largest in the \nworld. It contains more than one million volumes, ten \nthousand maps, thirty thousand manuscripts, and a great \nvariety of seals, parchments, and papers. A large part \nof if was given to the British nation by George IV., \nand is well selected, possessing great value, independ\xc2\xac \nent of the number of volumes. Here are the original \nmanuscripts of Tasso, Pope\xe2\x80\x99s Iliad, the works of rare \nBen Jonson; also letters written by Napoleon, Catha\xc2\xac \nrine de 7 Medici, Peter the Great, Nelson, Mary of the \nScots, the various kings of France, Washington, Bacon, \nLocke, Newton, Dryden, Addison, Franklin, Voltaire, \nErasmus, Luther, Knox, Calvin, Cranmer, Latimer, \nMelancthon, Wolsey, Leibnitz, and others. One feels, \nas he gazes upon the autographs of great \xe2\x80\x98men, who \nhave moved the world, some by the sword, and some \nby the tongue, and some by the pen, that he is com\xc2\xac \nmuning with the buried past. His mind is borne back to \nother days, and he sweeps with Napoleon over the field \nof blood; shouts with Cromwell, \xe2\x80\x9c God and religion,\xe2\x80\x9d \nas he rushes to the charge ; stands with Luther before \nthe diet, and pleads nobly for the great rights of con\xc2\xac \nscience ; or sits down and gazes over the shoulder of \n\n\n\n\n\xc2\xa5 -i \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\n\n9 \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n73 \n\n\nCalvin, as he composes the Institutes in his cheerless \nstudy in Geneva. It would require more than one day \nto describe what was seen in the British Musuem, and \nmany days to utter the sentiments to which that exhi\xc2\xac \nbition gave rise. It is a noble institution, and nobly \nconducted. With the usual generosity of the English, \nthe doors are open to the public; no fee or pass is de\xc2\xac \nmanded ; and the richest and the poorest, the citizen and \nthe stranger, can enjoy the liberality of a powerful nation. \n\nThere are various other museums and collections of \ncuriosities in London, in examining which a stranger \nmay occupy weeks and months, and at the end find his \ntask incomplete. Public property and private fortunes \nhave been expended in this way, and no one can fail to \nexpress his admiration of the scope and grandeur of \nthis form of public instruction and recreation. \n\nTurning back from the Museum, we enter St. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s \nChurch, the largest and most magnificent in the king\xc2\xac \ndom. This noble structure was designed by Sir Chris\xc2\xac \ntopher Wren, and was commenced by him in 1673, and \ncompleted in 1715. It is built in the form of a Greek \ncross, and is, exteriorly and interiorly, worthy of the \ngreat city of which it marks the center. Marble stat\xc2\xac \nues adorn the interior, and over the whole rises a spa\xc2\xac \ncious dome, surmounted by a ball and cross, to which \nthe visitor ascends by a winding staircase. Prom the \nGolden Gallery, which is just below the ball, a line \nview of London is obtained. I well remember the \nmorning on which I gazed from that high elevation \nupon the sea of dwellings spread out below. The \ngrandest conception of the city is obtained from this \npoint. As far as the eye can reach, \xe2\x80\x94 north, south, \neast, and west, \xe2\x80\x94 the country is covered with churches, \nhouses, and manufactories\xe2\x80\x94one wide wilderness, losing \n\n10 G \n\n\n74 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nitself in the misty distance. As you stand on the dome \nof St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, you see Pome gathered close around \nyou \xe2\x80\x94 a comfortable city, indeed, but not like this. \nAround you are the towers and tombs, the castles and \npalaces, while beyond, for miles, in the clear atmosphere, \nstretches the Poman Campagna, across which no rail \ncar hurries, and on which hardly an object of interest \nor a sign of life can be seen. But from the dome of \nSt. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s scarcely a green spot or an open space can \nbe discovered. Even the streets look like little ave\xc2\xac \nnues, and nought but the red house tops, the gilded \nspires, and the smoking chimneys arise to the sight. \n\nIn the crypt under the church repose some of Eng\xc2\xac \nland\xe2\x80\x99s most illustrious men. Beneath the center of the \ndome is the tomb of Nelson, his last battle fought, and \nhis body crumbling back to dust. Near by is all that \nremains of the mortal Lord Collingwood. At a dis\xc2\xac \ntance are the resting-places of Christopher Wren, Ben\xc2\xac \njamin West, and other men of genius. Here they sleep, \nawaiting the sound of the last trumpet, which shall call \nthem again to life. \n\nI will not attempt to give a description of the Cathe\xc2\xac \ndral. Its dimensions will be seen by the bare an\xc2\xac \nnouncement that it is five hundred and ten feet long \nwithin the walls; from the floor to the center of the \ndome, three hundred and forty feet; the circumference \nof the dome within is three hundred feet \xe2\x80\x94 well pro\xc2\xac \nportioned, well built, and forming one of the objects of \ninterest which the stranger is most anxious to behold. \nDaily devotions are held here, in which the English \nservice is read, sung, chanted, or performed in the most \ndull and stupid manner imaginable. The monotony of \nthe service; the indolent, careless, irreligious, and often \ngross and sensual look of those who engage in it; the \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n75 \n\n\ninattention of the people; and the evident want of \ndevotion in priest and worshippers, \xe2\x80\x94 resemble any \nthing but the worship of God. \n\nThe churches of London are generally heavy, mas\xc2\xac \nsive, uncomely structures, but will bear comparison \nwith the churches of Boston and New York. Some \nfew of them are associated in our minds with great \nevents in history, and some few a stranger will visit \nfor their architectural beauty or antique appearance. \nBeneath them all, or around them, the dead repose; \nand the walls are often disfigured by inscriptions to the \nmemory of men long since departed and forgotten. In \nSt. Mary Woolnorth lies the body of John Newton, \na former rector. A tablet, bearing an inscription writ\xc2\xac \nten by himself, reads as follows: \xe2\x80\x9cJohn Newton \xe2\x80\x94 \nonce an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in \nAfrica \xe2\x80\x94 was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Sa\xc2\xac \nvior Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and ap\xc2\xac \npointed to preach the faith he once labored to destroy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSt. Mary-le-Bow, noted for its connection with events \nin past times, has one of the most beautiful steeples \nin London, and is a fine old edifice of Wren\xe2\x80\x99s design\xc2\xac \ning. In All-Hallows Church Milton was christened, \nand in St. Giles\xe2\x80\x99s, Cripplegate, he was buried. In this \nlatter church \xe2\x80\x94 which is memorable for the marriage \nof Cromwell with Elizabeth Bouchier, who was, as \nOliver says, \xe2\x80\x9c unto me a good helpmeet \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 repose the \nashes of Fox, the author of the Book of Martyrs, a work \nwhich has done much to open the eyes of Protestants \nto the enormities of the church of Borne. In St. Sep\xc2\xac \nulcher\xe2\x80\x99s is an old bell which was formerly tolled at the \ntime of the execution of criminals; and we are referred \nto a custom which some half century ago prevailed. The \nbell-ringer was accustomed to go at night to Newgate \n\n\n76 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nprison, and, standing under the walls, cry aloud, so as \nto be heard by the condemned within, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c All you that in the condemned hold do lie, \n\nPrepare you ; for to-morrow you shall die. \n\nWatch, all, and pray; the hour is drawing near, \n\nThat you before the Almighty must appear. \n\nExamine well yourselves ; in time repent, \n\nThat you may not to eternal flames be sent; \n\nAnd when St. Sepulcher\xe2\x80\x99s bell to-morrow tolls, \n\nThe Lord have mercy on your souls. \n\nPast twelve o\xe2\x80\x99clock ! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn Christ\xe2\x80\x99s Church sleeps Richard Baxter, Cromwell\xe2\x80\x99s \nchaplain, and the author of Saint\xe2\x80\x99s Rest. In Temple \nChurch is Oliver Goldsmith. Beneath St. Clement \nDanes lies Bishop Berkeley. Walter Raleigh\xe2\x80\x99s head\xc2\xac \nless trunk is deposited in St. Margaret\xe2\x80\x99s, and in the \nvarious temples dedicated to God may be seen words \nin praise of human frailty. In the buried vaults of \nSt. Martin-in-tlie-Fields lie a medley of good and evil, \nwhite spirits and gray, among whom are the remains of \nJack Sheppard, who was hanged in 1723, whose history \nis familiar to every schoolboy, and whose deeds are \nnow the nursery tales of England; also Nell Gwynne, \nthe story of whose misfortunes and crimes has been \nrehearsed in many a circle, and whose sad fate has \ndrawn out for her many a tear of pity. The dissent\xc2\xac \ning meeting-houses of London are generally poorly \nconstructed, and destitute of all the attractions of ar\xc2\xac \nchitecture and art. I found dissenters more numerous \nthan I supposed. There are nearly one hundred and \nfifty chapels for Independents, who embrace several \ndenominations, and about seventy for Baptists \xe2\x80\x94 the \nlatter including all the different shades and complex\xc2\xac \nions of those who practice immersion. The churches \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n77 \n\n\nof our own faith are peculiarly plain. I visited many \nof them, and of all I saw, only one would compare \nwith our own sanctuary, for neatness and convenience. \nBadly formed and rudely constructed, many of them \nhave a repulsive appearance. The people, who live \nin ceiled houses, and many of whom are wealthy, in\xc2\xac \nstead of feeling mortified and ashamed of their places \nof worship, glory in their plainness, as an evidence of \ntheir humility, when they have more reason to believe \nthat it arises from pride and avarice. \n\nLeaving the churches, to some of which we shall \nreturn in a future chapter, we enter a steamer, and sail \na while up and down the Thames. I have noticed a \nstatement, recently, that a steamer passes under Water\xc2\xac \nloo Bridge every minute; and this fact will enable us \nto see the immense business which is done upon that \nlittle river. I had heard of the Thames as a broad, \nbeautiful stream, and was somewhat disappointed when \nI first beheld it. It is narrow, being not more than \nnine hundred feet wide, and is continually discolored \nand dirty, the paddles of the steamers ever stirring up \nits depths. But narrow and turbid as it is, it is of \ngreat importance to London, and a source of national \nwealth and prosperity wdiich could hardly be dispensed \nwith. It is spanned by several noble bridges, such as I \nhave seen nowhere else, and which are justly admired \nby all travelers. Over these bridges throngs are con\xc2\xac \ntinually passing backward and forward\xe2\x80\x94foot passen\xc2\xac \ngers and carriage passengers, drays and coaches, omni\xc2\xac \nbuses and donkey carts, crowding the passages, and \npouring into, and out of, the city in one continual flood, \nwhile beneath,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Through many an arch, the wealthy river rolls.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nG * \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n78 \n\nA great attraction of the Thames is the tunnel, which, \nlanding from the steamer, we enter. A man of whom \nwe purchased our tickets of admission, and to whom \nwe only said the simple words, \xe2\x80\x9cThree tickets, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d \nrecognized us as Americans at once, and asked, \xe2\x80\x9c W ill \nyou not have a view of the tunnel, to take home to \nyour friends in America?\xe2\x80\x9d Before a word could he \nsaid in reply, I asked, in reference to my companions, \nwho were a few steps in advance, \xe2\x80\x9cWhich of them is \nan American, sir?\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9cYou are one,\xe2\x80\x9d was his imme\xc2\xac \ndiate answer. \n\nThe tunnel is gained hy descending a long, broad \nstaircase, having some sixty or seventy steps. It is in \nthe form of a double arch; is thirteen hundred feet \nlong; each arch is about thirteen feet wide and fifteen \nhigh, lighted with gas, and the whole cost six hundred \nand fourteen thousand pounds. It is a noble work, but \nI can see no use to which it can be put. It is much \neasier to cross the bridges, in the clear air, than to de\xc2\xac \nscend a long flight of steps, and cross under the river, \namid gas and vapor, with the continual fear that the \nwaters will break in from the river which rolls above. \nI experienced the Yankee feeling of disappointment, \nfrom the conviction that this stupendous work of art \ncannot be turned to a profitable account, but that, while \nit may draw attention and elicit admiration, it will not \nbe of any great public utility, hut remain a mere artistic \ncuriosity. \n\nLeaving the tunnel, we enter again the crowded thor\xc2\xac \noughfares of the metropolis. Clear or cloudy, wet or \ndry, the streets are full; one long, continuous, and \nunending tide of life rolling on \xe2\x80\x94 now streaming in \none direction, now broken and chopped as the waves, \nnow circled and turned about by the whirlpool which \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n79 \n\n\narises from the conjunction of several streets, lanes, \nand alleys, and anon gathering again, to hurry by like \ntorrents to the briny sea. The questions arise to the \nlips of a stranger, \xe2\x80\x9c How is this immense multitude \xe2\x80\x94 \nthese millions of human beings \xe2\x80\x94 fed and clothed\'? \nWhere do they live 1 What do they do ? \xe2\x80\x9d The former \nof these introduces us to the markets of London. One \nmorning, ere the sun was seen, I found my way to \nSmithfield. I had pictured to myself a gloomy old \nplace, all surrounded with mementoes of the bloody \npast. I almost fancied I should see some of the smoul\xc2\xac \ndering fire in which John Rogers was consumed, or find \na brand half extinguished, yet remaining to tell its \ntale of martyrdom. But when I arrived at the place, \nwhere I half expected to sit down in silent loneliness, \nand muse upon the story of wrongs and woes, more \nto my pleasure than surprise, I found, as I before had \nbeen informed, that the old place of execution had been \nconverted into a cattle market. Such a spectacle I \nnever witnessed before \xe2\x80\x94 one sea of living creatures, \nhuddled together to the number of six thousand beeves \nand thirty thousand sheep \xe2\x80\x94 lowing, bleating, and paw\xc2\xac \ning the ground! In a few hours, this whole stock is \ndisposed of, and the next morning the same is repeated, \nand thousands more are sold out to the butchers, who \nsoon slaughter them, and scatter their meat through \nthe city to the hungry inhabitants. As I returned from \nSmithfield, I took my way through Cock Lane, and \nwas pointed to the room where the famous Cock Lane \nghost appeared several years ago, and which threw Lon\xc2\xac \ndon into an uproar, and laid the foundation for a story \nwhich has cheated the wise and amazed the ignorant, \nand, for aught I know, may yet be believed by some \nwho suppose witches and ghosts to be veritable things. \n\n\n80 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe next morning, I strolled through Billingsgate \nFish Market. Here I came in contact with all kinds \nof creatures, saw all sorts of sights, and heard all forms \nof speech. This market is notorious for the multitude \nof vile men and abandoned women who attend it. \nFish of all kinds were being handed from vessels in \ngreat quantities, carried into the market, and again \ncarried out by the costermongers, who, with baskets on \ntheir heads, on horses or donkeys, were going out to \nsell them through the city. It was amusing and sad\xc2\xac \ndening to see the depravity of the wretched creatures \nwho thronged around. The vile expressions, the horrid \nblasphemy, and the lewd, licentious jeers give an idea \nof the awful wretchedness of some of these people; \nand I never was so struck before with the perfect pro\xc2\xac \npriety of the word \xe2\x80\x9c Billingsgate,\xe2\x80\x9d as applied by us to \nlow, angry, and menacing conversation and speeches. \nWhenever I hear this word applied, it will need no \nother adjective to express to my mind all that is low \nand degrading in human speech. \n\nAn hour before breakfast, on the next morning, was \ndevoted to a stroll through Covent Garden Market, \ndevoted to the sale of culinary vegetables, fruits, and \nflowers. It stands where once was a convent, which \nwas demolished to give place to a more useful establish\xc2\xac \nment. Scarcely any thing could be finer than the ap\xc2\xac \npearance of this market on the morning in question. \nIn the market, and in the stalls adjoining, and in the \nstreets, were hundreds of cords of vegetables of all \nkinds; heavy ox loads piled up with care, while con\xc2\xac \nstantly was going out a stream of men and women, to \npeddle all this through the streets of the city. We \ntried to make some estimate of the number of cords of \nvegetables; but the number to which we arrived was \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OF LONDON. \n\n\n81 \n\n\nso high that I will not name it, lest it be supposed that \nwe had not been up long enough to see distinctly and \njudge correctly. The fruits and flowers also made a \nvery fine display; the former, rich, luscious, and tempt\xc2\xac \ning ; the latter, fresh, blooming, odorous, and beautiful. \nOne gentleman stepped up to a rich stand of fruit, and \nasked if a fine \xe2\x80\x9c lot of peaches were natural or arti\xc2\xac \nficial,\xe2\x80\x9d his mind being in doubt on the point. The \nseller, supposing him to be bantering, replied, \xe2\x80\x9c Go \naway, go away, sir; you are natural .\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe same evening, it being Saturday, I found my \nway into Newgate Meat Market, which is two hundred \nfeet long, and one hundred and fifty feet wide; and here \nanother display met my eyes. I have always known \nthat Englishmen are fond of good dinners, and many \nof them give evidence that they know how to live; and \nwhen I went into this market, I ceased to wonder. The \nfinest beef and mutton I ever saw were here, and in \nquantities enough to supply a nation. I was told that \nsix or eight hundred sheep, and seventy-five or one \nhundred oxen, are slaughtered here every day. \n\nLeaving this market, I went to another, of a much \npoorer class. It was about eleven o\xe2\x80\x99clock when I \narrived. A hundred lights were flashing out upon the \nnight, and the lower classes of people were purchasing \nthe poorer kinds of food for the next day. There, \nwomen with a few pennies were endeavoring to secure \na good trade; mothers, with a babe on one arm, and a \nbasket on the other; little children, sent to purchase \nthe cheapest bone; old men, hardly able to stagger \nhome with what they had money to buy. Here came \nPoverty, creeping along by Covent Garden and New\xc2\xac \ngate, to expend her few pence in decaying vegetables \nand tainted meat. I noticed one little girl, who plain- \n\n11 \n\n\n82 \n\n\nETJROPA. \n\n\ntively went from stall to stall, with a single penny in \nher hand, to expend to the best advantage. I followed \nher along, asked her a few questions, and when she \nmade her meager purchase for her invalid mother, a \nlittle brother and herself, I could not resist the induce\xc2\xac \nment to add a mite to her little treasure, that, on the \nLord\xe2\x80\x99s day, the mouth of the widow might be filled \nwith food; for which I was more than repaid by \nthe graceful courtesy and meek 44 thank you \xe2\x80\x9d of the \nchild, on whose cheek I saw a smile struggling with a \ntear. \n\nAn old woman, with a wrinkled face and a trembling \nstep, also arrested my attention. She passed up and \ndown the market, to see how best her money could be \nlaid out. There was such a care-worn look, such a sad \nand melancholy countenance, that pity at once led me, \nunobserved, to follow her. She filled her basket, and \nwas moving away, when, wishing for an adventure, I \nsaid to her, in as kind a tone as possible, 44 Good woman, \nshall I carry your basket as far as I go in your direc\xc2\xac \ntion ] \xe2\x80\x9d Seeing that my offer was a well-meant one, she \n\n/ \n\ngave it me with many thanks. We walked along \ntogether, and in a few minutes I had all her history. \nShe was a widow. Her husband died when her little \ntwin children, a boy and a girl, were two years old. \nHer little boy grew up, and, by his thoughtless course, \nwrung her heart with anguish, and finally left the \nparental roof, and entered the navy, and she had not \nseen him for years. 44 And O,\xe2\x80\x9d said she, 44 if he would \nreturn, I would forgive him all, and love him as I did \nwhen once he carried the basket for me, as you do \nto-night. When you spoke to me, sir, I thought I heard \nhis voice, and had found my son.\xe2\x80\x9d The daughter she \ntold me was dead, having worked herself to death to \n\n\nGENERAL VIEW OE LONDON. \n\n\n83 \n\n\nsupport her mother. Now the widow lived on with \nbut one hope \xe2\x80\x94 to see her long-lost child. At the ter\xc2\xac \nmination of the street we parted, and as I placed the \nbasket on her arm and received her blessing, she said, \nwith all the childishness of age, \xe2\x80\x9c If you ever see \nEdgar, you will tell him to come home; won\xe2\x80\x99t you \\ \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nEngland has much to answer for \xe2\x80\x94 her people, beg\xc2\xac \ngared to support a royal line and a retinue of nobles, \nare calling for reform. They read the wrong in the \nsigns of wretchedness and want of thousands who \nconceal themselves in the lanes and dark avenues of \nthat great city, but who come out to beg, steal, or buy, \nand then shrink back again, as if afraid of light. \n\nOne night, as I wandered through ITolborn, I was \ndelighted with the appearance of a store, which set \nforth in a prominent position, very finely illuminated. \nOn one side, in flaming gas letters, appeared, \xe2\x80\x9c God save \nthe Queen,\xe2\x80\x9d and on the other, \xe2\x80\x9c God bless the People; \xe2\x80\x9d \nwhile in the middle blazed forth a crown and other \nbawbles of royalty. It was a gay sight, and I stood, and, \nwith a crowd of others, gazed on a while; and as I \nlooked, a pale and haggard-looking woman, tall and \ngaunt, mingled with the throng. A while she gazed \nwith the rest, but at length, rising to her full height, \nand looking around upon the people, exclaimed, or \nrather shrieked out, \xe2\x80\x9c Admire it, admire it; but know \nthat it was wrung out of poor, old, wom-out frames, \nlike mine! \xe2\x80\x9d And then she commenced a rude speech \nupon the wrongs of the working class, which appealed \nto all hearts. She was soon hustled away by a police \nofficer, crying, as she went, \xe2\x80\x9c Bum on, burn on ; the \nwasted lamp is almost out.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nA residence of a few weeks in Europe makes one \npainfully familiar with scenes of wretchedness and sor- \n\n\n84 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nrow. Starving families are represented in the street by \nsqualid-looking children, haggard men, and pale, cadav\xc2\xac \nerous women. If you leave the Strand, Holborn, or \nOxford Street, and step into the by-ways and side- \nlanes, you change at once from the rolling carriages \nof the nobles, and the rich stores, filled with splendid \ntrappings, to the filth and wretchedness of squalid \npoverty. If you enter the dwellings of the residents \nin those streets, you will find children who know but \nlittle about a respectable meal, or a comfortable bed, \nand such degradation as will make you weep for poor \nfallen human nature. \n\nOften, when tired of display, and satisfied with the \nrichness of the more public streets, have I stopped at \nthe door of some rude tenement, and entered into con\xc2\xac \nversation with the father or mother, about the children \nwho were playing around, or who shrunk away at my \npresence. They would confess, without a blush, that \nthey were uneducated, and brought up in crime and \nsin. To the question, \xe2\x80\x9c Do you go to church 1 \xe2\x80\x9d the \nanswer would be, \xe2\x80\x9c Where should a poor man as me \nget clothes to wear to church \\ \xe2\x80\x9d or, \xe2\x80\x9c How can a poor \nwoman like I go into the company of the gentry 1 \xe2\x80\x9d \nAnd thus parents and children alike grow up without \nthe light of education or religion. Christianity, in the \nold world, stalks abroad in spacious cathedrals, or \nnestles down at the foot of kingly thrones, and goes \nnot to the widow and the fatherless to bless and \nencourage them. Her dignity would be injured by a \ncontact with the poor, despised, and ignoble, and she \nturns from them with coldness to take the hand of \nprinces. This may be the religion of the church of \nEngland and of Rome, but it is not the religion of the \nchurch of God. \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n85 \n\n\nVI. \n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\nThe Crystal Palace, with its crowded apartments, \nhalls, saloons, and thousands of visitors, was the fortu\xc2\xac \nnate idea of Prince Albert. Ever seeking out some \nplan to benefit the nation, to share the throne of which \nhe had been called by divine Providence, he con\xc2\xac \nceived the purpose, the grandeur of which has been \nequaled only by the unparalleled success which has \ncrowned it. His ready mind at once foresaw the im\xc2\xac \nmense advantage which such an exhibition would be \nto England, and he set himself to the work. His \nplans were communicated to the nobles of England \nand France; consultations were held with artists and \nmechanics, and an early attempt was determined upon. \n\n44 Where shall it be held?\xe2\x80\x9d was the first question; and \nto this but one answer was given. The city of London \nalone could furnish facilities for such a gathering, and \nit was determined to erect a building in Hyde Park, \nbetween Kensington \'Road and Rotten Row. The resi\xc2\xac \ndents in the immediate vicinity were naturally opposed \nto this selection; and as they could not prevent the \nprogress of the enterprise, or prevail upon the com\xc2\xac \nmissioners to select a new location, they procured an \nact of Parliament that the building should be removed \nas soon as the exhibition closed. \n\n44 What shall the building be P\xe2\x80\x99 was next asked. This \nquestion was not so easily answered. For weeks a \n\n\n86 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nbuilding committee of engineers perplexed themselves \nwith this question. More than two hundred designs \nwere laid before them. One suggested that it should be \nof wood, another of brick, and a third of stone ; but to \neach plan seemed to rise some insurmountable objection. \nThe public presses were fiercely engaged in the strife, \nsome contending for one plan, and some for another ; \nand others still asserting that the whole enterprise \nwould be a failure. At this point, a plan was submitted \nto the committee by Mr. Joseph Paxton, an eminent \nhorticulturist of Chats worth. A year or two before, \nRobert Schomburgk found, growing on the banks of the \nRiver Berbice, a lily, which, like Byron\xe2\x80\x99s pillar \xe2\x80\x9c with a \nburied base,\xe2\x80\x9d had no name in the science of botany. \nHe preserved seeds of this plant, and sent them to Mr. \nPaxton, who planted them, and gave to the shoot the \nname of \xe2\x80\x9c Victoria Regia.\xe2\x80\x9d The lily soon grew to a \ngigantic size, and the wits of the horticulturist were \nset at work to provide some habitation for it; and he \nerected at once a glass house of such form and size as \nwould answer the purpose. \n\nWhile thus engaged, it occurred to him that this \nsame plan, enlarged and improved, might answer for a \nbuilding suited to the proposed exhibition. He soon \nmarked out his design, and submitted it at once to the \ncommittee, who were already nearly discouraged at the \narray of difficulties which presented themselves. They \nsoon saw its advantages, and adopted it, and issued pro\xc2\xac \nposals for its immediate erection. Soon, in Hyde Park, \nthe busy scene began. The beautiful resort of wealthy \nmen and gay ladies became a great workshop, and, in \nan astonishingly limited period of time, the building \nwas erected. \n\nThe ground plan of the edifice is a parallelogram, \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n87 \n\n\none thousand eight hundred and fifty-one feet long, and \nfour hundred and fifty-six feet wide. A transept inter\xc2\xac \nsects it at right angles in the middle, which is four \nhundred and eight feet long, and seventy-two feet wide. \nThe building rises in three series of elevations, of the \nrespective hights of sixty-four, forty-four, and twenty- \nfour feet. These elevations are supported by iron pil\xc2\xac \nlars, fixed in a socket formed in a base which rests \nupon a concrete foundation. Iron braces, girders, and \ncross-bars render the whole safe and convenient. The \ncolumns are trellised together, and braced so as to cause \nno apprehension of danger from the winds. Of these \npillars, there are three thousand three hundred, from \nfourteen and one half to twenty feet in hight. There \nare two thousand two hundred and twenty-four cast- \niron girders, and one thousand one hundred and twenty- \neight cast-iron beams for the galleries. The roof of \nthe transept is semicircular, and rises to a hight of one \nhundred and eight feet, and presents to one at a dis\xc2\xac \ntance a most beautiful view. The glass is set much \nin the manner of our best-constructed greenhouses. \nThe plates are forty-nine inches long. Over the whole, \ncanvas is drawn, to modify the rays of the sun, and \nprevent injury from hail or storms. The iron-work is \ngayly painted, so as to give the best impression; and \nthe whole structure has a light, airy, and yet substantial \nappearance, truly pleasing. It was constructed in one \nhundred and forty-five working days after the plan was \nsubmitted to the building committee, and cost less than \nwould a cheap, ordinary building of wood. And yet \nthis grand plan, and this successful design, were but as \nthe work of a moment. Probably fewer hours were \nspent by the designer than are usually spent in plan\xc2\xac \nning a tolerable barn. We will allow the architect to \ntell his own story. \n\n\n88 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It was not,\xe2\x80\x9d says Mr. Paxton himself, at a meeting \nof the Derby Institute, \xe2\x80\x9c until one morning, when I \nwas present, with my friend Mr. Ellis, at an early sit\xc2\xac \nting in the House of Commons, that the idea of send\xc2\xac \ning in a design occurred to me. A conversation took \nplace between us with reference to the construction of \nthe new House of Commons, in the course of which I \nobserved that I was afraid they would also commit a \nblunder in the building for the industrial exhibition. \nI told him that I had a notion in my head; and that, if \nhe would accompany me to the Board of Trade, I would \nascertain whether it was too late to send in a design. \nI asked the executive committee whether they were so \nfar committed to the plans as to he precluded from re\xc2\xac \nceiving another. Hie reply was, \xe2\x80\x98 Certainly not; the \nspecifications will be out in a fortnight; but there is \nno reason why a clause should not be introduced, allow T - \ning of the reception of another design.\xe2\x80\x99 I said, \xe2\x80\x98Well, \nif you will introduce such a clause, I will go home, \nand, in nine days hence, I will bring you my plans all \ncomplete.\xe2\x80\x99 No doubt the executive thought me a con\xc2\xac \nceited fellow, and that what I had said was nearer akin \nto romance than to common sense. Well, this was on \nFriday, the 11th of June. From London I went to \nthe Menai Straits, to see the third tube of the Britan\xc2\xac \nnia Bridge placed; and, on my return to Derby, I had \nto attend to some business at the Board Boom \xe2\x80\x94 dur\xc2\xac \ning which time, however, my whole mind was devoted \nto this project; and, whilst the business proceeded, I \nsketched the outline of my design on a large sheet of \nblotting-paper. Well, having sketched this design, I \nsat up all night, until I had worked it out to my own \nsatisfaction; and, by the aid of my friend Mr. Barlow, \non the 15th, I was enabled to complete the whole of \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n89 \n\n\nthe plans by the Saturday following, on which day I \nleft Rewley for London. On arriving at the Derby \nstation, I met Mr. Robert Stephenson, a member of the \nbuilding committee, w T ho was also on his way to the \nmetropolis. Mr. Stephenson minutely examined the \nplans, and became thoroughly engrossed with them, \nuntil at length he exclaimed that the design was just \nthe thing, and he only wished it had been submitted to \nthe committee in time. Mr. Stephenson, however, laid \nthe plans before the committee, and at first the idea \nwas rather pooh-poohed; but the plans gradually grew \nin favor, and, by publishing the design in the Illus\xc2\xac \ntrated News, and showing the advantage of such an \nerection over one composed of fifteen millions of bricks \nand other materials, which would have to be removed \nat a great loss, the committee did, in the end, reject the \nabortion of their own, and unanimously recommended \nmy bantling.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the building was at length completed. The \nproducts of industry were brought from every clime, \nthe vast edifice was filled with articles rich and valu\xc2\xac \nable, and forthwith, from every part of the civilized \nworld, men journeyed towards London, to attend this \ngreat industrial council, and strengthen the bonds of \nhuman brotherhood. The world had never seen such \npilgrims before. It had gazed upon marshaled armies, \nupon the old Palestine crusades, upon many a scene of \nreligious or military exultation; but for the first time \nwere all the banners of the earth seen waving over the \ntemple of industry, and all the tribes of men represent\xc2\xac \ned in one congress of art, beauty, and utility. The \nCrystal Palace was the admiration of the world; and \nthe world felt proud to own and occupy it. It out\xc2\xac \nshone Buckingham and Holyrood, and is to-day an \n\n12 h * \n\n\n90 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nobject of more interest to Christendom than all the \nroyal courts of throned kings and titled nobles. Peace \nhas received new assistance from this great gathering; \nArt has rejoiced in this convocation of her sons; and \nEeligion, too, feels that she has gained a triumph over \nthe discordant elements which are abroad among the \nconvulsed nations of the earth. Prose and Poetry have \neulogized the undertaking; and England\xe2\x80\x99s choicest poet \n\xe2\x80\x94 Martin Farquhar Tupper \xe2\x80\x94 has made it the occasion \nof one of his most enthusiastic lays: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n44 Hurrah for honest Industry ! hurrah for handy Skill ! \n\nHurrah for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit and Will ! \n\nThe triumph of the artisan has come about at length, \n\nAnd kings and princes flock to praise his comeliness and strength. \n\n44 The time has come, the blessed time, for brethren to agree, \n\nAnd rich and poor, of every clime, at unity to be ; \n\nWhen Labor, honored openly, and not alone by stealth, \n\nWith horny hand and glowing heart, may greet his brother Wealth. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Ay, Wealth and Rank are Labor\xe2\x80\x99s kin, twin brethren all his own, \nFor every high estate on earth, of labor it hath grown ; \n\nBy duty and by prudence, and by study\xe2\x80\x99s midnight oil, \n\nThe wealth of all the world is won by God-rewarded toil. \n\n44 Then hail, thou goodly gathering, thou brotherhood indeed! \n\nWhere all the sons of men can meet as honest labor\xe2\x80\x99s seed ; \n\nThe tribes of turbaned Asia, and Afric\xe2\x80\x99s ebon skin, \n\nAnd Europe and America, with all their kith and kin. \n\n44 From east and west, and north and south, to England\xe2\x80\x99s happy coast, \nBy tens of thousands, lo, they come ! the great industrial host \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBy tens of thousands welcomed for their handicraft and worth, \nBehold, they greet their brethren of the workshop of the earth! \n\n44 Right gladly, brother workmen, will each English artisan \nRejoice to make you welcome all, as honest man to man ; \n\nAnd teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much to learn, \nAnd show to men, in every land, how all the world may earn! \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n91 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhatever earth, man\xe2\x80\x99s heritage, of every sort can yield, \n\nFrom mine and mountain, sea and air, from forest and from field; \nWhatever reason, God\xe2\x80\x99s great gift, can add or take away, \n\nTo bring the worth of all the world beneath the human sway; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Whatever Science hath found out, and Industry hath earned, \n\nAnd Taste hath delicately touched, and high-bred Art hath learned ; \nWhatever God\xe2\x80\x99s good handicraft, the man He made, hath made,\xe2\x80\x94- \nBy man, God\xe2\x80\x99s earnest artisan, the best shall be displayed. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cO, think it not an idle show, for praise, or pride, or pelf; \n\nNo man on earth who gains a good can hide it for himself; \n\nBy any thought that any thing can any how improve, \n\nWe help along the cause of all, and give the world a move. \n\n> \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It is a great and glorious end to bless the sons of man, \n\nAnd meet for peace and doing good, in kindness, while we can ; \n\nIt is a greater, and more blest, the human heart to raise \nUp to the God who giveth all, with gratitude and praise.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe exhibition was opened on the 1st of May with \ngreat splendor. The queen, and royal family, and Eng\xc2\xac \nland\xe2\x80\x99s noblest ones, convened as they never had con\xc2\xac \nvened before; and the learned and the great became \nthe patrons of labor and science. The imposing spec\xc2\xac \ntacle I did not see. Adverse winds had detained our \nship, and on that bright May day, when the nobles of \nthe realm rode along in aristocratic pride, and the \npoor and trampled turned out by squadrons to view the \npageant, and from between their chattering teeth, for\xc2\xac \ngetful of their misery, shouted, \xe2\x80\x9c God save the queen! \xe2\x80\x9d \nwe were obtaining our first sight of land, and heaving \nup and down, Mazeppa-like, upon the great deep. \n\nI visited the Orystal Palace nine days after it was \nopened. Seldom have I seen so fine a spectacle as this \nedifice presented as I approached. The immense size; \nthe peculiar materials, form, color, and adornments; the \nflags of all nations waving over it in peaceful pride; \n\n\n92 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe long, living stream of humanity rolling towards its \nopen doors, \xe2\x80\x94 formed one of the most attractive objects \nupon which I ever gazed. On entering, a new scene \npresented itself. In the center of the building, an im\xc2\xac \nmense crystal fountain w T as casting out its jets of water, \nand pouring them into a basin below, around which \nfresh flowers were blooming and shedding their fra\xc2\xac \ngrance. This fountain could be seen from the farthest \nextremities of the Palace, and was directly in view from \nevery part of the nave and transept. About fifty yards \nfrom the fountain, in the transept, on either side, was a \nfine elm-tree, of the largest size, fresh and green, and \nlending a delightful charm to the whole scene. Up \nand down the nave, in the center, were fine specimens \nof statuary; on both sides were the contributions of \nall nations, while thousands of persons, from all climes, \nwere moving to and fro, delighted with the gorgeous \nspectacle. Different departments were assigned to dif\xc2\xac \nferent nations with great fairness, and each contributor \nwas allowed as much space and prominence as were \nnecessary to display his goods to the best advantage. \nThe admirable order and the exquisite taste displayed \nin the arrangement and formation of the various de- \n2 )artments were most conspicuous, and every article \nseemed to be in just such a place, and laid in just such \nmanner, as would best draw to it the attention of the \nvisitor. In all the vast arrangement, there was no con\xc2\xac \nfusion. Each man seemed to know his place; and \nthough, in that building, I saw fifty thousand persons \nat one time, yet in no instance did I observe the least \nbreach of propriety and decorum. \n\nIt would be useless for me to attempt to give a sketch \nof any but the most prominent articles, and even the \nreference to those must be brief and imperfect. Near \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n93 \n\n\nthe fountain in the center is the Koh-i-Noir, or Mountain \nof Light, contributed by the queen. The value of this \ntrinket is estimated at two million pounds, and came \ninto the possession of the English by the annexation \nof Lahore to the Indian territories of that kingdom. \nIt was discovered in the mines of Golconda, about three \nhundred years ago, and was for a long time the property \nof the Mogul emperors. It has changed hands several \ntimes, and been the cause of war and bloodshed, until \nit is now sent by a Christian queen to grace the con\xc2\xac \ngress of art and industry. It weighed, before being \ncut, eight hundred carats; but a clumsy operator re\xc2\xac \nduced its weight to two hundred and seventy-nine \ncarats; and yet, with this reduction, it is the largest \ndiamond in the world. It is covered by a strong iron \ncage, and at night is lowered down into the base of an \niron pedestal on which it lies. A writer in a British \njournal says, 44 A good general idea may be formed of \nits shape and size by conceiving it as the pointed half \nof a small hen\xe2\x80\x99s egg.\xe2\x80\x9d Around this jewel a crowd of \npersons is constantly collected, eager to obtain a view \nof a gem of such great value. \n\nThe British contributions are, of course, the most \nnumerous, and occupy very prominent positions. Every \ninducement has been given to the English artists to send \nthe products of their skill into this great exhibition, \nand they have nobly responded to the call. Among \ntheir works were several fine models of towns, churches, \nand public buildings. A complete model of Liverpool, \nshowing its streets, houses, churches, docks, and ship\xc2\xac \nping, drew much attention. It was on a large scale, \nand was a most perfect thing in its way. The model \nof the great sepulchral pyramid, which is proposed to \nbe erected in Surrey, is here. It is to be nine hundred \n\n\n94 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfeet high, and to contain catacombs capable of entomb\xc2\xac \ning five millions of bodies. It is designed to be an imi\xc2\xac \ntation of the pyramidal tombs of Egypt, and to stand \nthrough all time \xe2\x80\x94 a vast monument of human mortal\xc2\xac \nity and frailty, speaking alike of the goodness and the \ndepravity of man. If this pyramid shall ever be \nerected, and rise to its contemplated bight, it will, in \ntime, become an object of more interest to the nation \nthan Westminster Abbey. Other beautiful models are \nbrought forward to attest the high state of art, which \nwin admiration from all beholders. \n\nAmong articles interesting to the ladies may be men\xc2\xac \ntioned a very tine quilt, wrought by knitting-pins, not \na needle stitch being found in it. In the middle is a \nfine figure, and the corners are filled up with flowers. \nThe whole design is exceedingly beautiful, and worked \nby the wife of a mechanic without guide or pattern, \nexcept such as originated in her own mind. The wife \nof a clergyman exhibited a scarf, which was manufac\xc2\xac \ntured by herself from silk produced by silkworms of \nher own raising, and which she procured to teach her \nchildren the habits of these wonderful little insects. \nThus she taught her children habits of industry, and \ngave them lessons such as they never could forget, \nand, at the same time, wrought a most beautiful fabric, \nwhich, amid the articles in that great assemblage, the \nstranger found time to stop and admire. A journeyman \ntailor presents a quilt about ten feet square, made up \nof forty-five hundred pieces of cloth, the whole of \nwhich is wrought with the needle. The center piece \nrepresents Britannia ruling the waves, while the bor\xc2\xac \nders and corners are filled up with fine designs and \nexquisite workmanship. It has engaged the leisure \ntime of the tailor ten years. A carpet, valued at eight \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n95 \n\n\nhundred pounds, and manufactured for Victoria by \nseveral of her lady subjects, drew much attention from \nthose interested in such work. Each lady had the \npattern, and a square of two feet, for which she paid \none pound. Into this square she crowded her work, \nand on it displayed her skill; and when the whole were \nfinished, they were framed into one beautiful fabric \nfor the use of royalty. About three hundred persons \nwere employed in its completion. \n\nMachinery w T as contributed in great abundance, from \na little tiny model to the huge locomotive ready to start \noff on its fiery passage. Among other articles, descrip\xc2\xac \ntions of which you have read long ere this, are the \nelectric clocks of Mr. Shepherd; a new pump, by \nwhich the water, instead of being raised by rod, \ncylinder, and piston, is brought up by the \xe2\x80\x9c centrifugal \nforce,\xe2\x80\x9d and flows in one continuous stream \xe2\x80\x94 it is \ndesigned for draining marshes, and similar purposes, \nand a machine ten feet in diameter will pump one \nhundred and forty thousand gallons per minute; a life\xc2\xac \nboat of gutta percha, most admirably constructed for \nits purpose, which may be folded up into a compass \nof twenty feet long, and two or three feet wide. When \nin the water, it will hold one hundred men, with provis\xc2\xac \nion and baggage. There are also marquees for all the \ndifferent kinds of manufactures, displayed to the best \npossible advantage. \n\nOf carved work there was a great variety, from \na wooden bowl to a splendid pulpit; from a child\xe2\x80\x99s \ntoy to a colossal statue. Bronze, glass, and brass \nwork was found in great abundance, and of great \nvalue. The immense quantities of rich goods, and the \ngreat value of the articles, can hardly be estimated. \nOne firm had over one million dollars\xe2\x80\x99 worth of silver \n\n\n96 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nand gold electro plate work, of all forms and patterns ; \nand you may walk along for hours by the most exten\xc2\xac \nsive and valuable assortments of goods ever collected \non earth, increasing your admiration at every step. \n\nBut the chief object of interest in the English de\xc2\xac \npartment, to me, and I think to every other Christian, \nwas the exhibition of Bibles, made by the British and \nForeign Bible Society. They have here displayed the \nsacred volume in one hundred and thirty different \nlanguages, into which they have translated it for the \nuse of the darkened nations of the earth. Day after \nday, I wandered to this section of the building to \nadmire this evidence of the missionary spirit of English \n\nChristians. There was no dav on which I visited the \n\n%> \n\nCrystal Palace, when I did not leave the crowded nave, \nthe departments of art and skill, Turkish tents of ease \nand pleasure, the dazzling display of gold and gems, to \nfind in a somewhat obscure location the Bible exhibi\xc2\xac \ntion, which in its moral grandeur outshone the brilliant \nKoh-i-Noir, and surpassed the magnificence of the Crys\xc2\xac \ntal Palace itself There, crowded out, and concealed \nbehind the array of fashion, art, and beauty, it stood, \nthat same Bible exhibition, a \xe2\x80\x9c Mountain of Light,\xe2\x80\x9d \nreflecting its beams over all nations. \n\nThe French department was well filled, with more \nshowy but less substantial articles than were contrib\xc2\xac \nuted by the English. The Parisian manufacturers and \nsalesmen have sent over the gaudy productions of their \ngay land, and here we found them much admired. The \nFrench people claim that the idea of the great exhibi\xc2\xac \ntion originated with them ; and it is true that a fair \nof an inferior character was held in Paris nearly a \nhalf century ago, and which in subsequent years was \nrepeated. But the true idea of a world\xe2\x80\x99s exhibition, a \n\n\nFACTS \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x94ON\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n\n\n1. It is a fact that while as Baptists we do not hold that Baptism is a sa vino- \nordinance ; we do hold that it is a positive command of our Lord Jesus Christ: \nand therefore a positive duty binding on every believer. \n\n2. It is a fact that neither of the ordinances were designed to symbolize the \n\nwork of the Holy Spirit: but, that both were to be memorials of Christ:_ \n\nBaptism, of his burial and resurrection :\xe2\x80\x94the Lord\xe2\x80\x99s Supper, \xe2\x80\x9cto shew his \ndeath,\xe2\x80\x9d and also the dependence of the risen life on him for spiritual sustenta- \ntion : and both ordinances were designed to be tests of love to Him\xe2\x80\x94not of \nfelloicship with each other. \n\n3. It is a fact that the New Testament plainly designates the order in which \nthe duties it enjoins shall he performed. It commands first, repentance and \nfaith: s\xc2\xab cond, baptism ; and third\xe2\x80\x94observance of all other duties. So that, \nthe order of obedience is enjoined by our Lord os really as the duties themselves, \nand that order, the church, in loyalty to Him, must enforce. \n\n4. It is a fact that in the New Testament, baptism is antecedent to all forms \nof church fellowship, and all who are recorded as having partaken of the Sup\xc2\xac \nper, had previously been \xe2\x80\x9cburied with Christ in Baptism.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n-*\xe2\x99\xa6\xe2\x99\xa6\xe2\x99\xa6- \n\nBAPTISM. \n\n5. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a, fact that the most natural inference from the accounts given of \nBaptism in the New Testament is that the act was by immersion in water. \n\nG. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that the figurative allusions to baptism, in the Bible, are \ninconsistent with any other idea than that of immersion ; nothing else repre\xc2\xac \nsents a burial and resurrection. \n\n7. (( It is a fact that any person who had for the first time read the scriptural \naccounts of Baptism, and witnessed an administration of the ordinance according \nto the practice of Baptist churches, could not fail to discover a correspondence \nbetween the record and the act. \n\n8. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that it is very common for young converts to read their Bibles \nin favor of immersion, even when all their previous instruction has been \notherwise. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n9. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that much effort is necessary to induce many who think of \nmaking a Christian profession to be satisfied with any tiling but immersion. \n\n10. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that none join Baptist churches with any doubts as to the \nvalidity of their baptism. \n\n11. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that none remain in Baptist churches in a state of uneasiness \nupon the subject of baptism, as to whether they have been really baptized. \n\n12. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that none ever leave Baptist churches because of their dissat\xc2\xac \nisfaction with the mode of their baptism. \n\n13. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that no church in the world would refuse to receive an \nimmersed person as a baptized person. \n\n14. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that at least two millions of Christians in this country alone, \npositively deny that any thing but immersion is baptism. \n\n15. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that no Presbyterian, Congregational or Methodist church \nwould require an immersed person to be sprinkled in order to reception as a \nmember. \n\n16. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that there is hardly a Baptist church in the world in which \nthere are not more or less persons who have come from other churches because \nof their dissatisfaction with any thing but immersion. \n\n17. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that Baptists never fear to have the subject of baptism inves\xc2\xac \ntigated, nor do they ever dissuade young converts from examining the subject. \n\n18. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that in a great multitude of cases immersion has been blessed \nin the religious awakening of the beholder. \n\n19. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that there are precepts, examples and commands in the Bible \nin favor of believer\xe2\x80\x99s baptism, and none in favor of infant baptism. \n\n20. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that the tendency of infant baptism is to supplant believer\xe2\x80\x99s \nbaptism, and banish it from the world, since the universal baptism of infants \nwould leave none to be baptized upon becoming believers. \n\n21. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact as we believe, that nothing but immersion as baptism, and \nnothing but believer\xe2\x80\x99s baptism was known in the church for more than two \nhundred years after the institution of the church by Christ. \n\n22. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that a change in regard to the mode and subjects of baptism \nfirst began in the third century, in connection with the idea of baptismal regen\xc2\xac \neration. \n\n23. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that infant baptism did not appear until baptism began to be \nregarded as essential to salvation. \n\n24. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that infant communion came at first with infant baptism, and \nthat there is as much authority for the one as the other.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nCOMMUNION. \n\n25. It is a fact that the \xe2\x80\x9cterms of communion\xe2\x80\x9d are precisely the same in \nBaptist churches that are authorized in all leading denominations. Their \nStandards and Books of Discipline will not admit to their communion any who \nin their judgment have not been baptized. They will not admit, any , simply be- \n\n\ncause they are Christians, and are gaing to live with them in heaven. No, their \norganic laic holds, as ice do, that baptism must precede communion, and they insist \nas much as we do, that all communicants must submit to what they believe is Bap\xc2\xac \ntism. We ask no mine. As to \xe2\x80\x9c terms of communion \xe2\x80\x9d then* they are as \xe2\x80\x9c close \xe2\x80\x9d \nas we are. \n\n26. Tt is a fact therefore, that our alleged \xe2\x80\x9ccloseness\xe2\x80\x9d is not in our terms of \ncommunion at all, for they are precisely the same as those of all other leading \ndenominations ; but is in our view of Baptism* which holds that only Believers \nare proper subjects; and only immersion, which symbolizes the burial and \nresurrection of Christ, is the proper mode. \n\n27. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that Baptists are not responsible for the separation of Chris\xc2\xac \ntians at the Lord\xe2\x80\x99s table, since they could not unite there with the unimmersed \nwithout the violation of their consciences, while the unimmersed could unite \nwith them without paying such a price, by being immersed, holding as they do \nthat immersion is Baptism* while Baptists hold that sprinkling is not Baptism. \n\n28. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that all that is necessary for all Christians to be united at \nthe Lord\xe2\x80\x99s table, is for all to be baptized according to what all agree is Baptism. \n\n, 29. Ci It is a fact that the advocates of what is called \xe2\x80\x9c open communion \xe2\x80\x9d \n\ndemand of Baptists that they should solemnly sanction sprinkling as Baptism, \nwhen they most honestly and decidedly believe that it is not baptism. \n\n30. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that Baptists can only be consistent with their views of baptism \nby maintaining their views of communion, the latter necessarily resulting from \nthe former, so that if they are right upon baptism they are right upon commu\xc2\xac \nnion. \n\n31. \xe2\x80\x9cIt is a fact that those who clamor the loudest against \xe2\x80\x9c close communion\xe2\x80\x9d \nseldom, if ever, commune with any church but their own, there being no occa\xc2\xac \nsion, if disposition for it, and their outcry is chiefly for effect. \n\n32. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a fact that the Lord\xe2\x80\x99s Supper was not instituted for the purpose of \nmanifesting brotherly love, or demonstrating liberality, and that its \xe2\x80\x9copen\xe2\x80\x9d \nobservance^does not enable those who might commune together if they would, \nto love each other any better for this questionable privilege. \n\n33. \xe2\x80\x9c It is a f(id that Christian fellowship is not dependent upon church \nfellowship, and that the one may exist without the other.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n34. It is a fact that Christian union is not promoted by open or mixed com\xc2\xac \nmunion, and that there is, to say the least, as much union between Baptists and \nPresbyterians as between Presbyterians and Methodists. \n\n35. It is a fact which we solemnly believe, that our special distinctive mis\xc2\xac \nsion as Baptists is to vindicate and uphold New Testament views of the subjects \nand mode of Baptism, which sustain the most vital relations to the spirituality \nof the church, and the symbolization of cardinal doctrines; and that, it is \nchiefly by maintaining the Gospel order of first, faith\xe2\x80\x94then Baptism, and then \ncommunion, that ice perpetually bear our solemn protest against infant Baptism, \nand against every mode as baptism , which does not symbolize burial and \nresurrection. \n\n36. It is a fact that we yield to no other denomination in our love for all \nChristians, and in our desire to unite with them in all Christian labors\xe2\x80\x94but the \nhonest truth is, that we do differ from them in our views of the ordinances of \nthe visible church\xe2\x80\x94not from ignorance, not from bigotry, not from a spirit of \nexclusiveness\xe2\x80\x94but because we cannot help understanding our Master Jesus, \nto teach, that none but a believer ought to be baptized : that baptism must \nsymbolize bis death and resurrection, and that baptism must precede commu\xc2\xac \nnion. \n\n\n\n37. It is a fact that despite all the charges of \xe2\x80\x9c close communion,\xe2\x80\x9d of \xe2\x80\x9c bigo\xc2\xac \ntry,\xe2\x80\x9d &c., which have been urged against Baptists and their views, that God \nhas wonderfully honored and blessed them, insomuch, that although they were \n\xe2\x96\xa0very few in number, when in the early history of ovr country, they were fined, \nwhipped, imprisoned, and banished both in Massachusetts arid in Virginia\xe2\x80\x94ice \nnow have in the United States fourteen hundred thousand two hundred and thirty- \ntwo church members ; nineteen thousand and forty-one churches ; eleven thousand \neight hundred and ninety-two ordained ministers; six hundred and fifty-three \nthousand seven hundred and forty persons in our sabbath schools ; seven hundred \nmissionaries at home and abroad ; and have received into our churches, by bap\xc2\xac \ntism, during the past year, eighty-four thousand six hundred and twenty-five \nconverts. \n\n38. It is a fact that because of this manifest blessing of God upon our people \nand their views, we propose to remain steadfast, with \xe2\x80\x9cmalice toward none and \ncharity toward all,\xe2\x80\x9d firm and unmoved in our loyalty to Christ, and keep the \nold banner afloat on which is inscribed \xe2\x80\x9cone Lord, one faith, one baptism,\xe2\x80\x9d and \nat the same time we pledge ourselves to do all we can to keep \xe2\x80\x9c the unity of the \nspirit in the bond of peace,\xe2\x80\x9d with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity \nand in truth. \n\n\nP \n\n\n\n; \n\n\nTroy, N. Y., Feb., 1874. \n\n\nG. 0. BALDWIN, \n\n0. P. SIIELDON, \n\nW. T. C. HANNA, \n\nH. G. DAY, \n\nA. G. DITNSFORD, \n\nJ. McWHINNIE, \n\nJ. N. SMITH, \n\nL. S. JOHNSON, \n\nE. D. SIMONS, \n\nBaptist Pastors. \n\n\nN. B.\xe2\x80\x94The statements in quotation marks are by Rev. J. C. Foster, of Mass. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n97 \n\n\ngreat, general, universal assemblage of all nations in \none convention of genius and art, has now for the first \ntime been realized. In this gathering, all the nations \nof Europe are well represented. Benighted Spain and \nunfortunate Portugal have come out from under the \nshadow of the Inquisition, to produce their works of \nskill. Cold, rocky, mountainous Switzerland, the home \nof Tell, has claimed her place in the congress of \nnations. Hated Austria has sent her representatives, to \nprove that she can produce something of more beauty \nand utility than prisons, racks, and instruments of \ntorture for the patriots of dismembered Poland and \nbetrayed Hungary. Persia has come to prove that she \nshines as brightly in \xe2\x80\x9c Eastern gold \xe2\x80\x9d as in the old Ori\xc2\xac \nental times, when her monarchs, now departed, sat in \nstate, or lived in voluptuous pleasures. Once-feared \nand barbarous Turkey deputed her artisans to claim a \nsisterhood with the family which was gathering in the \nWorld\xe2\x80\x99s Palace, and they were present with their rich \nand georgeous productions. Classic Greece gave evi\xc2\xac \ndence that the taste, and skill, and beauty of the past \nhad, in a measure, descended to the present. China and \nAmerica shook hands with each other; Germany and \nEgypt compare friendly notes. Papal Pome is seen \nnodding along the nave to Mohammedan Jerusalem, \nand the descendants of Ishmael are walking along \nwith the sons of Benjamin. \n\nTime would not suffice even to enumerate the fine \narticles which all the different nations have contributed. \nThere were swords, guns, and pistols, to kill men in time \nof war; surgeon\xe2\x80\x99s instruments, to perform the nicest \noperations upon the human system ; musical instru\xc2\xac \nments, from a little Genevan music box to the splendid \norgans, four or five of which were sounding all the \n\n13 i \n\n\n98 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ntime ; a Tuscan table of mosaic in stone, valued at \nsix hundred thousand francs ; beautiful porcelain from \nSevres; a dozen cardinals done up in wax, and rigged \nin all the gewgaw drapery of the corrupt church; the \ntwelve apostles carved in ivory; church bells, and \npainted windows; fire engines and steam engines ; \nploughs and reapers; raw materials in vast quantities, \nand manufactured articles of all kinds, forming an exhi\xc2\xac \nbition such as has never been seen before, and which \nwe can hardly expect to see again for the next quarter \nof a century. \n\nYou inquire, doubtless, for the American department \nof the exhibition ; and to that we now devote some \nattention. At the onset, our country was treated with \nthe greatest respect. To her was given on the ground \nfloor an area of fifty-one thousand two hundred and \nsixty-four feet, and more gallery room than any other \nnation, England alone excepted. The number of arti\xc2\xac \ncles from America was not so great as was expected. \nThe American minister, and the friends of America in \nthe old world, had hoped much, and had secured for \nthe States more room than they could occupy. Conse\xc2\xac \nquently, there was an empty appearance about the \nAmerican section, which did not contrast favorably with \nthe crowded condition of sections occupied by European \n\nnations. The American articles w T ere not as showv \n\n* \n\nand attractive to the mass of the people as some con\xc2\xac \ntributed by other countries, and did not draw so many \nadmirers. Hence it was often said to people who were \ncrowding into other nations, \xe2\x80\x9c Go to the American \ndepartment, and you will have room enough ! \xe2\x80\x9d Besides \nthis, the articles sent from this country were, in many \ncases, without their contributors ; and I thought there \nwas much less taste in the arrangement, and less art in \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n99 \n\n\nshowing the goods to the best advantage, than was \nexhibited by others. Nor is it any disparagement to \nthe United States to say that it cannot vie with Eng\xc2\xac \nland and France in mere matters of taste and beauty. \nOur country is young; the articles and fabrics we man\xc2\xac \nufacture are for utility; and we make no pretensions to \nthose little and comparatively unimportant attainments \nwhich, exhibited in a Crystal Palace, of course draw \nmore attention than agricultural implements and pieces \nof machinery. \n\nA few articles in the American department may be \nmentioned not only with commendation, but with a \nfeeling of national satisfaction. From Philadelphia \nwas contributed a very finely-finished set of harness, \nwhich equaled, if it did not surpass, any thing of the \nkind in the exhibition. It was said \xe2\x80\x94 with how much \ntruth I know not \xe2\x80\x94 to have cost about three thousand \ndollars, and was admired by all who knew any thing \nabout such articles. Several coaches, and light, grace\xc2\xac \nful sleighs drew much attention, and formed a fine con\xc2\xac \ntrast with some of the heavy, lumberous vehicles from \nother nations. A fire engine was also found in our de\xc2\xac \npartment \xe2\x80\x94 a charming little thing, which would throw \nseven streams of water upon a fire at once, at an aver\xc2\xac \nage hight of one hundred and fifty feet each. The \nfinish of the \xe2\x80\x9c tub \xe2\x80\x9d was exquisite, and drew consider\xc2\xac \nable observation. A steam engine, on a new principle, \nin which the motive power is applied directly to the \ndriving-wheel, without the intervention of cylinders, \nsteam chests, or condensers. Several other machines \nare on exhibition in the American department, of \nwhich we see no reason for our country to be ashamed. \n\nThe display of daguerreotypes from America was \nvery far before that of any other nation; and the \n\n\nt \n\n\n9 \n\n\n100 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ntriumph of this art in our new world was often men\xc2\xac \ntioned. The countenances of our distinguished men \nwere mirrored out with great correctness and success, \nand not the least pleasant hour spent in the Crystal \nPalace was that devoted to a glance at the familiar \nfaces of the orators, statesmen, and clergymen of our \nrepublic. \n\nIn the foreground of the picture presented by our \ndepartment was Powers\xe2\x80\x99s 44 Greek Slave,\xe2\x80\x9d the most fin\xc2\xac \nished piece of sculpture in the Fair. With this 44 tri\xc2\xac \numph of art \xe2\x80\x9d you are familiar, as it has been exhibited \nin this country, and received the favorable notice of the \nmost distinguished artists and men of taste among us. \nThis is a copy of the original statue, was taken by \nPowers for an Englishman, and by him placed in the \nAmerican section, as a delicate compliment to the artist \nand the land of his birth. \n\nDirectly in the rear of the Greek Slave is a large \nnumber of Indian traps, presided over by a full-grown \nchief and his squaw, and near by is Colton\xe2\x80\x99s model of \nthe Falls of Niagara. The latter is said to be very \ncorrect, yet can but fail to give any adequate idea of \nthe stupendous work of God. The foam, the roar, the \nmist, the thunder, and the tremble of the earth, cannot \nbe represented by a dead model. \n\nThere were also some rather amusing articles on ex\xc2\xac \nhibition. A pair of oars, mounted in silver, and in\xc2\xac \nclosed in a black walnut case, and labeled, 44 A present \nto the Prince of Wales,\xe2\x80\x9d was the contribution of a Mr. \nPage, of New York. The heads of some of our distin\xc2\xac \nguished men in soap gave rise to a pleasant little inci\xc2\xac \ndent, which is said to have occurred on the first visit of \nthe queen, who, hardly believing the images were soap, \nwas about to try them with a bodkin, but was prevented \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n101 \n\n\nby the proprietor, who exclaimed, as if in evident hor\xc2\xac \nror, \xe2\x80\x9c No, your majesty ; this is Washington ; \xe2\x80\x9d to which \nPrince Albert replied, \xe2\x80\x9c O, it is Royalty picking at \nLiberty/\xe2\x80\x99 I also saw one day a measure of parched \ncorn, for what sent over to London I do not know. \n\nAt the time I was in London, the English people \nwere open in their abuse of America. Scarcely a paper \ncould be taken up, from the Times to Punch, without \nthe eye falling upon some slur at the meager condition \nof the American section in the Crystal Palace. On the \nplatform in Exeter Hall, I was compelled to listen to \nthe same unjust and prejudiced remarks; and once or \ntwice they came out in sermons, on public occasions. \nBut, before the close of the exhibition, Brother Jona\xc2\xac \nthan compelled John Bull to draw in his horns, and \nswallow his own words. Somebody says of Brother \nJonathan, \xe2\x80\x9cThe waist of his coat may be ridiculously \nshort; the tails of it ridiculously long; his shirt collar \nmay absorb the produce of a whole field of flax; his \npantaloons may not come below the tops of his boots; \nand his straps may have the air of preventer-braces, to \nkeep the continuations from going over his head; he \nmay be, in short, the most unpresentable man you can \nconceive of, and \xe2\x80\x98 most mockable at court; \xe2\x80\x99 but beneath \nthe uncouthness of his dress, and the frequent bizarrerie \nof his manner, there is such a man, and such a soul, as \nonly Yankeedom and the nineteenth century can pro\xc2\xac \nduce or educate.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd so the boasters of the British press have found \nit, and in many a well-contested trial young America \nhas secured an advantage. At a fair trial, M\xe2\x80\x99Cormick\xe2\x80\x99s \nVirginia Reaper, which had been derided and made the \nbutt of wit, secured an advantage over all other similar \n\n\n102 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ninstruments; and in one hour M\xe2\x80\x99Cormick\xe2\x80\x99s fortune was \nmade. The English have acknowledged the superior\xc2\xac \nity of his machine over theirs; and he has taken \nthe palm under circumstances not most favorable to \nhimself. \n\nWe had scarcely recovered from the surprise and \npleasure which this victory over the prejudices of our \ntransatlantic friends gave us, ere one of the journals of \nLondon which had been most abusive made the follow\xc2\xac \ning concession, in reference to some carpets woven at \nClinton by Mr. Bigelow: 44 The American department \nhas again received an important accession of strength, \nin the shape of some specimens of Brussels carpets, \nwoven upon power looms. Although various attempts \nhave been made to adapt the power looms to carpet \nweaving in England, there is not, we believe, at this \nmoment, any machinery perfected for that object. Our \nAmerican brethren have therefore gained another step \nahead of us, and have won another laurel on this well- \ncontested field of the industrial arts.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWe were enjoying this when the American clipper, \nunder the command of Mr. Stevens, arrived on English \nwaters. Taunting challenges were thrown out, which \nwere accepted, and the decided superiority of the Amer\xc2\xac \nican over the English clippers shown at the first trial. \n\nThe next news that came informed us that a ma\xc2\xac \nchine for the manufacture of bobbins, by which much \nlabor and expense were saved, was being exhibited by \na Scotchman, and receiving universal commendation. \nThe machine was examined, and found to be a com\xc2\xac \nplete plagiarism, it having been the invention of a \ngentleman of Lowell. This new feather Brother Jon\xc2\xac \nathan put in his cap with much pleasure; and the \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 1Q3 \n\nadmiration which had been bestowed upon the supposed \ncontribution of Scotland ceased quite suddenly. \n\nBut a new triumph awaited Yankeeland. A genius \nwith \xe2\x80\x9c a coat having a short waist and long tails \xe2\x80\x9d ap\xc2\xac \npeared in London, with a few simple, odd-looking wires, \nand inquired of the policeman on the corner if he knew \nwho had any locks to be picked. He was directed to \nthe famous Chubbs lock, which in a short time gave \nway before his ingenuity. He next tried the never- \npicked lock of Bramah, and soon that too yielded to \nhis skill; and the Yankee marched off with the two \nhundred pounds in his pocket, and England was left \nwithout a single safe lock to protect her treasures. \nHobbs\xe2\x80\x99s own Parantoptic Lock was laid before the most \nskillful locksmiths in England, and after having tried to \npick it, in vain, they have abandoned the attempt. And \nnow, while John Bull was wondering what these Yan\xc2\xac \nkees would grow to, one of them came forward, and, to \nthe complete astonishment of the nation, wished to hire \nthe Crystal Palace itself, for a musical concert, and \noffered ten thousand dollars for the use of it one single \nday; but as some one keenly remarks, \xe2\x80\x9cJohn Bull had \nseen enough of the Yankees, with their patent locks, \nreaping machines, and yachts, without desiring to be \ndanced out of his own palace to the tune of Yankee \nDoodle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTimes have changed, and the papers which, a while \nago, were heaping abuse, are now talking most fawn- \ningly, and with a very patronizing air. Punch and the \nTimes have as much as they can do to compliment \nAmerica. A while ago, there appeared a little song in \nPunch, which common consent ascribed to Thackeray, \nthe author of Pendennis. It is so felicitous that I will \nintroduce it, though you have read it before. \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nYankee Doodle sent to town \nHis goods for exhibition ; \n\nEvery body ran him down, \n\nAnd laughed at his position ; \n\nThey thought him all the world behind, \n\nA goney, muff, or noodle. \n\n\xe2\x80\x98Laugh on good people \xe2\x80\x94 never mind,\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nSays quiet Yankee Doodle. \n\nYankee Doodle had a craft, \n\nA rather tidy clipper ; \n\nAnd he challenged, while they laughed, \n\nThe Britishers to whip her. \n\nThe whole yacht squadron she outsped, \n\nAnd that on their own water ; \n\nOf all the lot she went ahead, \n\nAnd they came nowhere arter. \n\nO\xe2\x80\x99er Panama there was a scheme \nLong talked of, to pursue a \n\nShort route \xe2\x80\x94 which many thought a dream \nBy Lake Nicaragua. \n\nJohn Bull discussed the plan on foot \nWith slow irresolution, \n\nWhile Yankee Doodle went and put \nIt into execution. \n\nA steamer of the Collins line, \n\nA Yankee Doodle\xe2\x80\x99s notion, \n\nHas also quickest cut the brine \nAcross th\xe2\x80\x99 Atlantic Ocean. \n\nAnd British agents, noways slow \nHer merits to discover, \n\nHave been and bought her\xe2\x80\x94just to tow \nThe Cunard packets over. \n\nYour goldsmiths of their skill may crack. \nBut that again don\xe2\x80\x99t mention; \n\n1 guess that Colt\xe2\x80\x99s revolvers whack \nTheir very first invention. \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. 105 \n\nBy Yankee Doodle, too, you\xe2\x80\x99re beat \nDownright, in agriculture, \n\nWith his machine for reaping wheat, \n\nChawed up as by a vulture. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c You also fancied, in your pride, \n\nWhich truly is tarnation, \n\nThem British locks of yourn defied \nThe rogues of all creation; \n\nBut Chubbs\xe2\x80\x99 and Bramah\xe2\x80\x99s Hobbs has picked, \n\nAnd you must now be viewed all \nAs having been completely licked \nBy glorious Yankee Doodle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut the exhibition has closed, and the Crystal Palace \nis being dismantled, and the rich store of goods scat\xc2\xac \ntered among the nations. On the 11th of October, \nthe imposing services were held, and the congregated \nthousands separated, to meet no more on earth. The \nlast was a tumultuous day. Cheers were heard, bells \nwere tolled, and one of the noblest assemblies ever con\xc2\xac \nvened w T as broken up. The nations returned, and the \nstreets of London soon began to wear their usual aspect. \n\nThat the exhibition, viewed in almost any light, has \nbeen successful, none can doubt. The number of per\xc2\xac \nsons in attendance, the sums of money received, the \nmoral influence upon the nations, all have more than \nequaled the most sanguine expectations. The num\xc2\xac \nbers who visited the exhibition during the time it was \nopened were as follows: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\nIn May, \n\n. 734,672 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c June, \n\n.1,130,116 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c July, \n\n.1,314,176 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c August, \n\n.1,023,435 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c September, \n\n. 1,155,240 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c October, . \n\n.841,107 \n\n14 \n\nTotal, . . 6,198,746 \n\n\n\n106 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe largest number in the Palace, at any one time, \nwas ninety-two thousand. What seems very singular \nis, that only twenty-five commitments have been made \nby the police, and all of them were for minor offences. \nI think no parallel can be found, in the history of the \nworld, in which so large a number of persons assembled \nwith so little confusion and crime. \n\nI have seen going the rounds a strange little pre\xc2\xac \ndiction of the poet Chaucer, made years ago, and \nwhich seems to have been singularly verified in the \nCrystal Palace. In his \xe2\x80\x9c House of Fame,\xe2\x80\x9d he is spec\xc2\xac \nulating as to the cause of dreams, informing his readers \nthat he cannot tell whether \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Spirits have the might \nTo make folks dread o\xe2\x80\x99night, \n\nOr if the soul of proper kind \nBe so perfect as men find \nThat it wote what is to come.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe goes on to say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAs I slept,. \n\n.I dreamt I was \n\nWithin a temple made of glass , \n\nIn which there were more images \nOf gold standing in sundry stages, \n\nIn more rich tabernacles, \n\nAnd with jeivels more pinnacles, \n\nAnd more curious portraitures , \n\nAnd quaint manner of figures \nOf gold work, than I saw ever. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Then saw I stand on either side \nStraight down to the doors wide \nFrom the dais many a pillar \nOf metal that shone out full clear. \n\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION. \n\n\n107 \n\n\nThen \xe2\x80\x99gan I look about and see \nThat there came ent\xe2\x80\x99ring in the hall \nA right great company withal, \n\nAnd that of sundry regions \n\nOf all kinds of conditions \n\nThat dwell in earth beneath the moon, \n\nPoor and rich. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nSuch a great congregation \nOf folks as I saw roam about, \n\nSome within and some without, \n\nWas never seen , nor shall be more ! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe old poet is dead, but his vision has been realized \nin the great exhibition and the Crystal Palace, to which \nwe now bid adieu, with a single remark as to its moral \ninfluence upon the nations of the earth. This influ\xc2\xac \nence cannot fail to be very beneficial. Thousands from \nall nations came together and mingled their congratu\xc2\xac \nlations, and the friends of peace, liberty, and religion \nseized the occasion to forward the high purposes of the \ngospel. It is not probable that another such gathering \nwill be held for many years; but when it is held, our \nown country will be the place ; for the artists of Europe \nare yet to take lessons in republican enterprise and in\xc2\xac \ndustry. We are confident that, in the next exhibition, \nwherever it may be held, the American department will \nbe one which will be most attractive to those who value \nreal utility. That, in the present instance, we have \ndone justice to ourselves, none will admit. Much finer \ndisplays have been made at some of our county fairs, \nduring the present autumn, than was made by our de\xc2\xac \npartment in the exhibition in London; and, if another \nopportunity should come, our artists will not be slow \nto vindicate the wounded honor of our nation, or back\xc2\xac \nward in competing for the highest prizes. \n\n\n108 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nTo England, as a nation, the exhibition has been a \nsource of great pecuniary benefit. Millions of money \nhave been carried into the country from abroad, and \nimmense purchases of goods have been made in Lon\xc2\xac \ndon, which would have been secured elsewhere but for \nthis great and glorious gathering; and when another \nCrystal Palace is erected in America, may we reap ad\xc2\xac \nvantages as great in a commercial and moral view. \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n109 \n\n\nVII. \n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\nI fear I was led to attend church in Europe more \nby curiosity than devotion. The desire to hear distin\xc2\xac \nguished men, to he impressed by their eloquence, did \nnot always fit me for communion with God. I confess \nmy object was more to see and hear than to have my \nheart made better; and if I cannot bring back to you \nan account of much personal improvement, I will try \nto give some idea of the impression made upon my \nmind by the appearance of the clergymen, and the ser\xc2\xac \nvices of their churches. I left home determined not to \npreach at all, but was obliged to abandon this wise \ncourse, and, on several occasions, consented to deliver \npoor sermons, and thus lost the opportunity of hearing \nas many good ones. \n\nThe service in English churches is much the same as \nin ours. The dissenting ministers, however, as well as \nthose of the establishment, have an assistant, or clerk, \nwho reads the hymns, and sometimes performs other \nparts of the service. The clerk is generally selected in \nconsequence of possessing a good voice, and being a \npleasant reader. But they all get into a drawling and \nunpleasant habit, reading poetry and prose, grave and \ngay, alike with a \xe2\x80\x9choly tone,*\xe2\x80\x99 or a \xe2\x80\x9csacred twang,\xe2\x80\x9d \nwhich sounds more like the recitations of a schoolboy \nthan the voice of one w 7 ho is appointed to lead the de\xc2\xac \nvotions of the people of God. I found this assistant \n\nj \n\n\n110 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nto be regarded as a sort of privileged fault-finder \xe2\x80\x94 not \nknowing how to preach himself, and yet continually \ntrying to teach his minister. \n\nThe singing in the dissenting chapels is congrega\xc2\xac \ntional, a deacon, or some other person, standing in \nfront of the pulpit, lining out the hymn, and giving \nthe pitch. The singing was like Jeremiah\xe2\x80\x99s figs \xe2\x80\x94 \nsome of it very good, and some very bad. This exercise \nafternoons, and perhaps at other times, in the churches \nof the establishment, is often done by children, the \nboys being attired alike, and the little girls with neat \nwhite caps and aprons \xe2\x80\x94 presenting to the congrega\xc2\xac \ntion below a pleasing spectacle, as their infant voices \nare raised in devotion and praise. The afternoon ser\xc2\xac \nvice is devoted to the improvement of the poor, and \nthose who, by living in the houses of wealthy families, \nare unable to attend in the morning, and is generally \npoorly sustained. \n\nThe sexton in English churches is often a woman, \nwho seats the people, waits upon the minister into the \npulpit, and performs sundry other services, which here \ndevolve on the other sex. I was much amused, on one \noccasion, by a woman who seized me by the arm, and \nled me up through the aisle, and gave me a seat be\xc2\xac \nneath the pulpit. The more I held back, the harder \nshe pulled me forward, until I found it was all in vain, \nand I surrendered at discretion. The first sermon I \nheard in London was preached by \n\nJOHN CUMMING, D. D., \n\nthe eloquent pastor of the church in Crown Court, \nwho is said to be the most popular minister in the \ncity. He is connected with the established church of \nScotland. His chapel \xe2\x80\x94 for by this name the meeting- \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\nIll \n\n\nhouses of all dissenters are called, however spacious \nand elegant they may be \xe2\x80\x94 is beneath the shadow of \nDrury Lane Theater, in an avenue not wide enough for \na carriage passage. The chapel itself is an old and \nuncomely affair, with stained glass windows, dark and \ngloomy, and capable of seating fifteen hundred persons. \nI went on one bright and beautiful Sabbath morning, \nand, having been told that the house was crowded dur\xc2\xac \ning service time, I managed to be there nearly an hour \nbefore the sermon commenced. The vestibule was full; \nthe aisles, into one of which I pressed my way, were \ncrowded; but in the pews not a single person could be \nseen. It was an unusual sight, and, on inquiring, I was \ninformed that no strangers were seated until after the \nfirst prayer was offered. One by one the occupants of \nthe pews arrived and took their seats, and, long ere the \nhour of service, the house was crowded from the pulpit \nto the porch, and I had the satisfaction of standing dur\xc2\xac \ning the whole time. As I looked around, I saw many \nillustrious and titled men, among whom I recognized \nthe countenance of Hon. Abbott Lawrence, who is a \nregular attendant and communicant at the altar. Soon \na slight movement, and an instant cessation of an in- \ndistinct murmur which had been running through the \nassembly, announced the arrival of the preacher. He \nentered by a door in the rear of his church, arrayed \nin robes, and, with a dignified step, ascended the pulpit \nstairs. He is about fifty years of age, tall and graceful \nin his bearing, has a broad and ample forehead, dark \nbrows and whiskers, and is altogether what the ladies \nwould call a \xe2\x80\x9c very handsome man.\xe2\x80\x9d He is a chaste \nand elegant speaker, with a clear, silvery voice, and \nprecise, even to what appears to be a slight affectation \nor mannerism. The preliminary services were conducted \n\n\n112 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwith great propriety, the singing by the congregation, \nwithout the aid of an organ, and the discourse was \ndelivered in a fluent, extemporaneous manner. \n\nThe text was the words of God to Cain \xe2\x80\x94 44 Where \nis thy brother 1\xe2\x80\x9d The preacher commenced by remark\xc2\xac \ning that the context suggests several great facts, namely: \nthat death, in a sudden manner, is not in itself an evil, \nhut often a favor; that the first death was of a good \nman. Had Cain died first, all men would have looked \nupon the event as a terrible punishment, whereas now \nwe can regard it in another light; that the first was a \nmartyr\xe2\x80\x99s death, indicating that the great contest be\xc2\xac \ntween the seed of the woman and of the serpent had \nalready commenced; that by death the good are re\xc2\xac \nmoved from wo here, to joy beyond the grave. \n\n44 All men,\xe2\x80\x9d the speaker went on to say, \xe2\x80\x9c are of one \nbrotherhood, on whatever shore, in whatever clime. \nBut this bond of brotherhood is not always recognized. \nShould I ask one the question of the text, he would \nreply, 4 What is that to me 1 \xe2\x80\x99 He would manifest a \nspirit which, if carried out, would break down all our \nasylums and public charities, and destroy society itself. \nAnother would reply, 4 My brother is no care of mine; \nfor his sufferings are of his own making, or of his par\xc2\xac \nents.\xe2\x80\x99 What of that l Did not Christ come to relieve \nus of sufferings and sorrows which we made for our\xc2\xac \nselves ? Another would reply, 4 1 have been deceived \nso many times by my brothers, and helping them has \nbeen a task so thankless, that I will not relieve him.\xe2\x80\x99 \nBut do you do good for thanks 1 The Pharisees did, \nbut Christ did not. True charity shuns the public \ngaze \xe2\x80\x94 would rather be cheated itself than allow an \nobject of pity to go unblest, or without our contri\xc2\xac \nbution. \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n113 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c When I ask the text with reference to thy brother\xe2\x80\x99s \nreligion, the reply is, 4 O, that is his business, not mine. \nIf he is sincere, all is well enough.\xe2\x80\x99 Did Paul say this \nwhen he looked upon the idolaters of Athens? Did \nChrist say so when he looked upon the abominations \nof Jerusalem ? Did he say so when he went bending \nto the cross ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHaving asked the question, the preacher proceeded \nto answer it. 44 1. Geographically , thy brother is in \nAfrica, in China, in dark lands, in lone and icy moun\xc2\xac \ntains, every where. 2. Religiously , thy brother has left \nthe temjile of God, and is bowing in the mosk of \nOmar, in the cathedral at Rome, in the temple of Jug\xc2\xac \ngernaut. He has given himself up to the worship of \ndumb idols; he lives without God. 3. Physically , thy \nbrother is in some vile hovel, or on a sick bed, or in \na prison. He is in want, is discouraged. Thy brother \nmans our ships, builds our houses, tempers our steel, \nprovides our clothing, and tights our battles. Go forth, \nthen, man with a heart, and claim thy brotherhood.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis discourse was applied to the support of a charity \nschool, connected with the doctor\xe2\x80\x99s church. Speaking \nof the poor children composing it, he remarked, 44 The \nonly difference between the diamond which adorns Vic\xc2\xac \ntoria\xe2\x80\x99s crown and that which lies embedded in the earth \nconsists in polish: so the children of the rich and poor \ndiffer only in education.\xe2\x80\x9d In illustration of the interest \nwhich angels on high take in the education of children, \nhe said, 44 In our city is a Crystal Palace. Thousands \nwill go and admire it, and gaze upon the productions \nof every clime with wonder. But holy angels, as they \nsweep over the city to-day, will stop not at the Crystal \nPalace, but will tarry where children are gathered from \nthe streets, and taught to love the Savior.\xe2\x80\x9d Again he \n\n15 J * \n\n\n114 \n\n\nEURORA. \n\n\nremarked, \xe2\x80\x9c On one occasion, one hundred thousand \nmen were employed to build a pyramidal tomb for a \ndead king: we are decorating the living temples of the \nliving God.\xe2\x80\x9d The address was wound up by a beauti\xc2\xac \nful incident, beautifully enforced: A Grecian artist was \nonce employed to make an elegant statue. He sent for \nall the Hr gins of Greece, and took the most perfect \nfeature of each, and blended all into one form of love\xc2\xac \nliness ; and when it was completed, each of the maidens \nof that classic land could recognize some feature of \nherself in the work of the artist: so the Christian \nshould be able to recognize his own features in the \nreformation of society, and the advancement of light \nand truth. \n\nI have dwelt thus long upon this discourse, because \nDr. Gumming is said to be the most eloquent preacher \nin London. The sermon was not profound, and, in \nthis country, would be called brilliant rather than elo\xc2\xac \nquent. There was nothing startling or great; but it \nconsisted of a series of brilliant remarks \xe2\x80\x94 a string of \njewels, glistening all the way along like gems in the \nbracelet of beauty. \n\nWe pass next to the Free Scotch church, in Regent \nSquare, where preaches \n\nJAMES HAMILTON, D. D. \n\nI went in first to see the church, on an afternoon, \nwhen no service was held. It is one of the finest \nchapels in London, and was built for Edward Irving, \nwho entered the city a stranger, and soon became one \nof the most popular men who ever stood in the sacred \ndesk, drawing crowds of admiring, fascinated hear\xc2\xac \ners. Of that remarkable man you have all heard. \nHis short, eventful course, which for a time shone with \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n115 \n\n\nsuch splendor, and ended in such darkness, has been \nspoken of by all the lovers of eloquence, and bewailed \nby all the friends of Jesus. For a time he was the \ncentral object of interest, and thousands hung upon his \nlips with admiration. But, intoxicated with fame and \npopularity, he imagined himself inspired, and declared \nthat angels were communicating to him the will of \nGod. I went into the chapel with my friend Overbury, \nof Eagle Street, and gazed upon the walls which had \nonce echoed with the eloquence of that wonderful man, \nwhose name was associated in my mind with the high\xc2\xac \nest style of eloquence, and with the most blinded \nfanaticism. I went up that spacious aisle, to the \nelegant pulpit, but Irving was not there. He has \npassed away to his reward. And Chalmers, too, who \nloved Irving as a brother, and who dedicated for him \nhis chapel, and whose voice had often been heard \nwithin those walls \xe2\x80\x94 he, too, has gone home to heaven. \nMy companion told me, that on one occasion he went \nin to hear Irving. An immense number was crowded \nwithin the walls of that spacious edifice, rapt, fixed, \nlost in the eloquence of the preacher. When the dis\xc2\xac \ncourse was about half finished, a woman near the \npulpit began to make a guttural noise, which she sup\xc2\xac \nposed was speaking in an unknown tongue, afterwards \ninterpreting by saying, \xe2\x80\x9c The Lord is coming, the Lord \nis coming.\xe2\x80\x9d Irving paused, and addefl, \xe2\x80\x9cYes, he is \ncoming; \xe2\x80\x9d and, bowing his head upon the cushion of the \npulpit, seemed overcome with emotion. \xe2\x80\x9c On another \noccasion,\xe2\x80\x9d said my friend, \xe2\x80\x9c scores were heard making \nthose hideous noises, or speaking in an unknown \ntongue, as they called it; and the whole house echoed \nwith the sounds.\xe2\x80\x9d Poor Irving ! the most eloquent \nand the most unfortunate preacher of his times ! \n\n\n116 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nBut we return to Hamilton, who now fills his place, \nor rather occupies it, for it is no discredit to his suc\xc2\xac \ncessor to say, that no one can Jill the place of Edward \nIrving. All remember that notable year of our Lord, \nwhen the Free Scotch church was formed. The old \nScotch Covenanter spirit had long been curbed and \nchafed under the irreligious and oppressive enactments \nof the establishments, and, in 184f3, about four hundred \nministers of that order uttered a noble protest, and, \nheaded by Welcli and Chalmers, laid down their livings \nand honors, and declared themselves independent of the \nstate. Old St. Giles never witnessed a nobler sight, \nthan when, on that day, those sainted men abandoned \nthe protection of government, and fled to the throne of \nGod. Of these was James Hamilton, who is now one \nof the most efficient men of the Free church. The \ndiscourse which I heard from his lips was upon \xe2\x80\x9c over\xc2\xac \ncoming faith ; \xe2\x80\x9d and nobly was it preached, with all the \nspirit of a man who had himself exercised it, and felt \nits power. Dr. Hamilton has a very happy faculty of \nillustrating, and pours out his well-chosen and perti\xc2\xac \nnent figures with the greatest abundance. He has a \nsomewhat broad Scotch pronunciation, which would be \noffensive to sensitive ears ; but when aroused, pronun\xc2\xac \nciation and accent are alike forgotten by the hearer, \nwho is borne along irresistibly, absorbed in the dazzling \nradiance which the eloquence of the speaker draws \naround him. His church is always full, and not sel\xc2\xac \ndom do multitudes go away unable to find places to sit \nor stand. \n\nWe leave llegent Square, and find our way to the \nStrand, and, as it is Sabbath evening, enter Exeter Hall, \nwhere morning and evening a service is held, each \nLord\xe2\x80\x99s day, during the time of the great exhibition, for \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n117 \n\n\nstrangers. The clergymen of the city officiate alter\xc2\xac \nnately, and the hall is always filled to its utmost ca\xc2\xac \npacity. As we crowd our way in, the whole assembly \nof nearly five thousand persons are singing,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c So did the Hebrew prophet raise \nThe brazen serpent high ; \n\nThe wounded felt immediate ease, \n\nThe camp forbore to die.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe hymn closes, and a large, heavy man, with a \nfull, florid face, and a strong, deep voice, commences \nhis discourse. He is \n\nREV. WILLIAM BROCK, \n\nof Bloomsbury Chapel, said to be the most effective \nBaptist minister in London. His chapel is large, and \nin its construction and adornment superior to any of \nthe same order in the city; and his congregation is com\xc2\xac \nposed chiefly of young, stirring, energetic men. His \ndiscourse on this occasion is founded on the narrative \nof the prodigal son, and he goes into it with a right \ngood will, setting all the rules of rhetoric, and correct \nspeaking and pronunciation, at defiance. His discourse \nis a good one, cutting down into the consciences of the \nwicked and abandoned, and reaching a class of hearts \nwhich would slumber under all the refined, delicate \nsentences of Gumming and Noel, and be unaffected by \nall the nice and chastely-formed essays which could be \nread in Exeter Hall from the year of grace 1851 to \nthe day of doom. His eloquence is of that rude, un\xc2\xac \ncultivated sort which tramples upon all laws, and \ncarries conviction to the masses by its impulsive and \noverwhelming energy. Mr. Brock is a fine platform \nspeaker, and is always welcomed in Exeter Hall with \n\n\n118 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nrapturous applause. He has none of the sweet, gentle \npersuasive of Mr. Noel, nor the brilliant, flashing \ngenius of Dr. Cumming, nor the elegant imagery of \nthe successor of Irving, hut a rough, honest enthusi\xc2\xac \nasm, which enables the hearer to endure the constant \ndepartures from the principles of correct speaking. In \nthe notes which I took of the sermon in Exeter Hall, \nI find a constant repetition of the words \xe2\x80\x9c wern\xe2\x80\x99t,\xe2\x80\x9d and \n\xe2\x80\x9c arn\xe2\x80\x99t,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c teacher,\xe2\x80\x9d and \xe2\x80\x9c father.\xe2\x80\x9d Speaking of what \nthe prodigal did, he said, \xe2\x80\x9c That is the sinner all over ; \xe2\x80\x9d \ndescribing his return to his father\xe2\x80\x99s house, he said, \n\xe2\x80\x9c He went afoot and alone,\xe2\x80\x9d which phrase only needed \nthe addition of \xe2\x80\x9c as the girl went to be married,\xe2\x80\x9d to \nmake it appear entirely ridiculous. But while the \nhearer cannot but notice these blemishes, he does not \nfeel a disposition to dwell upon them, for in Mr. Brock \nhe sees an ambassador of God who has a great message \nto deliver, and who is faithful to his holy calling, con\xc2\xac \ncealing no truth, and covering up no sin. \n\nOn the next evening, we go to Exeter Hall again, to \nattend a great gathering which is there to be held. \nJust as we enter, a short, plain, uncomely-looking man \nrises to speak. He begins slowly, and seems laboring \nto find utterance for the great thoughts which are \nstruggling in his mind. We are almost disposed to \nleave the hall, so unpromising does the speaker appear. \nBut soon some thoughts arrest the attention: we will \nstay a little longer. Now we are interested, for we see \na fire flashing in the eye of the speaker. More elo\xc2\xac \nquent he becomes every moment, and more irresistible \nhis enthusiasm. His voice is not pleasant; his only \ngesture, that of bringing his right hand down with \nterrible fury upon the rail before him, is awkward and \nuncomely. But we are all-absorbed in the impetuous \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n119 \n\n\ntorrent of living thoughts and burning words that \ncome pouring out upon us. At every sentence the \nspeaker becomes more earnest and more eloquent. The \nperspiration streams down his face, and in his vehe\xc2\xac \nmence he has thrown the thin hair down over his broad \nforehead, until it almost conceals his eyes. And yet, \non he goes, until the climax is reached, and he sits \ndown with a sort of defiant look, as if he had said, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Beat this who can.\xe2\x80\x9d ITe is \n\nREV. JOSEPH BEAUMONT, \n\n\xc2\xab \n\nthe talented, manly, eloquent leader of the English \nWesley ans. \n\nA hymn is sung, which comes swelling out from \nnearly five thousand voices, and another speaker is \nannounced. Unlike the one whom he succeeds, he is \na tall, broad-chested man, whose gestures and words \nare solemn as the grave. We see no vehemence, no \nbeating of the rail, no jumping from side to side, no \ncontortions of countenance, but a calm, deliberate flow \nof profound thoughts, expressed with clearness, and \nattended with power. We are listening to \n\nREV. THOMAS BINNEY, \n\nthe eloquent minister of the Independent or Congre\xc2\xac \ngational church in Monument Square. A few years \nsince, this distinguished man came to our country, to \nwhich visit we heard him refer once or twice in public. \nBut while here he did not seem to possess any extraor\xc2\xac \ndinary attraction, and the minister who in England \ncould gather around him an immense and admiring \naudience, in Boston failed to fill the house of worship \nin which he preached. Whatever might have been \nthe cause of this, and whether it is to the discredit of \n\n\n120 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe minister or the people, certain is it, that eloquence \nis measured by a different gauge in the two countries. \nMr. Binney takes his seat amid the cheers of the peo\xc2\xac \nple, and \n\nREY. GEORGE SMITH, \n\nof Poplar, takes the stand, and enters at once into an \nimpulsive and earnest speech, which wins for him the \ngolden opinions of the audience. He is less command\xc2\xac \ning in personal appearance than Mr. Binney, less \nvehement than Mr. Beaumont,, less ornate than Hr. \nGumming. But few men surpass him in platform \noratory. Ilis words are well chosen, and his thoughts \npour out, giving us the measure of a great soul. I \nadmired a speech I heard him make so much, that I \nwalked one evening six miles to hear him preach, but, \non arriving at his place of worship, found the desk \noccupied by a young man, who was amusing himself, \ntrifling with his audience, and insulting his Maker, by \na profoundly silly speech upon the origin of sin, and \nthe fall of the rebel angels, about which he evidently \nknew as little as his audience. \n\nLeaving Exeter Hall, we find our way to Surrey \nChapel, a place famous in the religious history of Lon\xc2\xac \ndon. In the pulpit is an old man, his head white with \nage, who is preaching a discourse in behalf of the Lon\xc2\xac \ndon Missionary Society \xe2\x80\x94 a formidable organization, \nwhose annual income is more than sixty-eight thou- \nsand pounds. The preacher is not a city minister, but \nas we chanced to hear him there, and as his name and \nworks are known and read in this country, I cannot \nforbear to mention the honorable name of \n\nREV. WILLIAM JAY, \n\nwhose \xe2\x80\x9c Morning and Evening Exercises \xe2\x80\x9d have assisted \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n121 \n\n\nso many Christians in the devotions of the family circle. \nI was less disappointed in Mr. Jay than in any other \ndistinguished preacher I heard. His sermon on this \noccasion was a rich, deep, and full presentation of a \nglorious gospel. A vein of pious experience was run\xc2\xac \nning through it, like a thread of light; and as he stood \nbefore me in the solemn vestures of the house of God, \nand presented the message of my Master, I thought he \nrealized more fully my idea of an English preacher \nthan any other man I had heard in the kingdom. \nWhoever reads the works of Mr. Jay will have a por\xc2\xac \ntrait of the man, the measure of his mind, and the \nfervency of his piety. Three others I will mention, and \nthen relieve your patience. The first is \n\nHON. AND REV. BAPTIST W. NOEL. \n\nThe past history of this distinguished man is some\xc2\xac \nwhat known in this country. ITis father, Sir Girard \nNoel, w T as a naval officer of some distinction, and his \nmother a peeress of the realm. His oldest brother is \nthe Earl of Gainsboro\xe2\x80\x99, and all his relatives are of no\xc2\xac \nble birth or office. For a long time, Mr. Noel was \nminister of St. John\xe2\x80\x99s Church, Bedford Bow, where he \ndrew admiring crowds of hearers. The rich and poor \ncame together to be pleased and benefited by his \nsimple instructions. For many years, he has been re\xc2\xac \ngarded as a man of very liberal views and feelings, and \non various occasions has incurred the reproofs of his \nsuperiors in office (he has no superior in true nobility \nof nature) for his resistance to their invasions upon the \nrights of the people. A few years since he became \nconvinced that a union of church and state could not \nbe justified on gospel principles, and, to the astonish\xc2\xac \nment of his former ecclesiastical associates, announced \n\n16 k \n\n\n122 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nhis intention of leaving the church of England. The \ntidings spread through the great city, carrying conster\xc2\xac \nnation to the supporters of a state church, and joy to \nthe hearts of the dissenters. What denomination he \nwould join became a matter of some solicitude; but all \ndoubt was soon removed by his baptism in the old \nchapel once owned and occupied by the sainted Evans. \nRemoving from his former more elegant and commo\xc2\xac \ndious place of worship, he entered the chapel wherein \nhe was immersed, and at once drew around him an \naffectionate and wealthy congregation. In this chapel, \nwhich is about as large as our own house of worship, \nI heard him preach. His discourse was on the fidelity \nof Caleb, recorded in the Book of Numbers. With \ngreat clearness and simplicity, the preacher contrasted \nthe conduct of Caleb with that of his friends, and in \na very pleasing manner pointed out the rewards of the \nfaithful Christian. He did not allude to himself, yet \nno one could fail to see in Mr. Noel a living exhibition \nof the spirit exhibited by Caleb. Amid the reproaches \nof his friends, and the astonishment of the whole na\xc2\xac \ntion, he had left a wealthy and influential body, which \nlived under the protection of the greatest kingdom on \nearth, and united with an unhonored and despised body, \nand meekly bore the reproaches of them who said, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Thou art beside thyself; much learning hath made \nthee mad.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI was disappointed in Mr. Noel\xe2\x80\x99s style of pulpit \naddress. I expected to hear something which would \nelectrify the audience, and come up to a high idea \nwhich I had received from a friend, who, with enthusi\xc2\xac \nastic admiration, described Mr. Noel as the \xe2\x80\x9c greatest \npreacher in the kingdom.\xe2\x80\x9d The discourse under men\xc2\xac \ntion was preached in a quiet and unostentatious style, \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n123 \n\n\nwithout notes, and in a sweet and gentle tone of voice. \nThere were no sublime flights, no passages of overpow\xc2\xac \nering eloquence, no outbursts of enthusiasm, but a \nclear, ingenuous flow of holy thoughts, which, like a \ngentle stream rippling on ever, gilded by the silvery \nrays of the moon, made the hearer forget the lapse of \ntime, and sit with delight, until the close. I think \nI never listened to so long a sermon with so little wea\xc2\xac \nriness, or went away from the sanctuary with a greater \ndesire to come again. \n\nThe personal appearance of Mr. Noel is prepossessing. \nHis forehead is high and broad; his hair is brown, and \ncarefully adjusted, yet without unnecessary precision ; \nand his whole countenance bears the marks of a sweet, \ngentle serenity. I have seen more beautiful features; \nbut I never saw a countenance in which love and purity, \nmeekness and grace, were more evident. \n\n* The impression which I formed of this much-loved \nman was confirmed by a visit which I afterwards made \nto his fine residence at Hornsey, about six miles from \nhis chapel in John Street. The meekness and sweet\xc2\xac \nness of disposition which are so noticeable in the pulpit \nbecome more evident as he converses in his own dwell\xc2\xac \ning. His visitors are at once at ease by the dignified \nfamiliarity with which he receives them, and the readi\xc2\xac \nness with which he enters into their views and projects. \nI saw but few men in England whose courtesy and \nkindness made a deeper impression upon my mind \nthan that of the gifted nobleman who stands so de\xc2\xac \nservedly at the head of the Baptist clergymen of \nLondon. \n\nThere is another name which will be mentioned to \nevery person in London who inquires for the most dis\xc2\xac \ntinguished preacher. I refer to that of \n\n\n124 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nREV. DR. MELVILLE, \n\nwho, every Tuesday morning, delivers what is called \nthe \xe2\x80\x9c golden lecture,\xe2\x80\x9d in St. Margaret\xe2\x80\x99s Church, Loth- \nbury. The fame of this distinguished man, who, like \nMr. Noel, is a nobleman, has gone abroad. His works \nare read extensively in this country, and are much ad\xc2\xac \nmired ; and many a poor clergyman has sharpened his \nown dull sword on the sides of the pyramids of thought \nwhich Melville has erected, and lighted his own lamp \nat tires which were kindled in Camberwell. \n\nSo, one morning, I went in with a large number of \nfriends to hear the \xe2\x80\x9c golden lecture,\xe2\x80\x9d as this is known to \nbe one of the choicest efforts of the preacher. Loth- \nbury Church is an uncomely structure, displaying little \narchitectural taste. It will contain about fifteen hun\xc2\xac \ndred persons, and is generally well filled at this lecture. \nOn entering, a woman came forward, and, with a bun\xc2\xac \ndle of keys, unlocked a pew door, and thrust us in; \nand for half an hour we amused ourselves with looking \nat the church and its adornments. Behind the chancel \nare two paintings of Moses and Aaron, which I at first \nmistook for Jack the Giant-killer and his wife Hepze- \nbah. On the walls, all around, are marble slabs, bear\xc2\xac \ning inscriptions in praise of the dead, most of them, \ndoubtless, more beautiful than true. One of them, \nafter describing the virtues of the dead, closed by this \nremark: \xe2\x80\x9c who, having the wisdom to know when he \nhad enough, was also endowed with the virtue to enjoy \nit.\xe2\x80\x9d While we were looking around the house, \xe2\x80\x94 for \nwe sat in a pew where we could see most of the congre\xc2\xac \ngation,\xe2\x80\x94an aged man marched pompously up the aisle, \nentered the reading-desk, and commenced reading the \nservice with such a tone, and such a look, and such a \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. 125 \n\ndrawl, that the most patient man could hardly have \nendured it. He continued, for about half an hour, to \nmurder the beautiful prayers and the more sublime \nscriptures which are set apart for the morning service \nof the English church. This done, a woman is seen \npassing along the aisle, putting one aside this way, and \nanother the other way, followed quietly by a man of \nabout fifty-five years of age, whom we recognized at \nonce as Mr. Melville. He is escorted to the pulpit by \nthe woman, who shuts him in; his head bows on the \ncushion until the hymn is done, when he rises and offers \na short extempore prayer, and enters upon his discourse. \nHis hair is slightly gray; his eye keen, and piercing \nblack; his form robust and manly; and his counte\xc2\xac \nnance regular, and full of fire. I should not call him a \ngraceful speaker. His gestures are few, and his words \nare jerked out in a somewhat unpleasant manner. He \nis confined closely to his notes, which evidently are \nprepared with great care. \n\nThe first time I listened to him, he was endeavoring \nto show that all the members of the church are of a \nroyal line, and are priests to God. The death of Christ \nbrings all men into a position where they may assume \nthis priestly office. The church is composed not of a \nbench of bishops, but of all who, by the baptism of \ninfancy, have been brought into it. The minister is a \npriest unto the church; the Christian is a priest unto \nthe world. The dividing line between the church and \nthe world was made by baptism. If I understand \naright, the doctrine of baptismal regeneration was \ntaught, and some of the most objectionable features \nof high churchism defended. The discourse, as a \nwhole, was of much power. It was impressed by all \nthe evidences of a great mind. Thoughts, in massive \n\nk * \n\n\n126 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nblocks, were laid down, and a superstructure raised \nwhich could not be easily demolished. While I could \nnot consider the sentiments advanced as scriptural, I \ncould admire the logic, and be charmed by the finished \neloquence. A high churchman would call such a dis\xc2\xac \ncourse \xe2\x80\x9c a mighty effort.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI listened to Mr. Melville again, on another occa\xc2\xac \nsion, as he was discoursing upon another theme, when \nmy previous impressions were confirmed, and I saw \npervading every sentence of his discourse that rich, \nevangelical vein of thought which runs through so \nmany of his published discourses, and which has given \nhim so much fame on both sides of the ocean. \n\nWe must hurry now to a new scene. It is Sabbath \nmorning, and we find ourselves in front of St. George\xe2\x80\x99s \nCathedral, where we are to see and hear \n\nCARDINAL WISEMAN. \n\nWe pay our tribute at the door, and pass into the \ngloomy-looking edifice, and find the service already \ncommenced. Robed priests and ignorant people are \nchanting songs which carry us at once back to the mid\xc2\xac \ndle ages, and set us down amid the mummeries of olden \ntimes. The very music seems to squeak and groan; \nthe walls seem to echo back sad sounds; and every \nline of the service tells of martyrdom. But as this \nmay be all the effect of imagination, we let it pass. \n\nAfter chanting and praying, getting up and sitting \ndown, bowing and standing, kneeling and sitting, burn\xc2\xac \ning incense and sprinkling water, the cardinal mounts \ninto the pulpit, and commences a discourse upon the \n66 Mission of Immanuel.\xe2\x80\x9d The personal appearance of \nthe prelate is coarse, and his speech, on this occasion, \nwas weak and inefficient. His hair is changing to \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n127 \n\n\ngray; his forehead is low; his cheeks full and red. \nCunning is stamped upon every line of his counte\xc2\xac \nnance ; and I think any one who is accustomed to study \nthe expressions of the human face would mark our \nsubject as a man of duplicity and fraud. I saw no \npublic man in England who possessed such a repulsive \nexterior, in whose features there was such an exhibition \nof gross and sensual passion. \n\nOne day, while walking along the streets of London, \nI saw a caricature of the cardinal. He was represented \nas holding a mask before his face, the mask bearing \nthe features of the adorable Savior. From behind the \nmask the cardinal was looking out, as if he had just \nlifted the covering. His own gross and cunning look \ncontrasted painfully with the mild, benevolent, saint\xc2\xac \nlike look of Jesus, whose character has been stolen by \nthe prelate to cover up his own wicked and daring \nschemes. \n\n* Nor does the face of Mr. Wiseman belie his charac\xc2\xac \nter. He is what he looks to be, and has become an \nobject of contempt to the whole English nation. Hr. \nCumming, of Crown Court, related to me an incident \nwhich will give an illustration of the general character \nof this leading ecclesiastical of the Catholic church in \nEngland. The doctor had stated publicly that Pius IX. \nand Cardinal Wiseman, according to the laws of their \nchurch, had taken an oath to persecute heretics to,the \nbest of their ability. Hr. Hoyle, the suffragan Bishop \nof Westminster, denied the fact as far as it related to \nthe cardinal, and declared, in the name of his superior, \nthat he took no such oath. This denial was sent to \nseveral newspapers of the metropolis, and Hr. Cum\xc2\xac \nming stood charged with slander. To relieve himself, \nhe obtained, as far as possible, every edition of the \n\n\n128 \n\n\nEUROrA. \n\n\nPontifical; and in all of them the persecuting clause was \nfound, and he wrote to the papers which had published \nDoyle\xe2\x80\x99s denial to this effect. Soon after, he received a \nline from the secretary of Cardinal Wiseman, stating \nthat, by the special indulgence of his holiness the pope, \nthis objectionable article had been left out in the case \nof bishops who were subjects of the English crown, \nand that Dr. Gumming might examine the Pontifical \nfor himself. Taking with him two friends, Dr. Cum- \nming proceeded on his errand, very glad to be able to \nsatisfy his own doubts, and to atone, if he had done \nthe cardinal an unintentional wrong. The remainder \nof the story I will tell in his own words. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c On our arrival at the cardinal\xe2\x80\x99s house, a page came \nto the door. I asked, \xe2\x80\x98Is the cardinal at homer \xe2\x80\x98No, \nsir,\xe2\x80\x99 he said; \xe2\x80\x98 his eminence left town on Saturday.\xe2\x80\x99 I \nsaid, \xe2\x80\x98 I am very sorry for it; for I appointed to meet \nhim to-day to inspect a book.\xe2\x80\x99 The lad said he sup\xc2\xac \nposed the secretary could answer me. We then sent in \nour cards; and the secretary very courteously received \nus, and showed us into a large room, over the mantel \nshelf of which there w r as a splendid ivory crucifix and \nsome illuminated texts. I told the secretary our errand, \nand he said he perfectly understood it. He then brought \nto us a truly magnificent Pontifical, the most beautiful \none I ever saw, with richly-illuminated engravings. He \nopened the book, and showed us a blank leaf, on which \nthe oath was written, having the persecuting clause left \nout. I said, \xe2\x80\x98In this country, when an alteration is \nmade in a will, or in a lease, there are always initials \nattached to that alteration. I am much obliged to you \nfor showing it to me, but this does not seem to have \nany authority beyond the fact of its being written on \nhis eminence\xe2\x80\x99s Pontifical.\xe2\x80\x99 I then turned to the oath \n\n\nTHE MINIS TEES OF LONDON. 129 \n\ntaken by a bishop, (my charge, be it remembered, had \nreference to archbishops,) and there I found that a pen \nhad been carefully drawn across the persecuting clause, \nbut leaving it legible enough. 4 By whom was this \ndone ? \xe2\x80\x99 I asked. 4 1 do not know, sir,\xe2\x80\x99 he replied. \n4 On what authority was it done V 4 1 have no instruc\xc2\xac \ntions.\xe2\x80\x99 The ink, I may mention, was jet black. There \nwere no initials. It was argued, by a defendant of the \ncardinal, that the ink was applied thirty years ago. If \nit was so, the inkmaker ought to be canonized. This \nmiracle beats any of Liguori\xe2\x80\x99s. Every paper of mine \nthat has been covered with ink ten years has turned red \nand rusty, owing to the action of the acid in the atmos\xc2\xac \nphere ; but this wonderful ink has stood thirty years \nunscathed, and become blacker the older it grows! \nThis, I said, was one of the most wonderful miracles \nthe church of Home could produce; that, thirty years \nago, before Morel or Walkden were born, there was ink \nmade so splendid, that it defied wind and weather, acid \nand alkali, and was as black on the day I go to see it \nas it ever was before. So far, so wonderful. But I was \nanxious to make my charge good, and I turned to the \nservice for an archbishop receiving the \'pallium \xe2\x80\x94 an \narchiepiscopal cloak, woven, as I have already shown, \nfrom the wool of certain sheep, presented once a year \nby the nuns of St. Agnes. The sheep are ceremoni\xc2\xac \nously set apart, and ceremoniously shorn; and the wool \nis worked into a pallium , which is given to a bishop \nwhen he is made an archbishop. The receiver cannot \ntransfer it to another; he must be buried in it when he \ndies. This pallium is said, in the Pontifical, to possess \nthe 4 full pontifical virtue.\xe2\x80\x99 Tractarians say that their \napostolical succession is transmitted from link to link, \nlike the electric fluid along the wires of a telegraph ; \n\n17 , \n\n\n130 \n\n\nEUliOPA. \n\n\nbut they have a far quicker way of doing the business \nat Rome. When the pallium is put on the shoulder, \nthe sacred virtue penetrates every pore, till the archie- \npiscopal wearer is within an inch of explosion with \npontifical virtue. I looked at the oath taken by the \narchbishop on receiving this pallium , and, to my utter \nastonishment, and that of Admiral Harcourt also, who \ncould scarcely believe his senses, I read in it the very \nclause \xe2\x80\x94 4 Hereticos , schismaticos , et rebelles , Domino \nnostro , vel successoribus prcedictis , pro posse , persequar \net impugnaboj unaltered and untouched. I then said \nto the secretary, 4 This is just what I alleged. I said \nthat the archbishop, on taking the pallium , swears to \npersecute and attack us heretics. You have shown me \nthe service, and here stands the very clause. Dr. Wise\xc2\xac \nman\xe2\x80\x99s own Pontifical confirms all. How do you explain \nthis 1 \xe2\x80\x99 He turned very pale, and bowed out of the \nroom, saying, 4 1 am not a priest, sir; I am not a priest.\xe2\x80\x99 \nI copied the clause out carefully. I have often set my \nwits to work to ascertain how this sad retention of the \nclause in one service had happened.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI asked Dr. Cumming if he did not, while thus ex\xc2\xac \nposing the artifices of the church of Rome, fear -per\xc2\xac \nsonal injury from some of the satellites of the pope. \n44 O, no,\xe2\x80\x9d said he; 44 there are here so many Catholics \nof standing and character, who would not like to be \nconnected with violence and murder, that they would \nfrown down any attempt to injure a Protestant. They \nwould lose their character by such an attempt. In \nyour country it is different, as the Catholics occupy a \nvery different position.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWould time and space admit, I might dwell longer \nupon the frauds and duplicity of Cardinal Wiseman, \nthe head of the Catholic church in the dominions of \n\n\nTHE MINISTERS OF LONDON. \n\n\n131 \n\n\nthe queen. I would also love to dwell upon many \npleasant interviews with Bev. Messrs. Stovel and Over\xc2\xac \nbury, with whom I formed a pleasant acquaintance, \nand whose kindness I have occasion to remember. I \nmight also give some rapid portraits of Dr. Croly, the \nauthor of Salathiel, and the Angel of the World, \nwho is now in the decline of life; of Montgomery, the \npoet, whose works have been so mercilessly handled by \nMacaulay ; of William Chalmers, who bears the name, \nand inherits much of the greatness, of his departed \nrelative; of the many distinguished ministers of \nJesus, whose voices I heard in eloquent pleadings in \ntheir own pulpits, or in Exeter Hall, the great theater \nof moral and benevolent controversy. As much as I \nadmired many of the clergymen of London, I do not \nthink they are superior in oratory to our own ministers. \nMany of the most eloquent men in London would be \nconsidered dull here, and some who have large crowds \nattending upon their preaching would hardly draw con\xc2\xac \ngregations in Boston and New York. They use more \nwords, and their discourses are far less compact and \nnicely finished, than our own preachers. And yet I \nshould judge them to be, on the whole, more efficient \nmen, doing more good than men of like eminence in \nour own country. They enter into the great measures \nof the day, the reforms of the age, with more zeal than \nour ministers, and many of them shine more on the \nplatform than in the pulpit. But for eloquence, finish, \nand mental power, I do not think they excel, and of \nall the men I heard, but one or two would be likely to \ndraw large congregations in New England. In this \ngeneral estimate of the ministers of London, I think \nmy traveling companions concurred. \n\n\n132 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nVIII. \n\nBUNHILL FIELDS. \n\nWe have seen the living ministers of this great \nmetropolis; we have visited their churches ; we have \nheard their voices, and it is fitting that we should now \ndirect our steps to a spot where reposes some of Eng\xc2\xac \nland\xe2\x80\x99s most precious dust, in humble and venerated \ncharnels. Every body has heard of Bunhill Fields, \nwhere so many of the old Nonconformist ministers are \ninterred. It was on one dull, melancholy day, when \nsuch clouds as are never seen any where else but in \nLondon were resting like a pall all around, that I \ndirected my steps towards this hallowed spot. I con\xc2\xac \nfess to no superstitious reverence for stones and blocks \nof marble, be they found in old ruined abbeys, cold, \nstately cathedrals, or time-honored cemeteries; but as \nI entered Bunhill Fields, I could not divest myself of \nthe idea that sainted forms were hovering round, and \ninstinctively the tread became lighter, and the conver\xc2\xac \nsation less gay, as one name after another was studied \nout upon time-defaced marble. One of the first graves \nover which I paused was that of Mrs. Susannah \nWesley, the mother of John and Charles. She was the \nwife of Rev. Samuel Wesley, and the daughter of a \nclergyman. A plain slab marks the spot where she \nlies, and by it we are informed that she was the mother \n\nof nineteen children, several of whom became eminent \n\n\xc2\xab \n\nmen in their times. The name of the mother of John \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBUNHILL FIELDS. \n\n\n133 \n\n\nWesley deserves to be remembered. It is worthy of a \nhigher place in the esteem of men than that of Queen \nElizabeth, or any of the proud dames who thronged \nher court, and enjoyed her bounties. \n\nAt a little distance is the grave of John Bunyan, \nwhose name will never die. The stone which covers \nhim is large and uncomely; the inscription is nearly \neffaced, and the whole bears the marks of neglect and \ntime. What Christian would visit London without \nshedding a tear over the grave of Bunyan 1 It must \nbe some one whose heart has not been made glad by \nthe perusal of that delightful allegory, penned by him \nin the shades of a gloomy prison. That grave is one \nof the most sacred pilgrim spots which I visited during \nmy absence from home. Bunyan has crossed the River \nof Death, and been admitted into the Celestial City, \nand his grave is with us unto this day. \n\nNear by rest the ashes of Dr. Isaac Watts, the sweet \nsinger of Israel: his mission of minstrelsy has ceased. \nOn a large, square stone we see his name and age; and \na simple inscription which he ordered to be put there, \nand which can hardly be read without tears \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c In \nuno Jesn omnia \n\nNot far away, we find the remains of Dr. John Gill, \nthe able expounder of a strong Calvinist theology, and \nnear by him Dr. John Owen, whose name we love, and \nwhose works are read by many a fireside. In other \nparts of this burial field are the ashes of noble men \nwho lived for God, and of whom the world was not \nworthy, and on whose simple gravestones may be read \nthe names of Richard Price, George Burder, Nathaniel \nMather, and a multitude of others who endeared them\xc2\xac \nselves to a grateful church by their holy lives and self- \ndenying labors. \n\nL \n\n\n134 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nWhen we had wandered about a while in this loved \nretreat, we crossed over to the chapel built by John \nWesley. It is a very fine structure, and in its day \nmust have been deemed elegant. Its walls once echoed \nwith salvation proclaimed by lips which have now \ncrumbled away to dust. There the father of Method\xc2\xac \nism held forth upon themes which astonished angels, \nand there to him listened such audiences as are now \nseldom gathered by his successors. \n\nIn the graveyard in the rear of the chapel are the \nremains of Wesley, and over them rises a neat stone \nmonument; and at a little distance is the grave of \nCharles Wesley. The next tomb is that of Dr. Adam \nClarke, the commentator. The mark of this is a square \nstone, with his name and date of his death upon it, \nalso an engraved candle, with a motto, which, as near \nas I remember, signifies, \xe2\x80\x9c I am consumed away for \nanother.\xe2\x80\x9d Speaking of Adam Clarke, reminds me of an \namusing incident. Some years ago, a class of students, \nin the divinity college in Andover, were reciting to a \nwell-known and much-beloved instructor, when one of \nthe students was led by some remark to ask the pro\xc2\xac \nfessor what he thought of the theory of Dr. Clarke, \nnamely, that Satan appeared to our first parents in \nthe form of an ape or monkey. The professor immedi\xc2\xac \nately replied, with a look for which he is peculiar, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Be careful, young man, that Adam Clarke\xe2\x80\x99s monkey \ndon\xe2\x80\x99t catch you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHere also lies the body of Rev. Richard Watson, a \nname favorably known among Methodists of all lands, \nand all around are the remains of many of the in\xc2\xac \nfluential clergy of the Wesleyan connection. Their \nlabors are finished, and here, in a spot where, doubt\xc2\xac \nless, they would most wish to sleep, their ashes \n\n\nBUNHILL FIELDS. \n\n\n135 \n\n\nawait the voice of God and the trump of the arch\xc2\xac \nangel. \n\nAs we passed out of the yard, a chamber near by \nwas pointed out as the one in which John Wesley died \n\xe2\x80\x94 a spot hallowed by receiving the last breath of the \ndying man. \n\nThe Christian will love also to visit the old taberna\xc2\xac \ncle of Whitefield, which he built, and where he preached \nto the immense crowds who loved to listen to his voice, \nand were moved by his exhortation. It is an unassum\xc2\xac \ning edifice, and proves Whitefield to have been possessed \nof no great taste in architectural matters. It does not \ncompare with the more elegant house of Wesley. Its \nvalue arises from its connection with that most wonder\xc2\xac \nful man, whose labors were given to two continents; \nwhose birthplace was in England; and whose bones \nare now crumbling in the vaults of one of the churches \nof America. \n\nAs I visited Bunhill Fields, and those old chapels, I \ncould but remember the fate of all men ; and my mind \nturned to the time when Gumming, Noel, Melville, and \nothers will have descended to the grave, and, like Ir\xc2\xac \nving, Wesley, Chalmers, and Whitefield, will repose in \nthe cold, wet tomb. The living ministers of Jesus are \ngoing down to rest with those whose ashes moulder in \nthe shades. On this side of the water, death is doing \nits work, and the ministry is losing its brightest orna\xc2\xac \nments. But the same overruling Providence which has \ntaken away will give anew; the sacramental hosts will \nremain strong and flourishing; and on the walls of \nZion will still continue to stand the living herald of \nthe great salvation. \n\n\n136 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nIX. \n\nROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. \n\nEnglish society exists in wide extremes \xe2\x80\x94 on one \nside, towering wealth, pride, and fashion; on the other, \ndegradation and wretchedness. There is no place in \nthe world where a man may live in the midst of so \nmany gay, fashionable influences, provided he has \nmoney, as in London; and there is no place where he \nmay suffer more, or feel more lonely, if fortune has \nforsaken him, than in that same city. While there, I \nsaw a little of both ends of life, and think I can say \nmore truly now than ever, with an ancient Hebrew, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Give me neither poverty nor riches; \xe2\x80\x9d for in my heart \nI would rush as soon from the position occupied by \nmany of the nobles of that great kingdom, as from the \npoverty of the poor, uneducated, but honest yeomanry \nof the poorer districts. \n\nOn the throne of England now sits a queen who is a \nfavorite to an unusual extent. Wherever I went, I \nfound the people enthusiastic in her praises. I scarcely \nheard a sermon, prayer, or public speech in which the \nname of Victoria did not find a place; and I was some\xc2\xac \nwhat amused to And how soon an American, with a \ndecided contempt for royalty, and who holds the baby \nplay of kings and queens in derision, can fall into the \nhabit of crying, \xe2\x80\x9c God save the queen ! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe first time I saw her majesty was one day in the \ngreat exhibition, when, with Prince Albert and several \n\n\nROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. \n\n\n137 \n\n\nof her friends, she came in to lend her presence to the \noccasion. As I was passing along, admiring the objects \nof interest, a hurried whisper \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c The queen is com\xc2\xac \ning\xe2\x80\x9d\xe2\x80\x94 called my attention; and, the crowd falling \nback, I saw advancing her majesty, leaning upon the \narm of Prince Frederic William of Prussia. Prince \nAlbert was escorting the Princess Louisa of Prussia, \nand behind them followed several gentlemen and ladies \nof the court. A description of the queen is somewhat \ndifficult, inasmuch as she looked so much like other \nladies, that it was hard to distinguish her from those \nwho attended her. She breathed the air, walked upon \nthe ground, and, for aught I know, was human, like \nthose who gazed on in such admiration. It may be \ninteresting to the ladies to know something of her \ndress, which was as plain as one half of those worn \nthat day in the Crystal Palace, and less gaudy than \nsome I saw last Sabbath in the streets of our own city. \nHer dress was a green changeable silk. Over her \nshoulders was carelessly thrown a black 64 Jenny Lind,\xe2\x80\x9d \nwhich now and then would fall, leaving her neck cov\xc2\xac \nered by a collar of plain-worked lace, fastened with a \nsingle brilliant. On her head was an orange-colored \nsilk bonnet, with a few blue flowers and a simple rib- \nin inside. She is a small, delicately-formed woman, \nplain, but prepossessing, with but little to distinguish \nher as the queen of this powerful nation. Prince Al\xc2\xac \nbert is a fine-looking man, and is very much respected \nand beloved by the people. I afterwards saw them, on \nvarious occasions, in the exhibition, and riding out with \ntheir children. On almost every fine day in summer, \na plain carriage, with a single outrider, may be seen \ndriving through Hyde Park, and in it Albert, Prince of \nWales, Prince Alfred, the Princess Poyal, and Princess \n\n18 L* \n\n\n138 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nAlice; for by these imposing titles are these children \ncalled. I also saw, on one or two occasions, the Duch\xc2\xac \ness of Kent, and other persons connected with the royal \nfamily. Kings and queens may become familiarized to \ntheir mode of life, and learn to love it, but in what \nway I do not see. What peace or domestic enjoyment \nVictoria can have, it is hard to tell. Every particular \nrelating to her movements is mentioned in the public \njournals. Who dines with her, who dances with her, \nto whom she speaks, when she sits, what she wears, \nand where she goes, are all matters which are recorded r \nevery morning with all the certainty of the appearance \nof the Times. The most minute particulars, the little \naffairs of table talk, are all paraded before the public. \nHer majesty is thus subjected to a species of compli\xc2\xac \nmentary espionage and voluntary slavery which must \noften be most tedious and unpleasant. It seems to me \nthat a crown is not worth what it costs to keep it; but \nof that others may be better judges. The Queen of \nEngland is much beloved by her people, and strangers \nin London are always eager to see her. The gate of \nthe palace is besieged in the afternoon by a crowd, \nwaiting to see her drive out; and as she dashes on, con\xc2\xac \ngratulations and blessings are heaped upon her. She \nmay thank God that she lives in a day when the habit \nof putting kings and queens to death does not exist. \nShe may read the melancholy tales of Anne Boleyn and \nthe beautiful Lady Jane Grey, with no fear that her \nown head will ever rest upon the bloody block. \n\nNext to the queen, the stranger will desire to see \nthe \xe2\x80\x9c Iron Duke,\xe2\x80\x9d as the hero of Waterloo, the con\xc2\xac \nqueror of Napoleon, is often called. The old man is \nnow near the grave. The form which once was seen \namid the din and carnage of battle is bending downward \n\n\nROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. \n\n\n139 \n\n\nto the tomb. We met him, one day, on horseback, \nriding slowly through the streets, observed and honored \nby all. Little boys cried, \xe2\x80\x9c Here comes the duke,\xe2\x80\x9d and \nuncovered their heads ; and their parents, who had seen \nthe old hero a hundred times, still stopped to gaze after \nhim as he passed. No one who had ever seen a por\xc2\xac \ntrait or statue of the Duke of Wellington could fail to \nrecognize him. His countenance is marked and ]3ecu- \nliar, and his dress somewhat singular for a man of his \nage. A dark coat and white pants united upon the \nperson of the venerable warrior, who sat upon a power\xc2\xac \nful white horse, rendered him, as he moved on, a con- * \nspicuous figure. He is respected and beloved by all. \nThe English people regard him as a national deliverer, \nand statues and monuments to his fame arise in every \npart of London. \n\nI also saw, and became familiar with, the counte\xc2\xac \nnances of other distinguished persons in London, among \nwhom were the Duke of Argyle, the Earl of Chiches\xc2\xac \nter, Lord John Russell, Lord Ashley, with several other \nearls, dukes, lords, and nobles, with titles of which I \nknow not the meaning, and which I did not care to \nremember. They look, for all the world, so much like \nother men, \xe2\x80\x94 having noses, and mouths, and eyes, and \nhands, and feet just like yours and mine, \xe2\x80\x94 that any \ndescription of them would be tedious. Go out into the \nstreet, and stop the first man you meet; dress him in a \ndignified suit of black; and, instead of calling him \nJohn Smith, the cooper, just add a half dozen titles to \nhis name, before and behind, and you have a very cor\xc2\xac \nrect idea of an English nobleman. This order of Eng\xc2\xac \nlish society live in aristocratic style. Buckingham Pal\xc2\xac \nace is the town residence of the queen, and is a fine, \nstately building in St. James\xe2\x80\x99s Park. Orders to visit \n\n\n140 \n\n\nEURORA. \n\n\nthis structure are given only during the absence of the \nroyal family, and I did not enter it. The old St. \nJames\xe2\x80\x99s Palace is not now used as a royal residence; \nbut its spacious halls and saloons are set apart for \nlevees and royal frolicks, which are held there two or \nthree times a year. The building will hardly compare \nexternally with some of our brick boarding-houses in \nmanufacturing cities, and has a deserted and dismal \nappearance. The apartments in which died Queen \nMary I., Queen Caroline, and several of the royal line, \nand in which were born James the Pretender, Charles \nII., and George IV., still remain. \n\nLambeth Palace, an old castle-like-looking place, and \nwhich brings up the idea of ghosts and hobgoblins, is \nthe town house of the Archbishop of Canterbury. The \nDuke of Wellington lives in the Apsley House, a sort \nof genteel-looking prison in Piccadilly, while all over \nthe metropolis rise tine buildings, in which reside the \nhonored descendants of an illustrious ancestry, many \nof them beggared by their excesses, but still retaining \nthe appearance of splendor. \n\nThe interior of these palaces, in many cases, presents \na rich appearance. By an order kindly given us by his \nexcellency, lion. Abbott Lawrence, we visited the town \nhouse of the Duke of Northumberland, who, leaving \nthe city during the summer, left his palace open, that \nthe wondering people from the country might see how \nnobles live. The house is in Trafalgar Square, in the \nmidst of the din and confusion of business. We were \nadmitted by stewards, in whose charge the place now is, \nand at once a scene of great magnificence met the eye. \nThe floors of the hall, and the splendid staircase,\xe2\x80\x94 \nwide enough for an army to march up in regiments, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwere of polished marble. The walls were of composite \n\n\nROYALTY AND ARISTOCRACY. \n\n\n141 \n\n\nmarble, with rich Italian pilasters and pillars. The \nstairs were covered with a rich carpet of crimson vel\xc2\xac \nvet, with gold fringes and borders several yards wide. \nThe spacious apartments were hung with silk, dam\xc2\xac \nask, or beautiful satin; pictures, mirrors, and portraits \nadorned the walls, while from stuccoed and frescoed \nceilings hung massive chandeliers, sparkling and glis\xc2\xac \ntening like gems of glass and gold. An object of much \ninterest in one of the sleeping apartments was a beau\xc2\xac \ntiful ottoman, worked by the fair hands of the unfortu\xc2\xac \nnate Queen Charlotte. \n\nThe residence of Hon. Abbott Lawrence is near that \nof the Duke of Wellington. Mr. Lawrence lives in a \nstyle of magnificence corresponding with his own \nwealth, rather than with the simple republican notions \nof his countrymen. Americans usually call and pay \ntheir respects to our national representative, and, hav\xc2\xac \ning taken a letter of introduction from a brother of his, \nI found my way, one morning, in company with Rev. \nMr. M., of Boston, to the house. His office hour is \neleven o\xe2\x80\x99clock. We arrived ten minutes before the time, \nand inquired for his excellency, or Mr. Davis, the secre\xc2\xac \ntary, and were informed by the servant in livery that \nneither of them could be seen until office hour. \xe2\x80\x9c We \nwill go in and sit down in the office,\xe2\x80\x9d we said ; but he \ncoolly informed us that we could do no such thing. \nIt was raining at a furious rate, \xe2\x80\x94 one of those spite\xc2\xac \nful, soon-over showers peculiar to London, \xe2\x80\x94 and we \nsaid, 44 We will stand in the hall until the rain abates, \nor the office is open; \xe2\x80\x9d but the servant assured us that \nno provision was made for standing in the hall, and so \nwe went out to pace Piccadilly in the driving rain. \nHowever wet and cold a reception we may have re\xc2\xac \nceived, we were assured that Mr. Lawrence meets the \n\n\n/ \n\n\ni \n\n\n142 \n\n\nEUROrA. \n\n\nAmerican in London with the most cordial welcome, \nand furnishes him with every facility for becoming \nacquainted with objects of interest in the city. He is \nexceedingly popular, and maintains a state more nearly \napproaching that of English aristocrats than any man \nwe have ever had at the court of that country. This \nmay be wise and proper, but it will place his suc\xc2\xac \ncessor in a painful position, if his pocket should not \nbe as deep, or his purse as long, as that of our present \nminister. \n\n\nWINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. \n\n\n143 \n\n\nX. \n\ni \n\nWINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. \n\nA railroad ride of twenty-two miles brings us to \n\'Windsor Castle, the country residence of the royal \nfamily. For eight centuries the monarchs of England \nhave resorted to this proud old place, and here have \ntranspired scenes which never can be buried up. While \nher majesty is visiting at Windsor, the national flag is \nkept flying continually from the summit of the Found \nTower, and can be seen for many miles. When she \nreturns to London, the flag is taken down and hoisted \non Buckingham Palace. The day which I spent at the \ncastle was one of the most interesting of my whole stay \nin England. Such a spot is a grand place to commune \nwith the old feudal past; to bring back to one\xe2\x80\x99s mind \nthe knights of olden time, and gather them around the \nbanquet. We passed in rapid succession through the \nvarious apartments, known as the audience room, the \nVandyke room, the drawing room, the anterooms, the \nWaterloo chamber, the presence chamber, the guard \nchamber, all hung with fine paintings, by masters who \nhave long since laid down the pencil, and have become \nthemselves of less consequence than the canvas on \nwhich their time was employed. \n\nWithin the walls of the castle is St. George\xe2\x80\x99s Chapel, \na fine church, which strikes the visitor with solemn \nawe as he enters it. The walls are hung with banners, \nand engraven with armorial bearings. The stalls in \n\n\n144 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\nthe choir are of a rich carved work, bearing the arms \nof the nobles who occupy them. A rich, deep-toned \norgan, at morning and evening, pours out a delightful \nstrain of delicious music, and a \xe2\x80\x9c dim religious light \xe2\x80\x9d \nstruggling through the stained Gothic windows, lends a \nsolemn and awful feeling to every stranger. In a neat \nchapel is the cenotaph, erected to the memory of the \nPrincess Charlotte of Saxe Coburg. It is an exquisite \nwork, and one can hardly stand before the dumb, dead, \ncold marble without tears. It represents the princess \nlying in state upon a bier. At each corner of her \ndeath couch is the bowed form of a weeping attendant, \nwhile over all bends an angel holding the living child, \nin giving birth to which the beautiful princess passed \n\nawav from earth. \n\n%> \n\nThe grounds around Windsor Castle are laid out \nwith great beauty, and it is said that the queen can \nride through them, thirty miles, winding backward and \nforward, without crossing her own track in any single \ninstance. The Round Tower is nearly three hundred \nfeet high, and from it, twelve counties can be seen \nspread out in fertile beauty. All around Windsor are \nplaces of interest. At a little distance Eton College \nrears its front; Virginia water, with its beautiful ac\xc2\xac \ncompaniments, is on the other side; while, all around, \nparks, groves, lakes, and ledges add beauty to the \ncountry, and render the place one of surpassing interest \neven to royalty itself. \n\nHampton Court Palace was built by Cardinal Wol- \nsey, and given to Henry VIII. It is about twelve \nmiles from London, and is one of the most beautiful \nspots in the kingdom. Within its walls more plans \nof shame, crime, and blood have been formed than in \nany other building in England. There, fallen and \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. \n\n\n145 \n\n\nlicentious ecclesiastics have reveled with lewd and dis\xc2\xac \nsipated kings and queens. There scenes of villainy \nhave originated which have made the nation tremble. \nKings have been born, married and died there, and the \nvery walls seem to tremble with the records which they \nbear. The ride from London to Hampton is very fine, \nand the traveler is delighted with all he sees. On the \nway is the house of Alexander Pope, in which he lived \nand poetized; in the distance is seen the country resi\xc2\xac \ndence of Lord John Pussell; on the other side is the \nfamous Strawberry Hill and villa ; while the whole \ncountry is rich and variecf as nature and art can make \nit. In the garden of this palace is the great grape \nvine, the largest in the world. It is a black Hamburg \ngrape ; the main vine is thirty inches in circumference, \nand one hundred and ten feet long, and bears annually \nabout twenty-five hundred bunches of delicious fruit, \nweighing somewhat over half a tun. The garden and \nparks are laid out with much taste, and the whole is a \nnational monument which costs an immense sum to \nkeep it in repair. It is not used by the royal family, \nbut is made the residence of privileged nurses and \nservants of the old nobles. It has a mournful appear\xc2\xac \nance, and one can hardly fail to recall the scenes which \nhave transpired here, and which have made the name \nof Cardinal Wolsey and Hampton Court Palace famous \nthroughout the world. \n\nPassing along Fleet Street one day, I saw r in large \ncapitals, on a rude, old-fashioned, crowded building, \n\xe2\x80\x9c This was the palace of Cardinal Wolsey and Henry \nVIII.; \xe2\x80\x9d and on entering, I found it occupied by a \nbarber, who requested me to sit down and be shaved in \na chair once owned by the cardinal. While he was \noperating, I cast my eyes around, and saw the walls \n\n19 m \n\n\n146 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nand ceiling all bearing evidence of former opulence and \nsplendor; and when I went away, I found I was obliged \nto pay an extra sixpence for having sat in the cardinal\xe2\x80\x99s \nchair. When I remonstrated, the fellow very coolly \nasked me if I did not come in to be shaved. His im\xc2\xac \npudence was so humorous, that I could not resist it; \nand I paid him the extra sixpence, telling him it was \nthe first time I was ever shaved with a chair. I am \nwilling to be imposed upon sometimes, if it is done \nwith real wit and genuine good nature, and so resolved \nto call on the barber again. I refused to sit down in \nthe cardinal\xe2\x80\x99s chair, and another was provided. While \nmy hair was being dressed, he commenced conversation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c You are from America, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c A very clever people them, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Californy is close by you, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Did ye bring your better half over, sir ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Is your business good now, sir ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c And ye are a pretty clever man at making money, \nsir?\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c And how do ye make it, sir ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI thought a moment, and replied, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cBy keeping clear of barbers, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI preserved my gravity, and he commenced a low \nwhistle, at the same time scrubbing and scraping my \nhead, pulling my hair, and pouring on oil until it ran \ndown into my eyes, when all at once he commenced \nagain. \n\n\nWINDSOR CASTLE AND HAMPTON COURT. 147 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cYou are growing bald, sir \xe2\x80\x94 losing your hair very \nfast, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAh! O!\xe2\x80\x9d said I, rather astonished at this infor\xc2\xac \nmation. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cI can sell you some oil\xe2\x80\x94Cardinal Wolsey oil \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhich will bring it all out again, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI told him that I had no occasion for his oil, and \nrequested him to stop rubbing my head, lest his declara\xc2\xac \ntion should soon prove too true. I arose from the chair, \nsupposing that I had outwitted the barber, and asked \nhim his charge. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Two shillings, sir,\xe2\x80\x9d (equal to fifty cents.) \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c How is that] \xe2\x80\x9d I asked. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Why,\xe2\x80\x9d replied he coolly, \xe2\x80\x9c sixpence for shaving, \nand one and sixpence for the oil.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Oil! oil! \xe2\x80\x9d said I; \xe2\x80\x9c what oil 1 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Why, the oil which the lad has wrapped up in a \nbill, and put in your coat, sir.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnd, sure enough, a bottle of oil was found in my \npocket; and, as I unrolled and examined it, the impu\xc2\xac \ndent fellow stood by, exclaiming, \xe2\x80\x9c I never take back \nwhat I sell; no, I never do.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was no use; and I paid the charge, used the oil, \nand the bottle remaineth to remind me occasionally \nhow keenly an Irish barber outwitted the Yankee trav\xc2\xac \neler, and how I was shaved four times in London \xe2\x80\x94 \ntwice with a razor, once with a chair, and once with a \nbottle of oil. \n\n\n148 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\n\n\xc2\xbb\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\ni \n\n\n\\ \n\nXL \n\nPARLIAMENT \xe2\x80\x94 TOWER \xe2\x80\x94 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. \n\nThe old Houses of Parliament were consumed in \n1834, and the new Houses now in process of erection \nwill doubtless be the finest specimens of Gothic archi\xc2\xac \ntecture in the world, and will cover an area of nine \nacres; The House of Commons is not yet complete ; \nthe House of Lords is finished, and in use. Through \nthe kindness of an English friend, I obtained admit\xc2\xac \ntance to the House of Lords while that august body \nwas in session. The room is ninety feet long, forty-five \nfeet wide, and forty feet high. At the end opposite the \nentrance is the throne \xe2\x80\x94 a sort of a chair, which is oc\xc2\xac \ncupied by the queen on state occasions. On the right \nis a chair for the Prince of Wales, and on the left one \nfor Prince Albert. Immediately in front and below \nthe throne is the woolsack, or the seat of the lord \nchancellor, the presiding officer. The effect, on enter\xc2\xac \ning the house, is wonderful. The stained glass win\xc2\xac \ndows ; the light, airy, trellised, and carved work ; the \nabundance of gilt and gold, \xe2\x80\x94 is, for a while, painfully \ngorgeous. On the day of my visit, the house was filled \nwith a gay and brilliant assemblage; and I think I \nnever entered a legislative assembly where the impres\xc2\xac \nsion produced was more profound. A discussion was \nin progress on the ecclesiastical title bill, and in it Lord \nBeaumont, Viscount Canning, the Duke of Wellington, \nthe Duke of Argyle, the Earl of Aberdeen, and the \n\n\nPARLIAMENT \xe2\x80\x94 TOWER \xe2\x80\x94 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 149 \n\nMarquis of Lansdowne engaged. The debate was dull \nenough, though the subject was one of exciting interest. \nThe remarks were generally commonplace, and uttered \nby each speaker as if he cared little whether they were \nheard and heeded or not. I remember only what was \nsaid by the Duke of Wellington, who expressed his \nfear that the designs of Popery were not as clearly un\xc2\xac \nderstood and guarded against as they should be. He \nfeared the tyrant at Pome more than all the armies of \nEurope \xe2\x80\x94 the ingenuity and subtlety of the Jesuit more \nthan the roar of battle. I do not pretend to give his \nwords; but they formed a noble sentence, and were \nnobly uttered. I should hardly think this body would \ncompare favorably, for intellect and grasp of thought, \nwith that branch of our own federal government which \ncorresponds with it \xe2\x80\x94 the Senate. \n\nThe Commons meet in a dull, dingy hall, their house, \nas yet, being unfinished. This body is composed of \nthe younger sons of the nobles, respectable tradesmen, \nand agricultors, and resembles our House of Repre\xc2\xac \nsentatives. I obtained admittance on two occasions. \nThe members were noisy, boisterous, sitting with their \nhats on, the whole group forming as admirable a speci\xc2\xac \nmen of a bear garden as can be found. The debates \nwere more exciting, and the whole scene more tumultu\xc2\xac \nous, than that witnessed in the House of Lords. On \none occasion, the ecclesiastical bill was up; and on the \nother, a bill for the supply of the metropolis with water \nwas under discussion, the most prominent speaker, on \nthe first occasion, being one Murphy, an Irishman, and \non the second, Lord John Pussell. 1 cannot say that \nmy opinion of the ability of English legislators was at \nall increased by these visits. In the House of Com\xc2\xac \nmons, two or three members who rose to speak were \n\n\n150 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfairly laughed down, one half the house setting up a \nmock laugh the moment they commenced, and continu\xc2\xac \ning until, unable to be understood in a single sentence, \nthey sat down in confusion. For decorum, ability, elo\xc2\xac \nquence, and real power, I think our own legislative \nbodies would compare favorably with those two assem\xc2\xac \nblies, from which goes out an influence which reaches \nto the ends of the world. Our statesmen are destitute \nof high-sounding titles and royal honors ; hut illustri\xc2\xac \nous names are known in our halls of Congress, which, \nin a single session, would stand among the highest in \nthe Parliament of England. \n\nIntimately connected with the nobility of England is \nthe famous old Tower of London. More interest gath\xc2\xac \ners around that pile of buildings than around Victoria\xe2\x80\x99s \nthrone; and one would as soon go to Pome, and neg\xc2\xac \nlect to enter St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, as to visit London, and fail to \nsee the Tower. It was founded by "William the Con\xc2\xac \nqueror ; and an old legend declares, probably without \ntruth, that the mortar was tempered with the blood of \nbeasts. By his successors it has been enlarged and im\xc2\xac \nproved, and, at times, occupied \xe2\x80\x94 now as a palace, then \nas a prison. As we passed through the gloomy gate\xc2\xac \nway, into the place of blood, a guide met us, wearing \na black hat, with a crown unusually low, and a brim \nunusually wide, around Avhich ribins of several colors \nwere tied, a coat of red, ornamented with gold lace, \nmaking the man a very forbidding and grotesque-look- . \ning personage. The buildings cover an irregular area \nof thirteen acres, and were formerly surrounded by a \nditch, from which the water is now drawn, and in \nwhich a company of soldiers were parading. Twice I \nwandered through this gloomy edifice \xe2\x80\x94 once with my \ntraveling companions, and once alone. With a chill \n\n\nPARLIAMENT \xe2\x80\x94 TOWER \xe2\x80\x94 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 151 \n\nof horror, I wandered from armory to armory, hall to \nhall, tower to tower. \n\nIt was here that Sir Thomas More came to his terri\xc2\xac \nble end, his head having been struck off with an ax, \nwhile his daughter clung around his neck with all the \nheroism of childlike devotion. Here William Wallace \nwas confined after his unfortunate attempt to give lib\xc2\xac \nerty to Scotland, and from here he was dragged at a \nhorse\xe2\x80\x99s tail to Smithfield, and barbarously murdered. \nHere Henry VI. was assassinated \xe2\x80\x94 the object of foul \nconspiracies, the victim of unsatisfiable ambition. Here \nthe young princes were smothered by the order of Richard \nIII., in all the helplessness of childhood; and here the \nmurderer afterwards met the fate he so richly deserved. \nHere Bishop Fisher was executed, to satisfy the ma\xc2\xac \nlignity of a wicked monarch whose foolish pretensions \nhe refused to acknowledge. Here Anne Boleyn met \nher fate, protesting that her only crime was in having- \nlost the love of her husband, who, three days after her \nhead was struck off, led the beautiful Jane Seymour to \nthe unhallowed altar. Here the Countess of Salisbury, \naccused of treason, ran around the fatal block, the exe\xc2\xac \ncutioner striking at her head at every step, until she \nfell covered with wounds. Here Lady Jane Grey, the \nvictim of the weak ambition of her friends, having suf\xc2\xac \nfered herself to be crowned, was confined, tried, and \nexecuted. Here Arabella Stuart was confined, until, \nher health departed, her reason tied, and covered with \ndisease, she died a lunatic. Here the gifted Earl of \nStrafford was confined and put to death under the eye \nof Cromwell, soon followed to the block by Laud, the \ncorrupt ecclesiastic and unprincipled statesman. Time \nwill not allow me to dwell upon the scenes of horror \nwhich have here been witnessed. For centuries, the \n\n\n152 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nblock and the rack have been doing their work; and \nhundreds daily visit the bloody apartments, to wonder \nat the cruelty of man, and to thank God that the day \nof darkness has passed, never to return. At times, \nthe old walls have rung with shouts of joy, and anon \nechoed with groans of anguish. Now, the marriage fes\xc2\xac \ntival has been held here ; and anon, the bride is brought \nto the block, and her headless trunk and trunkless head \nroll over together, and are borne away to a dishonored \ngrave. \n\nIn the Tower are kept the crown jewels, which are \nobjects of much interest to those who are unaccustomed \nto the sight of such baubles. In this collection are \ncrowns which have been worn by Charles II. and various \nother monarchs ; scepters which have been used under \ndifferent reigns ; the royal spurs of gold worn at the \ncoronations ; the bracelets and other jewels worn by \nthe queen on state occasions ; the golden swords of \nmercy and justice ; the baptismal stand from which the \nroyal babies are sprinkled; the sacramental service \nused at coronations ; with many other baubles, the use \nof which I did not know. The object of all others in \nwhich I was most interested was the new crown made \nfor Victoria, and worn at her coronation. It is a sort \nof baby cap, of purple velvet, \xe2\x80\x9c enclosed by silver \nhoops, covered with diamonds. Surmounting these \nhoops is a ball, also adorned with small diamonds, \nbearing a cross formed of brilliants, in the center of \nwhich is a unique sapphire. In the front of this crown \nis the heart-formed ruby stated to have been worn by \nEdward the Black Prince.\xe2\x80\x9d What these toys cost, and \nat what they are valued, I could form no estimate, nor \ncould the good old lady, who, with a consequential air, \nadmitted us into the room, inform me. \n\n\nPARLIAMENT \xe2\x80\x94TOWER \xe2\x80\x94WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 153 \n\nOn one occasion, a bold attempt was made to steal \nthese crown jewels, and would have succeeded but for \nthe bravery of the old man who at that time had them \nin his care. The robber, however, escaped without \npunishment, and afterwards became a man of eminence \nand honor. \n\nThese visits to the Tower made a deep and lasting \nimpression. I cannot now forget those tokens and \nevidences of the past; and they often rise before me, \nspoiling some fair vision, and dissipating some dream \nof good. The block, the ax, the rack, the chain, \nremain, while the tyrant and the victim have passed \naway. Long will the Tower stand. The history of \nEngland for past centuries is written there, and read \nthere by hundreds every day. It is a dark history, \nsuch as one would read at midnight, and over which, \nas yet, tears enough have not been shed to blot it out. \nWhat St. Angelo is to Lome, the Tower is to London. \n\nHaving glanced at the nobility of England, it is \nproper that we should visit the place where their ashes \nlie, and where their dead repose. Westminster Abbey \nneeds no description. It has stood for centuries, one \nof the greatest monuments of the old world. Once \nmonks and friars chanted solemn services beneath its \narches ; it is now the tomb of dead kings and a per\xc2\xac \nished nobility. Every day a service is performed by \nthe priests of the reformed religion, and every night \nthe moon looks through the old windows upon the \nshadows of the mighty past. There all the monarchs \nof England are crowned in an old chair, which none \nof us would keep in our houses, and which, for the \npurpose of coronation, is covered with velvet. Here \nthe diadem was placed upon the head of Victoria, and \nfrom these walls went out the glad shout of the pop- \n\n20 \n\n\n154 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nulace. I felt an indescribable awe creeping over me \nas I stood in the Poets\xe2\x80\x99 Corner, and read the names \nof Jonson, Spenser, Milton, Gray, Dry den, Thomson, \nSouthey, Shakspeare, Addison, and a host of others ; \nor wandered down the nave, or across the transept, into \nthe chapels of ITenry VII. and the others; into the \ncold cloisters where monks once sat, where the dead \nnow live in monuments and inscriptions of during \nmight. Here are kings wTio went down from thrones \nand from blocks ; generals who fell on battle fields, or \nin the loved retreats of home; poets who have w r on \nimmortal renown; men of wealth, fashion, skill, and \npiety; all, all, in one common sepulcher, repose in the \nembrace of death. Monuments of all forms, and cov\xc2\xac \nered with all kinds of inscriptions, true and false ; \nstatues, busts, blocks, and slabs, some as old as the \nvenerable pile itself, and some of yesterday, uttering \nthe mortality of the great, and wise, and good; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Marble monuments are here displayed, \n\nThronging the walls ; and on the floor beneath \nSepulchral stones appear, with emblems graven, \n\nAnd foot-worn epitaphs ; and some with small \nAnd shining effigies of brass inlaid. \n\nThe tribute by those various records claimed \nWithout reluctance do we pay \xe2\x80\x94 and read \nThe obituary chronicle of birth, \n\nOffice, alliance, and promotion \xe2\x80\x94 all \nEnding in dust.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI found opportunity, when weary of the noise, strife, \nand confusion of the great city, to retire, as I did on \nseveral occasions, to muse on man, his pomp, pride, and \nend. It did my heart good to sit down in that old \nvaulted place, or to walk along the damp cloisters, or \nlook through into the chapels, and hold communion \n\n\nPARLIAMENT \xe2\x80\x94 TOWER \xe2\x80\x94 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 155 \n\nwith the dead past. In St. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s, and in the churches \nof London, the English service, drawled out, seemed to \nme to be most miserable mockery. But in the Abbey, \nit filled my soul with unutterable solemnity. It sound\xc2\xac \ned so much like death, and death as it was there, in \nthat old cathedral, that its effect was irresistible. \n\nAnd methinks the coronation of the monarchs of \nEngland in that venerated edifice would have some\xc2\xac \nthing of mournfulness about it. When from the \ntower and the temple, across the parks and down the \nbroad ways, comes the mighty tide, moving into the \nAbbey and filling it full, there must be heard the voices \nof the past swelling out from rich sarcophagus and \nstately tomb, to speak to that crowned one of dust and \nashes. There must be, with all the gayety, some mourn\xc2\xac \nful association connected with that glad service, which \ntestifies to the surging masses that they have come to \nthe house of death, as well as to the temple of life. \nThe ringing bells, thundering cannon, harmonious an\xc2\xac \nthems, shouting crowds, and brilliant ceremonies can\xc2\xac \nnot drive away the shades of the dim old arches, as \nthey seem to bend, in worship or mockery, over the life \nwhich will soon be closed in death. \n\nWere I about to lay aside my manhood and become \na monk, or a friar, and give myself up to the mistaken \nnotions of a religious life, and could I choose the spot \nwhere my self-imposed seclusion should be passed, I \nwould select that emblem of eternity, which stands \nalone, a sepulcher amidst the tumultuous beatings of \nlife, in the very heart of the great metropolis\xe2\x80\x94 West\xc2\xac \nminster Abbey. \n\n\n156 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXII. \n\nMEN AND THINGS. \n\nThe display made by the nobles of England on \npublic occasions is very great, and even on ordinary \noccasions is greater than that of any other nation which \nI have visited. On any bright, beautiful afternoon, \nduring the past summer, a stranger might have been \namused for hours in watching the carriages of the \nnobles as they drove in and out of Hyde Park. I stood \nat the gate one day, and saw T them rolling out at the \nrate of six hundred an hour; and seldom has any mili\xc2\xac \ntary display been of more interest. There seemed a \nwealth and dignity to all this unlike any such exhibi\xc2\xac \ntion I had ever seen. The carriages were drawn by two \nor four horses, beautifully harnessed, while the coach\xc2\xac \nman, with his powdered wig, sitting on the box, and the \nfootmen, with their gay red velvet breeches and blue \ncoats, standing behind, seemed as proud as their mas\xc2\xac \nters w r ho rode within. Sometimes these carriages are \npreceded by outriders on horseback, and not unfre- \nquently have I noticed some five or six men in attend\xc2\xac \nance upon one lady. In more than one instance I \nnoticed that the only occupant of the carriage was a \npet dog, who seemed to enjoy the sport finely. In such \ncases, I presume the family did not wish to ride, and \nsent out their servants and equipage to keep up the \ndignity of the parade; \n\nThe English ladies, as far as I could see, though I do \n\n\nMEN AND THINGS. \n\n\n157 \n\n\nnot pretend to be a judge, are less beautiful than our \nown. They accustom themselves to out-of-door exer\xc2\xac \ncise, and the middle and lower classes are far less \nattractive than the same classes here. But while this \nmay be the fact, English women are generally far more \ncapable than our own. The early education of Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan ladies unfits them for almost all the duties and \npursuits of life. They grow up greenhouse plants, \nthat too often wither at the least exposure. They \ncannot go a mile in stage or rail car without a male \nattendant, and shrink back from the least responsibility \nwith horror The English women, of the highest and \nlowest rank, find pleasure in an opposite course, and in \nsome cases aspire to duties belonging to the other sex. \n\nI was disappointed in Englishmen to some extent. \nThey were not so portly, on the whole, as I supposed ; \nand while there were seen few tall, lean, cadaverous \nmen, as among us, there were less of the aldermanic \nsize than I expected to find. The English people give \nthemselves up to enjoyment to a much greater degree \nthan we do. Here, it is all \xe2\x80\x9c get, get; \xe2\x80\x9d but there, the \ndesire to enjoy prevails. Consequently the signs of \nhealth are more often seen, and each cheek bears the \nimpress of generous living. \n\nThe English, less frequently than our people, wear \nfalse hair, when that which nature gave them has de\xc2\xac \nparted. The old man does not cover his bald pate and \nhis snowy locks with the scalp of a dead man, nor \ndoes the aged woman pin fine curls under her neat \ncap, to cover a stray lock, which, in accordance with \na natural law, has become bleached by time. \n\nMen and women seem to believe that a hoary head \nis a crown of honor, and act accordingly. But among \nus, the venerable old man will often destroy his white \n\nN \n\n\n158 \n\n\nk uii or A. \n\n\nlocks by covering his head with a protection which \nnature put upon the cranium of a savage or an idiot. \nI recall the countenance of a good man who once lived \nand moved among us, whose hoary head I loved to \ngaze upon, as the white locks floated in the breeze. \nBut one day, he came forth with his wig, to the aston\xc2\xac \nishment of all, and I have missed that venerable head \nfrom that day to this. \n\nThe wigs worn in England are used irrespective of \nbaldness. I was not a little amused, one day, in wan\xc2\xac \ndering about the courts of London, to find the lawyers \nand judges all buried up in monstrous gray wigs and \nblack robes. Some of them were very young men, and \nI had seen them elsewhere with fine locks and beauti\xc2\xac \nful hair ; but here, each had on the gray powdered wig, \nwhich rolled down upon his shoulders. From beneath \nthis useless appendage a pair of keen eyes looked forth, \nand two thirds of the members of the bar looked more \nlike monkeys than human beings. I saw Talfourd thus \narrayed, and I hardly think I shall want to read \nanother verse of his, until the comical look which he \nhad on is effaced from my memory. \n\nThe coachmen of fine families, though mere boys, are \noften decorated in this way; and the rich adornment of \nnature is buried up with the long, tangled, powdered, \ncurled, and uncomely flax of the show case. \n\nThe dress of English gentlemen is generally plain, \nand less Frenchified than that of Americans. The cut \nof an English coat, and the trim of an English hat, are \nany thing but pleasing ; and few who purchase in Lon\xc2\xac \ndon use them when they return. The English ladies \ndress, I should judge, more richly and less gaudily than \nthe same class and rank in our country. No English \nwoman feels that she is compelled by fashion to sweep \n\n\nMEN AND THINGS. \n\n\n159 \n\n\nthe sidewalks with her dress, or wear thin shoes amid \nthe peltings of a storm. Than among us there is less \nof that mock modesty which blushes at a dress which \ndoes not cover the ankle, boot, and foot, and drag \nthrough the mud and water \xe2\x80\x94 the frequent cause of \ndisease and death. There is less of that miserable fash\xc2\xac \nion which compels a lady to wear a shoe through which \nthe damp chill and the wet and cold find their way as \nsoon as the foot is placed upon the ground. Often \nhave I seen ladies crossing the muddy streets of Lon\xc2\xac \ndon with clogs, or wire sandals, which keep the foot \nfrom a contact with the mud, and save the wearer from \na needless exposure. \n\nWhile there may be less of what often passes for \npoliteness among the English than among the French, \nthere is far more genial hospitality among the former \nthan among the latter people. They do you a kindness \nwith a hearty good will, which makes you feel its hon\xc2\xac \nesty, and enables you to appreciate its worth. I am \nstill indebted to several English friends, who received \nme with a cordiality which I shall long remember. \n\nWere I to hazard an opinion, I should say there was \nmore domestic bliss and well-ordered family government \nthan among us. The training of youth is not left so \nmuch to the teacher of the day or Sunday school, but \nthe mind and heart of the parent come more directly \ninto contact with the mind and heart of the child. Be\xc2\xac \nsides, English people are much at home, and have more \nsources of pleasure around their own firesides, than have \nwe. I think while on the continent I met more Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan than English travelers. We love to roam, and home \nloses its attractions. We love progress and change, and \noften the fire on the hearthstone is put out. But the \nEnglishman feels that his own country is the best on \n\n\n160 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nearth. Paris, Pome, Naples, have far less attractions \nthan busy, crowded London. The absence of any gen\xc2\xac \neral system of education compels more extensive home \neducation, and all these causes combined furnish a \nlarger number of well-regulated families. Boys and \ngirls, when they enter their teens, do not become older \nand wiser, and of more consequence, than their par\xc2\xac \nents, and hence a large amount of crime and sorrow, \nwhich is the usual attendant upon an early abandon\xc2\xac \nment of parental authority, is avoided. Children seem \nto grow up with more fixed and settled habits of \nthought and action ; and, when they go forth from the \nparental roof, they go with opinions formed, and princi\xc2\xac \nples of action decided upon. Of course, to all these \nremarks there are some exceptions; and yet I think \nyou find in England more correct and valuable views \nof the family relation, and a more just appreciation of \nits blessings. \n\n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. 161 \n\n\nXIII. \n\n/ \n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. \n\nMy desire, in visiting London, was not merely to see! \nthe Crystal Palace, the great Cathedral, and the royal \nfamily. I wished to find my way into those scenes of \nwo which have been pictured before us in the reports \nof benevolent societies and the statistics of crime. And \nthis object I found it no w T ay difficult to accomplish. I \nwas enabled to obtain much valuable information from \npolice officers, of whom there are about five thousand, \ndivided into eighteen companies, each wearing a neat \nuniform, lettered and numbered so that he can be recog\xc2\xac \nnized without difficulty. These policemen take great \npleasure in giving information and furnishing the stran\xc2\xac \nger w T ith every facility for securing a knowledge of the \nmetropolis. These men are seen upon every corner, \nand in every lane and avenue of the city ; and their \npresence enables a stranger to feel as safe at midnight\' \nas at noonday. Hour after hour have I walked up and \ndown with one of these men, listening to some tale of \nhorror in which he has been called to act a part. \nScarcely was I in London a waking hour in which I \ndid not make an inquiry of some one of them,, and \noftentimes my question was the suggestion of Yankee \ninquisitiveness; yet in no single instance did I receive \nan uncivil reply, or hear an uncourteous remark. \n\nOne morning, I was directed by one of these men to \nthe \xe2\x80\x9cOld Bailev,\xe2\x80\x9d one of the most notorious courts in \n\n21 N* \n\n\n162 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nLondon, where about four thousand offenders are tried \nannually. The court room was a very mean one, and \nthronged with policemen, barristers, and spectators. I \npaid a small fee, and was admitted to the gallery. The \ncase was an affecting one. A young man about twenty- \ntwo years of age had committed an assault upon his \naged mother, (as near as I could judge of the case by \nthe short time I remained,) by which she had died at \nthe time, or soon afterwards ; and here he was arraigned \nfor matricide. The particulars of the case I could not \ncollect; and, though I examined the papers afterwards, \nI could not learn his fate. \n\nThe number of courts in London is not large; but \nthose that do exist drive business, as you may judge \nfrom the fact that, within five years, (between 1844 and \n1848,) three hundred and seventy-four thousand seven \nhundred and ten persons were taken into custody by \nthe police; and, during the same years, there were sev\xc2\xac \nenty thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine robberies, \nin which property was stolen to the amount of one \nmillion three hundred and fifty-four thousand seven \nhundred and twenty-five dollars. \n\nNear by Old Bailey is the famous Newgate Prison, a \ncold, forbidding-looking stone edifice, in the heart of \nthe city. I felt a cold shudder pass over me as I en\xc2\xac \ntered with a policeman one day, and pursued my way \nthrough the halls and by the cells, from out of which \nglared the eyes of the criminals, now wet with tears, \nand then glistening with rage and hate. In the prison \nis a chapel, in which the English service is read to the \nprisoners. In the center of this chapel is a chair which \nis assigned to the condemned murderer, and in which \nhe sits on the Sabbath previous to his execution. In \nother days, a coffin, in which he was soon to be buried, \n\n\nPRISONS\xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. 163 \n\n\nwas brought in and laid at his feet, that, as the service \nwent on, the doomed man might see it, and be continu\xc2\xac \nally reminded of his coming fate. Frequently the pris\xc2\xac \noner did not know the time appointed for his execution \nuntil he was led in and seated in the condemned chair, \nwhere, in some cases, he sat in sullen silence, and, in \nother cases, in sobbing grief. I thought I would like \nto gather the young men of our city around me in that \nstern, gloomy chapel, and preach a discourse to them \non the \xe2\x80\x9c dissuasives from crime,\xe2\x80\x9d and draw from those \ncondemned cells, cold walls, and the criminal\xe2\x80\x99s chair, \nillustrations of the truth of the Scripture declaration, \nthat \xe2\x80\x9c the way of the transgressor is hard.\xe2\x80\x9d But, alas! \nsermons are never preached in that chapel until it is too \nlate. In front of the prison is an open space, in which \nprisoners are executed; and, as I walked across it, the \nvery earth seemed stained with blood. I visited several \nprisons, but saw nothing which differed materially from \nprisons in America. \n\nThe ragged schools of London present a more sad and \nsolemn picture of the condition of the city than do the \nprisons. I never knew what a ragged school was until \nI saw one. I never imagined the scene which presented \nitself to my view as I entered such an institution. A \nclerical friend accompanied me, one afternoon, to see one \nof these schools. About fifty boys were assembled, just \nas they had been gathered up out of the filth of the \nstreet. Their clothes were torn and ragged, their faces \ndirty, and their hair uncombed. In a little, narrow \nroom, unventilated and dreary, they were crowded to\xc2\xac \ngether. The presence of strangers restrained them but \na moment, when they began to train to the best of their \nability. At the request of the teacher, I addressed \nthem in simple language, telling them the story of \n\n\n164 \n\n\nEIJROPA. \n\n\nJesus, from his birth to his dreadful crucifixion on Cal\xc2\xac \nvary. While 1 was describing scenes in the Savior\xe2\x80\x99s \nlife, they listened ; but when I began to urge them to \nlove the Savior, they began to play. I continued until \nI saw a lad about fifteen years of age ripping the bind\xc2\xac \ning from my hat, which was already pretty well used \nup. After my remarks were closed, a gentleman pres\xc2\xac \nent offered prayer. He stood with his hat in his hands, \nand his handkerchief in his hat. When his prayer Avas \nnearly finished, a large boy made a pass, and, seizing \nthe handkerchief, uttered a shout, and ran out into the \nstreet, followed by nearly the whole school. It w r as \none of the most laughingly painful scenes I ever wit\xc2\xac \nnessed. The clergyman kept on praying, the teacher \nran after the handkerchief, and I stood by debating \nwhether it was best for me to weep or laugh. \n\nOn another occasion, I visited a school in company \nwith Ilev. Mr. Overbury, in which the government \nseemed to be nearly as defective. I tried to speak, and \nmy friend tried to pray ; but neither of us could secure \nthe attention of the wretched-looking little creatures \nwho sat on the side benches, pictures of abject poverty \nand tvo. \n\nBut the most terrible scene of this kind I witnessed \non the last Sabbath evening of my stay in London. I \nhad preached in the evening for Bev. Mr. Stovel, and \none of his friends accompanied me to a school in Field \nLane, near Smith-field. This school is in the vicinity \nof one of the most depraved portions of the city ; and \nthose who attend are, in many cases, notorious thieves, \nwho come in for a purpose which will afterwards be \nseen. We found the building, and went up over a nar\xc2\xac \nrow staircase into a chamber which would hold about \ntwo hundred persons. The walls were whitewashed, \n\n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. 165 \n\n\nand mottoes and sentences of Scripture were put up all \naround. In one end were a platform and gallery for \nsingers, and opposite, in the other end, was a rude \npainting of Christ blessing little children. The school \nwas done when we entered, and a prayer meeting was \nbeing held. The children had retired, but about one \nhundred and fifty men and women remained. They \nwere all in a kneeling posture; but many heads were \nup, eyes gazing about, and hands employed in molesting \nothers. We made our way to the platform, where we \nfound several American clergymen, and from where we \ncould obtain a fair view of the whole school. And \nsuch a spectacle I never saw before. Each counte\xc2\xac \nnance bore some feature of hate, malice, knavery, or \nof wo and wTetchedness. Poorly clad, with unshaven \nfaces and sinister expression, they formed a group such \nas could be gathered from no state\xe2\x80\x99s prison in America. \nSome were barefoot; some were shirtless; some had \nred and swollen eyes \xe2\x80\x94 .sure evidence of intemperance ; \nand some had eyes keen and piercing; some looked as \nif they had spent the day in a coal-pit; not one seemed \nto have had any thing to do with water and soap ; and \nsuch disagreeable effluvia \xe2\x80\x94 O ! \n\nTwo or three prayers were offered, two or three \nhymns were sung, and the meeting closed. We then \nwent down into the room under the school, to see about \nseventy-five of the men \xe2\x80\x9c put to bed,\xe2\x80\x9d as the term is. \nIn the dormitories, accommodations are made for lodg\xc2\xac \ning about one hundred. They are furnished with a \nblanket, which they can use for bed, coverlet, or pillow. \nThe cribs, or berths, are about seven feet long and three \nwide, and into them the poor creatures crawl for the \nnight. A roll of bread is given to each one for supper \nand breakfast. The prospect of a lodging-place at night \n\n\n166 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nis the inducement for these unhappy persons to come \nto the school. They are let out in the morning, and \nwork, beg, or steal, as they have inclination, during the \nday, and then return at night. Mr. Greeley, describing \na visit made by him to this same school, speaks of the \ncompartments where these men sleep as \xe2\x80\x9c half way be\xc2\xac \ntween a bread tray and a hog trough," and affirms that \n\xe2\x80\x9c there are not many hogs in America who are not \nbetter lodged than these poor human brothers and sis\xc2\xac \nters.\xe2\x80\x9d No man with a human heart can go in and look \nupon this scene of degradation without being moved \nwith pity. The first feeling will be one of surprise, \nwhich will soon lose itself in deep commiseration for \nthe miserable objects of want and crime. For days, I \ncould not efface the scene from my memory; and now \nit rises up before me like a dark vision which I well \nremember to have seen, but which I can hardly believe \nto be an existing fact. As I returned from this ragged \nschool, I passed a little lane into which I saw the peo\xc2\xac \nple running; and, as I always made it a point to see \nall that could be seen, I ran too. Mingling in the \ncrowd, I soon found in the center two women engaged \nin a desperate fight. What the cause was I do not \nknow; but they were aiming their blows at each \nother with well-directed fury. A crowd of women were \nurging them on, and, for a few minutes, the scene baffled \nall description. The police soon led them off, each with \nblack eyes and bruised nose, cursing each other from \nlips out of which the blood was flowing continually. \n\nSabbath schools in London, while they draw much \nattention, do not accomplish the good which they might \nwere they differently conducted. The rich and influ\xc2\xac \nential do not care to send their children to them, and \nhence few besides the poor attend. As far as I could \n\n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94GIN PALACES. 167 \n\n\njudge from a visit made to Mr. Noel\xe2\x80\x99s Sabbatli school \nand several others, the children who attend are mostly \nthe children of poor parents. I asked a little girl, with \nwhom I walked home from church one day, if she went \nto Sunday school. She looked in my face to see if I was \nin earnest, and, seeing I was, gave me a negative reply \nwith the utmost contempt. I was urging this point at \nbreakfast one morning with a clergyman of the church \nof England, who said to me frankly, \xe2\x80\x9c I do not think \nit well that the poor should receive much education \nin the Sabbath school.\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c And pray, why not, sir \'l \xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c Because it will give them wrong notions of society, \nand make them vyish to rise above their level\xe2\x80\x9d I could \nscarcely restrain my expression of contempt for a man \nwho, in this age, should be guilty of such an abominable \nremark. \xe2\x80\x9cAbove their level!\xe2\x80\x9d as if there could be \nany level to which a child with a heart and conscience \nmight not wish to rise, and on which, if he could reach \nit, he has no right to stand! The man\xe2\x80\x99s name I wrote \nin my journal on the day when this remark was made; \nbut yesterday I blotted it out, and hope I may never \nsee it written, or hear it spoken, until the man who \nholds such an inhuman sentiment finds his level; and \nwhere that will be, the Lord only knows. But this man \nis not alone. The sentiment which he uttered is one \nwhich struggles out every week from the public jour\xc2\xac \nnals, and from the altars of the established church, and \nExeter Hall seems to be almost the only place where \nHumanity can freely utter her voice. \n\nThe world over, the gin palaces of London are men\xc2\xac \ntioned as objects of painful curiosity. I was more \neager to see them than I was to gaze upon the stately \nwalls of old Buckingham, or wander through the halls \nof Windsor Castle. Several Saturday evenings passed \n\n\n168 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nby me in London I devoted to this purpose, and in \naccomplishing it saw many a scene which made my \nheart bleed. A London gin palace is nothing more \nnor less than a gin shop, with splendid adornments, \nwhere the poor come to drink their poison. On Sat\xc2\xac \nurday evening, the business is most flourishing, and \nmany a poor forlorn object of charity and pity comes \nto spend the earnings of the week in the elixir of death. \n\nMy usual plan in visiting the palaces was, to divest \nmyself of every thing which would indicate my profes\xc2\xac \nsion, and desire to see the horrors of the system, and sit \ndown on a bench or chair, until I found I was drawing \nobservation, and then leave for some new field of studv \nand reflection. One evening, in company with a police \nofficer whom I feed for the purpose, I went to one of \nthe worst of these places, and sat down. The shop \nwas adorned and fitted in good style. Every thing was \nclean and shining. Silver knobs and inscriptions, pol\xc2\xac \nished drinking vessels, reflected the brilliant rays of the \nburning gas. The young men and women, who were \ndealing out the liquid fire, were genteel, benevolent- \nlooking people, and one might almost imagine the place \nto be the depository of life, instead of the depot of \ndeath. I sat down, with a cap on my head, on a seat \nopposite the bar, behind a crowd of customers. A con\xc2\xac \ntinual tide was passing in and out, and I counted, in \nthe short time I remained, fifty-seven persons who came \nand went. One woman, with a babe about seven weeks \nold, came and sat down on the bench near me, and very \npolitely offered to share her gin with me. She had a \npot which might have held nearly a pint. I could not \naccept of her kind offer, but entered into conversation \nwith her. She had drank enough to be quite talkative, \nand soon some very interesting portions of her history \n\n\nPRISONS \xe2\x80\x94 RAGGED SCHOOLS \xe2\x80\x94 GIN PALACES. 169 \n\nwere told. Now and then w r ould she stop sipping her \ngin, to nurse her babe. Two little girls, apparently twin \nsisters, with a mother, also came, and sat down near. \nThey were not more than ten or twelve years old, and 1 \nlooked to see if the brutal keepers would sell spirits to \nsuch children. As they advanced to the counter, they \nwere greeted with a smile of recognition, and a dose of \nthe poison given them, which they drank without a \nmoment\xe2\x80\x99s hesitation, not even stopping to smack their \n\' lips. They returned to the bench, and began to con\xc2\xac \nverse with those around them; and of all the streams \nof filthy, blasphemous words which I ever heard flow \nfrom human lips, this surpassed all. Almost every man \nthat approached them would be invited to drink, or to- \ngive them drink, until they became so noisy that they \nwere ordered by the keeper to depart. One old man \nstanding in a corner, was so drunk that he would fall \nif he moved; and so there he stood, over eighty years \nof age, uttering a torrent of abuse, and hiccoughing out \nhis blasphemy. For more than a half hour he stood \nin this condition, abused by the keeper, ridiculed by the \ncustomers, until an aged woman, with tears streaming \ndown her cheeks, opened the door, pressed her way \nthrough the crowd, and led him out amid the derision \nof those who remained. I saw a woman who was \nendeavoring to induce her son to leave and return home \nwith her. Words and blows he gave her in return, \nand positively refused to leave. I felt for that poor \nwoman, and determined to help out her argument, and \nforthwith began to advise the young man to obey the \nToice of maternal counsel, and return home. But I \nsoon found I was provoking a storm. He very kindly \ninformed me that unless \xe2\x80\x9c I held my jaw he would send \nhis flippers into my peepers; \xe2\x80\x9d and though I did not \n\n22 o \n\n\n170 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nunderstand his language precisely, I concluded that \nsuch a catastrophe as he threatened was nowise desi\xc2\xac \nrable, as I was engaged to preach the next day. So I \nwisely refrained, and saw the poor woman move away, \nwith a sigh from a heart which doubtless had been long \nbroken. The young man remained, and when I left \nthe shop, he was half asleep, his head leaning against a \npost near by the bench on which he w T as sitting. \n\nThe most deplorable sights which I saw in these \nbreathing-holes of hell were those in which mothers \nbrought their children forward to the counter, and gave \nthem the dram. These cases were not unfrequent, and \nthe children seemed to relish the gin as much as their \nparents. Probably the liquor sold in these establish\xc2\xac \nments is much diluted, or such quantities of it could \nnot be drank. Seldom did I see water put into it by \nthose who used it, but it was generally taken as drawn \nfrom the cask. The spectacle presented at these places \nwas dreadful. Old men and young men; old women \nand maidens; mothers with nursing children, and others \nwith little boys and girls just beginning to walk; the \nyoung buck, and the old, worn-out, coatless wanderer, \n\xe2\x80\x94 all gathered in one den of infamy, to drain the cup of \nmadness, and go forth deeper sunken and more terribly \ninfuriated, to curse earth, poison domestic life, and ren\xc2\xac \nder home a hell on earth ! I know not but such scenes \nmay be witnessed in the large cities of America, but I \nnever found them. If they do exist among us, they \nare more concealed and covered up from the public \ngaze. In England, they live and thrive on the best \nstreets, in the most public places, open as the day, \nand bright as lamplight and gaslight can make them. \nThey constitute one of the dark pictures in England\xe2\x80\x99s \nhistory, and stain the fair name of her people with \nblots of shame and crime. \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94 PEACE CONGRESS. 171 \n\n\nXIV. \n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. \n\nThe temperance cause in England is low, and few \ncare to be associated with it. Wine and beer drinking \nare very common, and men in all professions seem to be \nas yet untaught in the principles of abstinence. I did \nnot dine with friends, in any one instance which I now \nremember, in which wine was not on the table, and \nfreely used by more or less present. The clergyman, \nas he enters and leaves his pulpit, deems it useful to \nsustain him ; and in this respect the congregation freely \nimitate him. Well do I remember the first time I \npreached in England: as I came down out of the pul\xc2\xac \npit into the vestry in the rear, two deacons, one with a \nbottle and tumbler, and the other with a plate of crack\xc2\xac \ners, met me, saying, \xe2\x80\x9cYe\xe2\x80\x99ll take a little, wont ye, \nbrother E. \\ \xe2\x80\x9d The whole scene was so novel, and to \nme so unexpected, and withal so ludicrous, that I \ncould not avoid an uncivil laugh, at the same time \nassuring them that I did not need the \xe2\x80\x9c good creature.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThey were surprised that a man whom they had hith\xc2\xac \nerto regarded as in his right mind should refuse a glass \nof wine. I attended several temperance meetings, and \nfound them of an entirely different character from \nsuch gatherings in America. The teetotalers, as they \nare called, are to England what the rabid, hot-headed \ncome-outers are to this country. Instead of working as \ntemperance men have done among us, they are violent, \n\n\n172 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ndenunciatory, and rasli, dealing their blows alike among \nfriends and foes. Whoever does not see the subject as \nthey do, is blacked and lampooned without mercy. \nThus good men keep aloof, and dare not trust them\xc2\xac \nselves in company with those who have more zeal than \njudgment, and who are ready to call down fire upon \nevery head which does not wear the same distinctive \nbadge with themselves. One meeting which I attended \nwas taken up in trying to prove that Sabbath schools, \nas conducted in England, are promotive of crime; \nand statistics were introduced to show how large a \nproportion of criminals have ever been connected with \nthese institutions. The impression made on my mind \nwas, that temperance men must exhibit a more lovely \nspirit, ere their principles can prevail to any great \nextent. \n\nI think, also, that much of the anti-slavery of Eng\xc2\xac \nland is spurious. Englishmen are loud in their de\xc2\xac \nnunciation of our national sin, and almost every week \nthe walls of Exeter Hall ring with some declamation \nupon the wrongs of American bondage. Well, it is \nbad enough, earth and heaven knows. No speech \ncan set it forth in a more odious light than it de\xc2\xac \nserves. It is \xe2\x80\x9c the sum of all villainies,\xe2\x80\x9d and no man \nhas a right to defend it. But with the anti-slavery \nof England I have no patience. It often consists of \na curious compound of national spleen and spite, \nprejudice and revenge. The speeches which are made \nupon the subject are generally in a taunting, bitter \nspirit, which no American, however strongly he may \nbe disposed to oppose slavery, can but resent. The \ncitizen of the States is expected, when he makes a \nspeech, to cast some slur back upon his country ; and \nif he does not do it, he is not applauded. Ministers \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 173 \n\n\nare treated with disrespect, and shut out of pulpits ; \nstatesmen are vexed and plagued by remarks founded \non an entire misapprehension of the condition of things \nin this country, and every means taken to lacerate the \nfeelings of those who are here the sincere friends of \nfreedom. A minister of London said to me one day, \n\xe2\x80\x9c You will preach for me to-morrow, brother E., will \nyou not?\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9cYes, if you desire it.\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9cBut under\xc2\xac \nstand,\xe2\x80\x9d he added, \xe2\x80\x9c I invite you on condition that you \nhave no love of the fugitive slave law, and no fellow\xc2\xac \nship with those who have.\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c I shall not preach for \nyou,\xe2\x80\x9d I replied, \xe2\x80\x9c on any such conditions. You know \nme to be from a free state, and opposed to slavery;. and \nyour \xe2\x80\x98condition\xe2\x80\x99 is a thrust at my country. I shall not \npreach for you.\xe2\x80\x9d He apologized and argued; but 1 \nwould not consent. Perhaps I exhibited some Yankee \nobstinacy; but I could not help it. I told him plainly \nthat the flings at our nation come with ill grace from \nEngland, by whom the curse of slavery came upon us ; \nfrom England, whose colonies we were when it was \nintroduced; by whom, for years, until it became too \nstrong to be managed, it was sustained ; a nation whose \nhands are scarcely washed from its stains, and whose \nsuffering poor are calling for redress in vain. \n\nOne night, I attended an anti-slavery meeting in \nFreemasons\xe2\x80\x99 Hall. Several speakers were introduced, \nall of whom came down upon America with a ven\xc2\xac \ngeance. One of the speakers asked, \xe2\x80\x9c What can Brit\xc2\xac \nons do to alleviate the woes of slaves in the States 1 \xe2\x80\x9d \nWhen he had taken his seat, Horace Greeley was intro\xc2\xac \nduced, who w^ent into the subject in a fine style. In a \nvery deliberate manner, and yet in a way that they could \nnot misunderstand, he told them to be consistent, re\xc2\xac \ndress the wrongs of their own suffering poor, and come \n\n\n174 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nup to the true idea of liberty, and our people would \nsoon follow the example. It was very amusing to wit\xc2\xac \nness the effect upon the assembly. Those composing it \nwere too polite to retire or hiss, but a freemason sitting \non a hot gridiron could not have been more uneasy \nthan most of them. \n\nAlmost every negro who goes from this country is \ncaught up, hugged with desperation, and almost loved \nto death. If he can show a scar on his hack, his for\xc2\xac \ntune is made; and if he can tell a few vulgar, silly \nstories, he is a wonder of wonders. I would give \na negro his due. If he has intellect, goodness, and \npiety, I would so far respect him, and treat him as \nkindly as I would a white man under similar circum\xc2\xac \nstances. But the idea of catching up a negro simply \nbecause he is a negro, and thrusting him into the \npulpit, and on the platform, where a white man, with \nequal ability and goodness, would not be allowed to \nstand, is a great piece of folly, which the English just \nnow are desirous of committing to any extent. On \nthe very evening on which I arrived in London, I at\xc2\xac \ntended a monstrous Sabbath school meeting, at which \nwere present about five thousand Sabbath school teach\xc2\xac \ners, who were admitted by ticket. Several excellent \nspeeches were made, when an old man got up and went \ninto the slavery question. On the platform was a \nnegro who has been wandering over this country, every \nwhere received with kindness, and admitted to pulpits \ninto which he never could have entered if he had been \na white man, with no more ability. The old man, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhom I understood to be Rev. John Burnet, \xe2\x80\x94 after \nintroducing himself in some incoherent and inconsist\xc2\xac \nent remarks, turned round, and began to address him\xc2\xac \nself to this negro. He congratulated him upon the \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM\xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 175 \n\nfact that lie was no copper-color, half-and-half man, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI use his very words, \xe2\x80\x94 but* a real jet black. Thus \napplauding him, he shook him by the hand, and flung \nup his arms, and cried, \xe2\x80\x9c England and Africa forev\xc2\xac \ner ! \xe2\x80\x9d No child who had received a new toy could be \nmore pleased than was this aged minister in having a \nnegro to pet and flatter. And the whole congregation \nenjoyed it much. It gave them an admirable opportu\xc2\xac \nnity to vent their spleen at our country, and they could \nnot resist the temptation to improve it. \n\nAt the close of the meeting, this negro was called \nupon to speak. He arose completely intoxicated with \nthe praise he had received. The poor fellow scarcely \nknew which way to turn, or how to act, and his whole \nspeech was one of the most ridiculous harangues I ever \nheard. He informed the audience, what they sincerely \ndesired to hear, that there was no liberty, and not a \nsingle freeman, in America. To one who was a stran\xc2\xac \nger to our institutions, he would have given the impres\xc2\xac \nsion that we were a nation whose only product was the \nbowie-knife, and whose only glory was human slavery. \nBut he could not long refrain from speaking of himself, \neven to abuse our country; and he began to eulogize \nhis own career, and exult in the favor which he had \nreceived from the people of England. \xe2\x80\x9cWhy,\xe2\x80\x9d said \nhe, \xe2\x80\x9cwhen the reverend gentleman took me by the \nhand, my heart swelled up as big as a good fat ox.\xe2\x80\x9d \nThus he continued some fifteen minutes in a strain of \nfoolishness and abuse, which was received by one of \nthe finest audiences ever collected in the world with \nshouts of approbation. While relating some fact con\xc2\xac \nnected with his past experience, he wished to mention \nsomething which he said to his wife. \xe2\x80\x9c Says I, moth\xc2\xac \ner\xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9d Then checking himself, he remarked, \xe2\x80\x9c When \n\n\n176 \n\n\nEURO PA. \n\n\nwe wish to speak to our wives in my country, we say \n4 mother ; \xe2\x80\x99 and I adopted this language, not that I did \nnot love her enough to say 4 my dear,\xe2\x80\x99 as you do here, \nbut it is a way we have, you know.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe speech of which the above is a specimen closed \nwith the following poetical effusion: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Honor to the brave, \n\nFreedom to the slave, \n\nSuccess to British liberty, \n\nAnd God bless Queen Victoria.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI introduce this account not to ridicule the negro, \nbut to show that British anti-slavery, instead of being \na pure desire to give freedom to the enslaved and lib\xc2\xac \nerty to the oppressed, is mixed up with a very large \npreponderance of national prejudice and spleen, which \nfinds vent through this channel; and an Exeter Hall \naudience will put up with and rapturously applaud \nany speech, and reprint it with every token of admira\xc2\xac \ntion and approbation, however destitute it may be of \nwit and common sense, if it only gives an occasion for \nJohn Bull to 44 put his flippers into the peepers\xe2\x80\x9d of \nBrother Jonathan, as the young man classically re\xc2\xac \nmarked to me in the gin palace. \n\nThere is one great barrier to all reform in England, \nand that is the unhallowed caste which exists between \n\ni \n\nthe two extremes of society. I was reminded every \nday, while I was in England, of the caste of color \nwhich exists in America, and which Englishmen appear \nto view, and which, indeed, every man should view, \nwith feelings of righteous abhorrence. But the caste \nof rank and wealth is as broad, and deep, and destruc\xc2\xac \ntive as is the caste of color here. An English noble\xc2\xac \nman would have his daughter associate with, or unite \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 177 \n\nherself in marriage to, a servant or a poor mechanic \nno more than would an aristocratic merchant in Boston \nmarry his daughter to a negro, or allow his son to bring \nhome as his betrothed one a negress. Sometimes, in\xc2\xac \ndeed, an impoverished lord marries his beggared daugh\xc2\xac \nter to the son of a rich merchant, thus exchanging title, \nand rank, and birth, and blood for money; but other \nthan this an alliance is seldom made ; and many a noble \nwould have his daughter led to the altar by a proud, \ndissolute, broken-down son of a duke, rather than by \nan industrious, well-disposed, and honest laborer. Mar\xc2\xac \nriage is a thing of fashion, and woman is sacrificed to \nretain a sounding name and an empty title. \n\nThe reforms of England are generally carried on \nwith a great many useless appendages. The public \nmeetings are often boisterous in the extreme. In \nall the Sabbath school, temperance, and anti-slavery \nmeetings which I attended, I thought the speakers \naimed to raise a laugh, and, with a few exceptions, \nformed their speeches so as to draw applause from the \ncongregation. The great Sabbath school meeting to \nwhich I have referred was more noisy, with stamping, \nshouting, and clapping, than any political caucus which \nI ever attended. Missionary, Sabbath school, and the \nvarious reform societies have frequent tea parties and \nsocial gatherings, and almost every public effort is pre\xc2\xac \nceded by one of these religious frolicks. One evening, I \nwas invited to attend a meeting of ministers, which had \nconvened to discuss the question, \xe2\x80\x9c How may religious \nprosperity be promoted in our churches\'?\xe2\x80\x9d A large \nnumber of the servants of God were present, and, for \nan hour, one of the most thrillingly-interesting reli\xc2\xac \ngious meetings which I ever attended was held; but, at \na given time, the doors were thrown open, and servants, \n\n23 \n\n\n178 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nbearing refreshments, entered, and \xe2\x80\x9c religious prosper\xc2\xac \nity \xe2\x80\x9d and all the sacred themes connected with it were \nforgotten, while the company gave themselves to mirth \nand social enjoyment. And we have much reason to \nfear that this disposition to \xe2\x80\x9c frolick \xe2\x80\x9d is becoming a \ntoo prominent element in the labor to do good in this \ncountry. If temperance, liberty, and religion are to \nbe advanced only as far as they are connected with \npicnics, fairs, and frolicks, we may fear that they will \nnot be carried on to any good advantage. If men are \nto be drawn into them only for the sport and fun which \nthey give, they are sure to rest on an unsubstantial \nbasis. \n\nBut I regard as the great obstacle in the way of \nreform in England, the union between the church and \nthe state, which cripples and weakens all the moral \nenergy of the kingdom, and upholds a thousand tot\xc2\xac \ntering abuses which but for it would fall before the \nincreasing light. The caste of rank and birth could \nnot long exist after the union between a corrupt church \nand the government was dissolved. And the day when \nthis union will be abolished, ay, and the very throne \nitself, is not far distant. The dissenters of England \nhave become a great and influential body, and are \nclamoring for redress. And they will agitate the sub\xc2\xac \nject until the church rates, which every man in the \nkingdom is required to pay to support the church of \nEngland, whether he attend that church or not, are \nabolished, and the dissenting denominations placed up\xc2\xac \non the same level with the establishment. When this \nday comes, the reforms will grow strong and mighty; \nand when the people are allowed to spend their money \nto support what religion they choose, the church of \nEngland, which now impedes the progress of reforma- \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 179 \n\ntion, will be shorn of its power, and the dissenting \nchapels will send forth their streams of holy influence \nto gladden the nation. \n\nThe last few days spent in London, after my return \nfrom the continent, were engrossed by the doings of \nthe Universal Peace Congress, which held its session in \nExeter Hall. At an early hour on the first day, I \nsecured a seat upon the platform, more anxious to see \nthe people than participate in the deliberations of the \ncongress. The number of delegates present from sev\xc2\xac \neral different nations was quite large ; and very soon \nafter the delegates who were admitted by tickets were \nseated, the hall was completely filled by the populace. \n\nAfter a hasty organization of the congress, a half \nhour was spent in silent prayer. The scene was pro\xc2\xac \nfoundly grand. That immense mass of heads, all \nbowed in prayer to God, was awfully eloquent; and \nthough vocal, audible prayer was omitted to please \nthat most illiberal of all the sects who ever pretended \nto liberality, \xe2\x80\x94 the Quakers, \xe2\x80\x94 yet I think no human \nspeech could have equaled the silent breathings of that \nvast assembly. \n\nThe well-known philosopher, Sir David Brewster, \nwas chairman, and gave an opening speech, in which \nbeautiful reference was made to the Crystal Palace, \nsurmounted by flags of all nations, untom by fire \nand unstained with blood\xe2\x80\x94the temple of peace and \nindustry. \n\nThis congress gave me a fine opportunity to see and \nhear the distinguished men which it brought together. \nThe most famous speech was that of Richard Cobden, \nthe noted corn-law orator. He is a man in middle life, \nand makes a very effective speech ; and bis was almost \n\n\n180 \n\n\nEUBOPA. \n\n\nthe only address I heard while in England, from an \nEnglishman, which did not go out of its way to com\xc2\xac \npliment that nation at the expense of others. He is \nnot an eloquent man, but a very effective one, pouring \nout his facts in a continuous stream, until his auditors \nare convinced and overwhelmed. He contended that \nEngland had done more to maintain the war spirit than \nany other nation, and asked his English auditors to \nlay aside their prejudices, and divest themselves of the \nflattery which had been laid upon them of late, as with \na trowel, and come home to the sober facts. Instead \nof setting a good example to other nations, England had \nbeen enlarging her own fortifications, and increasing \nher standing army. \xe2\x80\x9c Why,\xe2\x80\x9d said he, \xe2\x80\x9c where was the \nnation that had ever occupied so many and such stra\xc2\xac \ntegic positions on the surface of the globe ? They had \nfortified strong places, and garrisoned them all over the \nworld, to such an extent, that, if a war ever should \ncome between them and any other strong maritime \npower, the first step necessary fo be taken would be to \nblow up and abandon some of them. They had Gib\xc2\xac \nraltar, Malta, and Corfu, in the Mediterranean. Cross\xc2\xac \ning the Isthmus of Suez, they had Aden. Then came \nthe Mauritius, which was called the outwork of India. \n"Returning, they had a military position at the Cape. \nCrossing the Atlantic westward, they had the powerful \nfortress of Halifax, ready to meet all comers. Going \nfrom the continent, they came to the Island of Bermuda, \nwhere they were laying out enormous sums in fortifica\xc2\xac \ntions ; and it was but the other day that he had heard \nan argument to induce Parliament to keep up the forti\xc2\xac \nfications of Jamaica. He should also mention the \nfortifications of Quebec, which was called the Gibraltar \nof Canada.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n[THE TOWER OF 1L\xc2\xa9^JD)\xc2\xa9S\'. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 181 \n\n\nFrom the position of the nation abroad, he looked at \nits state at home ; and here the same hostile, aggressive \nappearance was seen. He had learnt, in his capacity \nas a member of a committee of the House of Com- \nmons, that in a time of profound peace, and under \nmany protestations of a pacific policy, England \xe2\x80\x9c has \nsix millions of pounds\xe2\x80\x99 worth of warlike stores ; a hun\xc2\xac \ndred line-of-battlc ships afloat or on the stocks; be\xc2\xac \ntween ten thousand and thirty thousand pieces of \ncannon ; thirty millions of musket ball cartridges ; one \nhundred and forty thousand pikes; twelve hundred \nthousand sand-bags ready for use in their fortifications; \nin short, that they were armed in every point, and ready \nto enter upon a gigantic scheme of warlike operations \nto-morrow.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOther able and eloquent speeches were made by Rev. \nJ. A. James, W. Brock, Dr. Beaumont, of England, Dr. \nBeckwith, and Elihu Burritt, of America, Rev. .V. \nCoqucrell, son of the celebrated orator of Paris, M. \nGirardin, of u La Pressed several members of Parlia\xc2\xac \nment, and distinguished strangers from the continent. \n\nLetters of adhesion were read from all parts of the \nworld, and among others the following mystical, funny, \nabsurd thing, from that most impudent and reckless \nof all men of letters, Thomas Carlyle: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2; " f f * i \xe2\x80\x9c \xc2\xa3 r\xc2\xbb \xe2\x80\xa2 : t \n\nChelsea, 18th July, 1851. \n\nSir : I fear I shall not be able to attend any of your \nmeetings ; but, certainly, I can at once avow,, if, indeed, \nsuch avowal on the part of any sound-minded man be \nnot a superfluous one, that I altogether approve your \nobject, heartily wish it entire success, and even hold \nmyself bound to do, by all opportunities that are open \nto me, whatever T can towards forwarding the same. \n\nF \n\n\n\n182 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nHow otherwise ? \xe2\x80\x9c If it be possible, as much as in you \n\nlies, study to live at peace with all men. \xe2\x80\x9d This, sure \nenough, is the perpetual law for every man, both in his \nindividual and his social capacity; nor in any capacity \nor character whatsoever is he permitted to neglect this \nlaw, but must follow it, and do what he can to see it \nfollowed. Clearly, beyond question, whatsoever be our \ntheories about human nature, and its capabilities and \noutlooks, the less war and cutting of throats we have \namong us, it will be the better for us all! One re\xc2\xac \njoices much to see that immeasurable tendencies of this \ntime are already pointing towards the result you aim \nat; that, to all appearance, as men no longer wear \nswords in the streets, so neither, by and by, will na\xc2\xac \ntions ; that among nations, too, the sanguinary ultima \nratio will, as it has done among individuals, become \nrarer and rarer; and the tragedy of fighting, if it can \nnever altogether disappear, will reduce itself more and \nmore strictly to a minimum in our affairs. Towards \nthis result, as I said, all men are at all times bound to \ncooperate; and, indeed, consciously or unconsciously, \nevery well-behaved person in this world may be said to \n\xe2\x80\xa2be daily and hourly cooperating towards it, especially \nin these times of banking, railwaying, printing, and \npenny posting ; when every man\xe2\x80\x99s traffickings and \nlaborings, and whatever industry he honestly and not \ndishonestly follows, do all very directly tend, whether \nhe knows it or not, towards this good object among \nothers. \n\nI will say, further, what appears very evident to me, \nthat if any body of citizens, from one, or especially from \nvarious countries, see good to meet together, and artic\xc2\xac \nulate, reiterate these or the like considerations, and \nstrive to make them known and familiar, the world in \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 183 \n\ngeneral, so soon as it can sum up the account, may \nrather hold itself indebted to them for so doing. They \nare in the happy case of giving some little furtherance \nto their cause by such meetings, and (what is somewhat \npeculiar) of not retarding it thereby on any side at all. \nIf they be accused of doing little good, they can answer \nconfidently that the little good they do is quite unal\xc2\xac \nloyed, that they do no evil whatever. The evil of their \nenterprise, if evil there be, is to themselves only; the \ngood of it goes wholly to the world\xe2\x80\x99s account without \nany admixture of evil; for which unalloyed benefit, \nhowever small it be, the world surely ought, as I now \ndo, to thank them rather than otherwise. \n\nOne big battle saved to Europe will cover the ex\xc2\xac \npense of many meetings. How many meetings would \none expedition to Russia cover the expense of? Truly \nI wish you all the speed possible; well convinced you \nwill not too much extinguish the wrath that dwells as \na natural element in all Adam\xe2\x80\x99s posterity; and I beg \nto subscribe myself, sir, yours very sincerely, \n\nT. Carlyle. \n\nHenry Richard, Esq., Secretary , &c., &c. \n\nThe eminent French statesman, Victor Hugo, sent \nthe following epistle, excusing his absence: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFrom the National Assembly, July 18, 1851. \n\nSir : I write to you in the midst of our arduous \nstruggles; imperative public duties retain me in Paris. \nYou know what they are, and you will understand, \ncertainly, why I cannot quit my post at such a moment, \neven to join you. \n\nIf we owe a debt to ideas, we owe the first debt to \nour country. It is for my country I am combating \n\n\nnow. \n\n\n184 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nIt is also for ideas; for all ideas and all progress \ntend towards the one great fact which will invade the \nentire civilized world through the republic \xe2\x80\x94 the re\xc2\xac \npublic, which will bring forth the united states of \nEurope, a universal federation, and, consequently, uni\xc2\xac \nversal peace. Our present struggles are fruitful; they \nwill be productive of future peace. \n\nAllow me to terminate with this word; a word \n\n\xc2\xbb .J\'f \n\nwhich is in my heart, and in yours, all of you; and in \nthe heart of France too: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\ni \n\nr ? i 1 f i r 4 . Jr * \n\ntz $** r;r.~ * r y r :?r i \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Glory and happiness to free England.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nExpress my regret to all our friends of the Peace \nCongress, and receive the fraternal expression of my \ncordiality. \n\nVictor Hugo. \n\n\nThere were great men present at that congress, and \ngreat speeches made by them, and yet I cannot resist \nthe conviction that the meeting was a failure. I would \nnot wish to think so. I went out with the credentials \nof a delegate. I lost the opportunity of visiting Scot\xc2\xac \nland in order to attend its sittings; but I fear that the \nwhole effort will amount to nothing, and that wars and \nrumors of wars will be heard until deeper principles \n\n\nshall be disseminated than any contained in the resolu\xc2\xac \ntions of that congress. I observed also that a large \nmajority of the most active men in this meeting were \n\n\nof the class best designated as \xe2\x80\x9c Impracticables \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 men \nwho have large hearts and good intentions, but who \nhave no practical common sense. \n\nThere are some men, who, if they should meet a bear \nin the road, would address him in a most finished style, \nand present a most logical argument, while Bruin \n\n\nREFORM AND DEFORM \xe2\x80\x94PEACE CONGRESS. 185 \n\nwould smack his lips for blood. Warriors and rulers \ncare no more for the resolutions of peace conventions \nthan a bear would for an argument. The cause of \npeace never will prevail until nations are made to see \nthat war gives such weight to their taxes; until, in \nnations where the elective franchise is enjoyed, the \nfriends of peace make themselves felt at the polls; \nuntil every man who enlists in an army is made to feel \nthat his business is one of murder; until military titles \nare made odious and disgraceful; until standing armies \nare abolished ; indeed, until Immanuel, the \xe2\x80\x9c Prince of \nPeace,\xe2\x80\x9d sets up his kingdom among the nations. \n\nWe now leave England, the home of our fathers, and \ncross over to the continent. In succeeding chapters, we \nshall pursue our way from London to Dover, at which \nplace we shall embark for sunny France \xe2\x80\x94 for gay, \nglittering Paris. I have written more than I originally \nintended upon England, and even now feel that I have \ndone little justice to the subjects discussed. I have \ngiven an idea of the things which I have seen, and the \nimpression they made upon my mind. These impres\xc2\xac \nsions may be, and doubtless are, in some instances, \nincorrect, as it cannot be supposed that a stranger, \nspending a few weeks in a country, should see every \nthing, or in all cases judge correctly of what he did see. \nI used my time, feet, and eyes to the best advantage, \nand if I have misjudged, why, there it is. \n\n24 p* \n\n\n\xc2\xbb \n\n\nt \n\n\n186 \n\n\n4% , i\'f -t ? \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 - V \n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXV. \n\n\nLONDON TO PARIS. \n\ni \' ; ... - * V r i ; > V* \'\xe2\x96\xa0 :i \xe2\x96\xa0\xe2\x96\xa0 : \n\nWe started from London on the South-western Rail\xc2\xac \nway, one morning just as the sun was clearing away the \nmist which hung over the metropolis. It was pleasant, \nafter being shut up for weeks in the city, to get out \ninto the clear atmosphere of the country, where the \ngreen fields and fresh breezes seemed more delicious \nthan ever. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Adieu, the city\xe2\x80\x99s ceaseless hum ! \n\nThe haunts of sensual life, adieu ! \n\nGreen fields and silent glens, we come \n\nTo spend this bright spring day with you.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe car in which we rode was an uncushioned lum\xc2\xac \nber box, scarcely as good as our baggage cars, and in\xc2\xac \nhabited by several Irish people, with crying babies, \nmarket women, and some well-disposed country folks, \nfrom whom we derived much valuable information. \nThe country through which we rode was not as fine as \nthat in some other portions of England; and as we \npassed along, few objects of interest presented them\xc2\xac \nselves. \n\nWe arrived at Dover, after a ride of four hours, and \ncommenced at once an examination of the town. It \nproved to be hardly what I expected, and I soon dis\xc2\xac \ncovered that a few hours would make us well enough \nacquainted with it. The principal object of interest is \n\n\n\nLONDON TO PARIS. \n\n\n187 \n\n\nan old, dilapidated castle on the higlits. As we went \nclimbing up the steep ascent, a tinkling bell sounded \nat our side, and on looking around, we saw a large box, \nwith \xe2\x80\x9c Remember the poor debtor \xe2\x80\x9d inscribed upon it. \nOver it was the bell, which connected by a string with \nthe cell of the debtor, who, as he saw the stranger \npassing the box, would call his attention to it by ring\xc2\xac \ning the bell. On the higlits which command the \nharbor and channel is the famous cannon known as \n\n> *\xe2\x80\xa2 ui . \xe2\x80\xa2 ? 1* V ? * s \xc2\xbb \xe2\x80\xa2 * i \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Queen Elizabeth\xe2\x80\x99s Pocket-piece,\xe2\x80\x9d and which was given \nby that queen to the garrison. It bears the date of \n1544, is twenty-four feet long, and is now so corroded \nas to be untit for use. We looked in vain for the \ninscription which we always supposed was upon it: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Scour me bright and keep me clean, \n\nAnd I\xe2\x80\x99ll send a ball to Calais green.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe old fort is governed by a company of dull uni\xc2\xac \nformed soldiers, who were very civil to us. They live a \nlife of lazy inactivity, deriving their support from the \nhard-earned wages of the poor. At the foot of the \nhill, and along the shore, was spread out the little \ntown, which seemed to give very few signs of life and \nindustry. \n\nAt three o\xe2\x80\x99clock we took a little steamer for Calais, \nleaving behind us the white cliffs of Dover, and all we \nhad seen of merry England: The passage across the \nchannel was performed in about two hours. The day \nwas a delightful one, and the channel gave none of its \nusual signs of commotion, and we went skipping on,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c O\xe2\x80\x99er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, \n\nOur thoughts as boundless, and our homes as free; \n\nFar as the breeze can bear the billows\xe2\x80\x99 foam, \n\nBehold our empire and survey our home ! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n\n\n188 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nOn arriving at Calais, we found the cars ready for \nParis, and we entered them and were soon on our way. \nOf Calais I have no impression. I did not remain \nthere long enough to get a single idea of the place. \nAll I know is, that for the first time I was in a country \nwhere I could understand scarcely any of the language, \nand where the orders of the custom-house officers, and \nthe yells of the cabmen, and the shouts of the porters, \nwere all as unintelligible as the diction of the moon. \nIt was a relief to get into the cars, out of the way of \nofficious and meddling hangers-on, who, seeing our \ngreenness, gave us any quantity of unsought advice, for \nwhich we did not even thank them ; though one man, \nwho showed us where we could purchase our tickets, \ndemanded a franc as his fee , which we paid, as the \nshortest way of getting rid of him. The country to \nParis is very fine, but indifferently cultivated. The \nfarms around were unfenced, and the residences of the \ntenants were very poor, many of them being built of \nmud, and thatched with straw. The unusual sights \ngave evidence that we were on foreign soil; and the \nconstant jabbering of the Frenchmen who were with \nus in the car, and whose speech was as unintelligible \nto us as ours was to them, kept us constantly aware \nthat we were out of the province of good round Saxon \nspeech, and good wholesome Saxon habits. \n\nThe cars in France are much better, and the expense \nof traveling less, than in England. The second-class \ncars on the continent are nearly equal to the first in \nBritain, and the first class are fitted up in a style of \nsurpassing elegance. Our fellow-passengers were very \ncivil and well-disposed persons, but had on most disa\xc2\xac \ngreeable beards, as black as your boot, and almost as \nlong, and all the way to Paris kept up a continual \n\n\nLONDON TO PARIS. \n\n\n189 \n\n\nsmoking of the worst cigars a non-smoking traveler \never had to endure. \n\nOn getting out of the cars at a station on the way, \nI tried to purchase some refreshments, hut found the \nkeepers knew as little of English as I did of French, \nand, for a while, the prospect of securing a supper \nseemed dark; but I at length laid hold of what ap\xc2\xac \npeared to be a nice pie, and, as I could not understand \nthe price, pulled from my pocket all the change I had, \nand allowed the damsel in charge to take as much as \nshe chose. But on seating myself in the cars, and \nopening my pie, I found it to contain nothing but a \nsausage. I had not learnt to love French cooking \n\nand this roll of meat, done up in so suspicious a man- \n\n- ; \n\nner, brought to my mind all the stories I had ever heard \nof the delightful manner in which French cooks serve \nup dogs, cats, and babies, so that the most experienced \nwill hardly distinguish them from the choicest dishes \never craved by the appetite of the epicure; and some \none very kindly began to tell the story of a distin\xc2\xac \nguished American, who, in China, sat down to a sump\xc2\xac \ntuous feast, and ate voraciously of a delicate dish which \nwas set before him. When his dainty meal was fin- \nished, and he sat wondering what the food could be \nwhich had tempted his appetite to such an extent, a \nservant entered, and, wishing to have his curiosity grat- \n\n; . j * 1 * } \n\nified, and yet being entirely unacquainted with the lan\xc2\xac \nguage, he pointed to the dish, and said, \xe2\x80\x9c Quack, quack,\xe2\x80\x9d \nmeaning to ask if it was duck. The servant replied, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Bow wow, bow wow,\xe2\x80\x9d intimating that the delicious \n\n\xe2\x80\x99 . \xe2\x96\xa0 i > ! .1 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xc2\xb0 \xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\x98 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 i l \xe2\x80\x98\xe2\x80\x99if \n\nfood was not duck, but dog. My roll was thrown out \nof the window, to the great astonishment of the French- \nman, who seemed not to comprehend my motive, and to \nbe shocked at my waste. \n\n\nn \n\n\n190 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXVI. \n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94CHAPELS. \n\nWe reached Paris about midnight, and fell at once \ninto the hands of custom-house officials, who rummaged \nour baggage to find what valuable goods we had stored \naway among our dirty linen, wherewith to defraud the \ngreat and glorious French nation out of the revenue \ndue its not too well-filled purse. At length, getting \nclear, we went to one hotel; but it was full, and we \nstarted for another, and at length drew up at Hotel de \nParis, and, after considerable noise, aroused somebody \nwho answered to the call of landlord. There were but \ntwo or three spare apartments, and there were some five \nor six to occupy them; and a contest ensued as to who \nshould sleep, and who should keep watch. At length, \nthe landlord decided the case by taking several of us \nup over one, two, three, four \xe2\x80\x94 I know not how many \nflights of stone stairs, higher than I was ever up before, \nand higher than I have ever been since, into a room \nwith a stone floor, cheerless as a tomb, and so far above \nterrestrial objects, that it became a matter of some \nspeculation whether we should ever get down again. \n\nThe next morning, the sun arose clear and beautiful, \nso different from the damp, wet, cold fogs of London, \nthat we soon forgot the perplexities of the night. We \nfound private lodgings at a moderate price, and, in a \nfew hours, began our rambles over the city. I knew \nthat Paris was a gay, beautiful city ; but my expectations \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. \n\n\n191 \n\n\nwere far more than realized. The half had not been \ntold me of its fine streets, well-filled, showy stores, and \nits aristocratic residences. Every thing seemed as gay \nas the lark and beautiful as the butterfly. \n\nThe people of Paris are less robust and noble than \nthe English. The men are generally small in stature, \nactive, and industrious. The women are less finely \nformed, but have, as a general thing, more personal \ncharms than their neighbors on the other side of the \nchannel. The style of dress is more rich and gay. \nThe men pay far more attention to a well-cut coat, a \ngenteel hat, and a finely-polished boot, than the men \nof any other nation I have seen. I should judge that \nAmerican fashions were half way between the slouchy \nrig of the English and the extreme of fashion seen \namong the French. The women dress more gay and \nshowy than on the other shore, and seem to have a \nfondness for light, airy fabrics, and high and dazzling \nfigures and colors. About half the women seen in the \nstreets were destitute of bonnets, and wore, instead, a \nneat, pretty muslin cap. The stores on the street were \nmore attractively adorned, and the goods were displayed \nmore advantageously, than in London, and the whole \nappearance of the place had an aspect of cheerfulness. \n\nThe streets of Paris are wide, and kept perfectly \nclean. The Boulevards \xe2\x80\x94 formerly the foundations of \nthe city wall, which has now been taken down and \noutbuilt \xe2\x80\x94 run all round the city, and form the most \nspacious broadways in the* world. Holborn and Fleet \nStreet do not compare with them for wealth, cleanli\xc2\xac \nness, gayety, and splendor, and the stranger soon finds \nhimself compelled to give expression to his admiration \nin the most enthusiastic language. \n\nWhat the parks are to London, the public squares, \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n>;t \'\xe2\x96\xa0} > i ~ \n\n\n192 \n\nI \n\nor \xe2\x80\x9c places,\xe2\x80\x9d as they are called, which are generally or\xc2\xac \nnamented with fountains or columns, are to Paris. Of \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 - \n\nthe \xe2\x80\x9c places \xe2\x80\x9d and columns, there are several of much \n\xe2\x80\xa2 r . _ , \ninterest. The Place Yendome is an octagonal space m \n\nwhich is the triumphal pillar erected by Napoleon to \ncommemorate his German victories. The shaft is of \nstone, and covered with bronze bass-reliefs formed en\xc2\xac \ntirely of cannon taken in the battles of the conqueror. \nThe bass-reliefs are spiral, and display the most noted \nevents in the German campaigns. On the summit stands \nthe bronze figure of Napoleon himself, who is looking \nout from his dizzy elevation upon the passing multi\xc2\xac \ntudes below. It is an imitation of the Trajan pillar at \nPome, and surpasses it in grandeur, and in the heroism \nof the deeds which it commemorates. \n\nIn front of the Tuilcries is the Place de la Concorde, \nornamented with beautiful fountains which play cease\xc2\xac \nlessly, and in the center of which rises the Luxor Obe\xc2\xac \nlisk, an Egyptian shaft, at least three thousand years \nold, and which is covered with unread Egyptian char\xc2\xac \nacters. It was brought from Egypt during the reign \nof Louis Philippe. On the base are engravings and \ndiagrams of the machine by which it was raised to its \npresent elevation. It is said that the engineer who had \ncharge of the work felt the most extreme solicitude as \nto his success; and as thousands gathered to see the \nobelisk rise to its position, he moved among them with \na charged pistol protruding from his vest, with which \nhe had determined to commit suicide, if, by any acci\xc2\xac \ndent, he should fail in his attempt. The obelisk stands \nwhere the guillotine stood in the time of the revolu\xc2\xac \ntion, and where the wretched Louis XYI. and Marie \nAntoinette, and their unfortunate friends, met a dread\xc2\xac \nful fate. \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAFELS. \n\n\n198 \n\n\nIn the Place de la Bastille is a pillar of bronze, com\xc2\xac \nmemorating the revolution of 1830. It stands where \nonce the Bastille, that famous old prison, which, for \ncenturies, had been the awe of freemen, reared its front. \nWhen, in the indignant anarchy of the French popu\xc2\xac \nlace, that structure was demolished, and a stone of it was \nsent to every town in the nation, this beautiful column \narose in its place. It is covered with the names of \nthose who fell in the tumult of 1830, and in the base \nis kept their bones and dust, A spiral staircase of two \nhundred and ten steps winds to the summit, on which \nstands a figure of Liberty. The shaft towers to the \nhight of several hundred feet, and commands an exten\xc2\xac \nsive view of the city and surrounding country. \n\nThese various columns give great beauty to the city, \nand are far superior to the monuments in London. \nThey all have some great historic interest, and com\xc2\xac \nmemorate events which are interwoven with the most \nterrible scenes in the history of the nation. On these \nmonuments, and on all the palaces, churches, and pub\xc2\xac \nlic buildings of Paris, are the words which compose \nthe great national lie \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c Liberte, Egalite , Fratemite .\xe2\x80\x9d \nNo sentiment could contain a greater falsehood. The \nFrench have less true, genuine liberty than under the \nreign of the Bourbons. There are more slaves to-day, \nin France, under Louis Napoleon, than there were un\xc2\xac \nder Louis Philippe. Liberty means universal license; \nequality consists in universal want, an equality in deg\xc2\xac \nradation ; fraternity means a brotherhood of anarchists, \nsuch as, years ago, shouted along the streets of Paris, \nwith trunkless heads on gory pikes. The French re\xc2\xac \npublic is a military despotism. The streets of Paris \nare full of soldiers, dressed in uncomely uniform, who \nmarch through the crowded streets, and across the \n\n25 Q \n\n\n194 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npleasure grounds, to overawe the people. The bayonet, \nand not the ballot-box, rules; and Louis XVI. was no \ngreater tyrant than is Louis Xapoleon. I do not see \nhow we can cherish for a moment any hope of the per\xc2\xac \nmanence of the French government. All the glory is \nin the name, while the people cannot appreciate, do not \ndesire, and have not a genuine republic. There are \nsaid to be one hundred thousand soldiers within call of \nthe president, and present appearances seem to indicate \nthat he will soon have need of them. \n\nA trait in the French character is seen in the cafes , \nor drinking establishments, of the metropolis. The \nFrenchman loves his coffee more than he does his wife, \nand often spends more time in the cafe than in the \nbosom of his family. In the Boulevards, at almost any \nhour of the day or evening, may be seen scores and \nhundreds of men and women sipping coffee and eating \nices in the open street. In front of the saloon are \nfound a large number of little tables, with one or two \nchairs to each, each occupied, while within and without \nthe saloon are busy waiters, hurrying to and fro, to \nreceive orders and supply the wants of their patrons. \nSometimes little arbors, on the most frequented streets, \nare fitted up with hanging lamps; fountains abound, \nand cool retreats, and hither resort hundreds to eat, \ndrink, and enjoy. The enchantments which art throws \naround these fairy spots render them the favorite resorts \nof men of all classes and conditions. The visitor must \npurchase some article, or pay two or three sous for the \nuse of the chair and table. Thus the keepers make \ngood livings, and are enabled to embellish their prem\xc2\xac \nises in very gorgeous style. \n\nThe lowest form of morals prevails in Paris to a \ngreat extent. The true idea of public virtue, in its \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. \n\n\n195 \n\n\nnoblest sense, can scarcely be said to exist, and a thou\xc2\xac \nsand forms of evil stalk abroad without reproof. The \nmarriage tie is easily broken, and the obligations of the \nmarriage relations are hardly recognized. The young \nParisian lady considers herself a slave, under the sur\xc2\xac \nveillance of her parents, until her marriage, when she \nenters into a state of uncontrolled liberty, her husband \ncaring little for her affairs, and she attending but little \nto his interests. Immorality is sanctioned by law, and \nthe corrupters of society are licensed by government. \nNo small part of the public revenue is derived from \nthis source; and pollution is a part of the system, as \ncommon school education is part of our system. Each \ninfamous womp is licensed by the police as we license \ncabmen or auctioneers, and carries her certificate of \nshame and crime in her pocket. There is no public \nconscience in relation to vice. Young men and women \nwho enter upon a career of crime seem to feel that \nthey are doing no evil. In London, there is a public \nconscience, and a public voice, and a public shame; \nand every loose woman \xe2\x80\x94 and they meet you in the \nstreets at night by scores and hundreds \xe2\x80\x94 bears on her \ncountenance the wo-begone proof of her degradation. \nBut in Paris, not a blush indicates that the most de\xc2\xac \npraved feels ashamed of her occupation, and crime \nwears the open countenance and fair cheek of inno\xc2\xac \ncence. There are less outside appearances of crime in \nParis than in London, from the simple fact that in the \nlatter city vice is branded, hated, and despised, while in \nthe former city it is courted, patronized, and defended. \nInfanticide prevails to a fearful extent, and hundreds \nof infants every year are destroyed by unnatural moth\xc2\xac \ners. Almost every day the Seine sweeps some infant \nbody down out of the sight of those who gave it being. \n\n\n196 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nAn almost incredible number of children are found and \ntaken to the foundling hospitals. In former times, \nconnected with these hospitals was an open box in the \nwall, into which the mother could come at night, un\xc2\xac \nseen, and put her babe. As she rung a bell near by, \nthe box was drawn in, and the child taken out, and the \nname of the person who put it there remained entirely \nunknown. In 1833, this box was abandoned, since \nwhich time infanticide has very largely increased, while \nthe number of children born out of wedlock has in no \nway diminished. Other fearful facts might be given, \ncorroborating the dreadful prevalence of immorality \nand crime; but I forbear. \n\nParis is well supplied with hospitals and asylums for \nthe poor, the blind, aged ecclesiastics, foundlings, and \norphans. The attendance and nursing in these charita\xc2\xac \nble institutions are performed generally by the nuns of \nthe various convents, of which there are about thirty \nin the city. The sisters of St. Vincent de Paul are \nmuch admired for their devotion to the sick and the \npoor. They number about five hundred, and are al\xc2\xac \nways employed in works of love and charity, if we may \nbelieve Catholic testimony on the subject. I can see \nhow, in a great city like Paris, a convent may be a use\xc2\xac \nful institution, and, while there, learnt to look upon \nthese sisters of charity with less disgust than formerly; \nand yet convents may be, and are generally, made tre\xc2\xac \nmendous engines of evil. Professedly open to public \ninspection, .they are, in fact, closed to all investigation, \nand none but the priests of a corrupt church see be-\' \nhind the veil. What horrid crimes are committed in \nthem, what persons are confined there, what revolting \nexcesses indulged under their sanctity, the busy world \noutside knows not; and, doubtless, many a convent and \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94CHAPELS. \n\n\n197 \n\n\nmonastery on the continent has witnessed scenes such \nas outshine the crimes which have been perpetrated in \nthe Tower of London and the old Bastille. \n\nThe population of Paris is about eleven hundred \nthousand seven hundred and sixty-seven, and this is \nsteadily increasing. The city is built on both sides of \nthe Seine, which, like the Thames, is spanned by several \nnoble bridges, across which a tide of life is continually \nsweeping. There seems in Paris to he an activity, a \nrapidity of movement, which can scarcely he said to be \nthe character of any other nation. The people walk \nfaster, talk faster, eat bister, ride faster, and live faster, \nin all respects, than do their English neighbors. The \nEnglish love the past, and protest against the removal \nof the ancient landmarks ; the French love change, \nand pant for revolutions, and find enjoyment in scenes \nof disorder and confusion. The English love law, \nand are strong advocates for order and propriety; \nthe French have little respect for law, and execute \nkings with as little hesitancy as they do traitors. \nThe English love precedent; the French love inno\xc2\xac \nvation. \n\nThat there is no love of law, no domestic virtue, no \npublic honor, is not true. But that these are not na\xc2\xac \ntional characteristics, we may judge from the successive \nrevolutions, the murder and banishment of successive \nmonarchs, the license given to crime, and the over\xc2\xac \nwhelming influence of might irrespective of right. \n\nThere exists among the French the deepest and most \ninveterate hatred towards the English, these two na\xc2\xac \ntions seeming to consider themselves \xe2\x80\x9cnatural enemies\xe2\x80\x9d \nThis hatred arises from the rival position of the two \ncountries, and from the dreadful wars in which blood \nhas been shed, the stains of which are not yet washed \n\nQ* \n\n\n198 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nout. The monuments, triumphal arches, and pillars are \ncommemorative, to a considerable extent, of victories \nobtained over each other, and the military idols of each \nnation \xe2\x80\x94 Bonaparte on the one side, and Wellington on \nthe other \xe2\x80\x94 obtained victories, each, which the other \ncould look upon only with rage. If you mention the \nword \xe2\x80\x9cWaterloo\xe2\x80\x9d to the boys in the streets of Paris, \nthey will grit their teeth, clinch their fists, and tell you \nthat the time is not far distant when that stain will he \nblotted out, and the injured honor of France vindicated. \nThis feeling, I was assured, is prevalent in the French \narmy, the regiments of which want some employment, \nand, doubtless, throat-cutting would be the most agree\xc2\xac \nable. Victor Hugo may poetize in the chamber of \ndeputies, and Richard Cobden may declaim in the \nHouse of Commons, and peace conventions may be \nheld every month in Exeter Hall; but while this na\xc2\xac \ntional prejudice exists, the stream of blood will not be \nstayed. And this prejudice is increased by such rash \nspeeches as are made at reformatory meetings in Lon\xc2\xac \ndon, in which one nation is praised, lauded, and bespat\xc2\xac \ntered with compliments to the discredit of all others. \nEngland is a great nation, but she is not the only great \nnation. She has national crimes; nor is she the only \nnation whose banners are stained with guilt; and it \nbecomes England, France, and America to treat each \nother with candor, forbearance, and justice. \n\nWhen the traveler lands in France, he begins to find \nthe Catholic religion exerting an influence, and acting \nout itself. Though all religions are tolerated, this swal\xc2\xac \nlows up all others; and in the metropolis, a Catholic \nchurch is found in almost every street. The churches \nof London do not compare with them in cost, architect\xc2\xac \nural beauty, and splendid adornments. In all that goes \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94CHAPELS. \n\n\n199 \n\n\nto make up outward show and dazzling beauty, the \nchurch edifices of Paris excel; and it is no wonder, \nwhen the poor, ignorant man enters one of them, that \nimagination steals away his judgment, and leads him to \nsubstitute the outward service for the internal love. \nThe oldest church in Paris is \n\nNOTRE DAME, \n\nwhich stands on the site of an ancient Roman temple, \nand has resisted the assault of nearly ten centuries. It \nis one of the finest specimens of architectural taste I \never saw; but for the great purpose of worship, it is \nalmost completely useless. Two towers surmount the \nstructure, from which a fine view of Paris is obtained, \nin one of which is an enormous bell, weighing thirty-two \nthousand pounds, which sends out its iron tone like the \nvoice of* a giant. Decay and neglect are written all \naround, and the fine edifice gives many evidences of the \nruthless assaults of civil war. As we entered, a meanly- \nclad, dirty-faced ecclesiastic, with a brush, stood near. \nThe brush he occasionally dipped in a basin of water, \nkeeping it wet, that the faithful might use it to cross \nthemselves as they came in. In many parts of the ca\xc2\xac \nthedral, men and women were bowing on the cold floor, \nmumbling over their prayers, and counting their beads. \nOne has an irresistible feeling of religious veneration, \nas he stands beneath the arches of such a structure, \nwhere far above him the birds have built their nests, \nand the swallows are flying about with a mournful \nsound. In the chapels all around the church are paint\xc2\xac \nings and statues, to commemorate distinguished events \nand personages. We were pointed to the very spot on \nthe floor on which Napoleon stood, when he was mar\xc2\xac \nried to Josephine by Pope Pius VII. Here, too, was \n\n\n200 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe very spot where he placed the crowns upon his own \nhead and that of his imperial consort. In a marble \nvault in this cathedral lies the dead body of the late \narchbishop, who was unfortunately killed in the last \nrevolution. He was an amiable man, and his fall was \nmuch lamented. When blood was flowing in the \nstreets of Paris, he went out, regardless of his own \nsafety, to stay the crimson tide. Wherever he was \nrecognized his authority was respected, and he moved * \nfrom street to street, quelling the fury of the misguided \npopulace. But at length, while climbing over a barri\xc2\xac \ncade in one of the streets, a random shot was fired \nwhich laid him low. Near his sarcophagus is a paint\xc2\xac \ning representing his fall. Two or three citizens, who \nrecognize his mild features, are endeavoring to restrain \nthe wild passions of others, while intense sorrow is de\xc2\xac \npicted on their countenances. The whole scene is sub\xc2\xac \nlime and mournful in the extreme. Near by are two of \nthe small bpnes of the back, and the ball which pene\xc2\xac \ntrated between them into the spinal marrow. \n\nOne of the tombs in this old edifice is decorated with \na group of statuary of extraordinary origin. The wife \nof an Austrian nobleman had a singular dream. She \nsaw her husband in a coffin, and engaged in a fearful \nstruggle with embodied Death. He called for her to \nhelp him; but she was powerless, and the monster per\xc2\xac \nformed his work. She awoke, and her dream was over; \nbut in a few days she learnt that, at the very hour of \nher sleep, her husband was accidentally killed. She had \na group of statuary made to represent her dream ; and \nhere it stands, to remind every beholder of his own \nconflict with the powers of death. \n\nAt Notre Dame are kept the robes in which Na\xc2\xac \npoleon was crowned, and the ecclesiastical habits in \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. 201 \n\nwhich the pope was arrayed when the service was per\xc2\xac \nformed. The former is a sort of cape, or cloak, worked \nall over with gold cord and lace. The fabric is of rich \ncrimson velvet, and a gorgeous affair. The latter is a \nhabit of crimson velvet, richly worked in the usual form \nof religious vestments. Here, too, is the gold plate \nused at the sacraments which follow coronations, and a \nlarge number of religious dresses, upon which I gazed, \nwondering how John the Baptist would have looked \narrayed in such, or what the people would have thought \nof Christ, had he been bedecked with such when he \nrode into Jerusalem. Should a priest \'walk through \nour streets in similar robes, the children would imagine \nhim some crazy playactor who had broken away from \nthe stage, and was wandering out to secure attention \nand draw patronage. The people would never suppose \nhim to be a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. \nWe cannot judge of men by dress, but when human \nbeings array themselves like clowns or circus riders, \ncommon sense will find it hard to recognize in them \nthe distinguishing features of the teachers of religion. \n\nAs I walked about in this old cathedral, I began to \ndream. The past, the dreadful past, seemed to come \nrushing back. In imagination, I was in the National \nConvention. I saw the bishops and clergy with uncov\xc2\xac \nered heads ascend the tribune, and abjure the religion \nof the Savior, and cast away with contempt the em\xc2\xac \nblems of their sacred office. I heard the hoarse voice \nof Hebert, declaring that God did not exist, and call\xc2\xac \ning on all men to dethrone him. I saw a wanton \nprostitute led forward by a bishop, and introduced as \nthe Goddess of Reason, and in my ear sounded a shout \nwhich seemed like that of rebel angels when they \nendeavored to overturn the throne of God. Out \n\n26 \n\n\n202 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsweeps that throng from the Chamber of Deputies, \nacross the Place de Revolution, by the Tuileries, on to \nthe Church of Notre Dame. In the midst, in a splen\xc2\xac \ndid chariot, rides the harlot, the goddess of blood- \ndrunken France. They enter the church ; they throng \nits aisles, and fill its spacious nave. On the altar, the \nwoman takes her seat, and her reign commences. \nScenes of crime and shame are witnessed over the \nvery ashes of the dead. The altar itself, from which \nthe sacred articles have scarcely been removed, is made \nthe theater of unbounded license. Lust and beauty \nreign where once grave old friars and sable monks \nchanted songs to God, and the very arches ring w r ith \nthe sounds of vice and crime. Hell is let loose, and \nDeath reigns in the very courts of life. My dream \nends, and I awake only to hear a priest saying over his \nprayers before one of the altars, and find that Notre \nDame is almost empty; that the Goddess of Reason \nhas been dethroned, and the revolution lives only in \nthe memory of the past. \n\nThe next church to Avhich we pursue our way is \n\nTHE MADELEINE, \n\na costly and elegant structure, near the western termi\xc2\xac \nnation of the Boulevards. I have seen larger churches, \nhut I never saw one more gorgeous than this. It was \ncommenced in 1796, and finished and dedicated during \nthe reign of the late king. It is built in the Grecian \nstyle of architecture, and cost the immense sum of thir\xc2\xac \nteen million and seventy-nine thousand francs, or more \nthan two million six hundred thousand dollars. It is \nthree hundred and twenty-eight feet long, and one hun\xc2\xac \ndred and thirty-eight feet wide. It is surrounded \nby Corinthian pillars about fifty feet high and sixteen \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. 203 \n\nand a half in circumference. Colossal statues orna\xc2\xac \nment the building without, and rich sculpture and \nelegant carving mark it as one of the most remarkable \nchurches of France. On entering the church, a splen\xc2\xac \ndor dazzles and bewilders. The deep tones of the \norgan, the gold and glitter of the temple, the long \ntrain of priests, and the multitude of apparently de\xc2\xac \nvout worshipers, produce a profound impression upon \nthe mind. Nothing can surpass the elegance and rich\xc2\xac \nness of the whole interior, from the painted ceiling to \nthe marble pavement, from the grand altar to the spa\xc2\xac \ncious vestibule. I frequently wandered into this church \nto attend the service, which is held every evening, and \nof which I could not understand a single intelligible \nsentence. Rich music and solemn chants, and some\xc2\xac \ntimes a short discourse, to which thousands listened \nwith attention, filled up an hour which certainly might \nhave been spent by many in a worse employment. And \nit is easy to see how the mind can be carried away, de\xc2\xac \nluded by the show and glitter of such a service. A \nreligion which has its splendid temples and its peal\xc2\xac \ning organs, its richly-wrought robes and its decorated \npriests, which utters its appeals to the passions and the \nimagination, has here erected its throne. Wealth, art, \nscience, skill, labor, luxury, and taste have here con\xc2\xac \nspired to erect a temple which, untenanted, has power \nto excite wonder and create an impression of awe. \n\nTHE PAXTHEON, \n\na magnificent church, was built by money obtained by \nlottery, as, indeed, were many of the churches of Paris. \nThis is one of the finest buildings in France, and is in \nimitation of its Itoman namesake, to some extent. The \ndome is richly painted, representing some kind of Popish \n\n\n204 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsaint-worship, in which good spirits and bad figure \nin the same scene, and are portrayed according to the \ntaste of the artist, who received one hundred thousand \nfrancs for his work. Underneath the church are the \nvaults, in which are deposited the dust of some of the \nmost noted men of France. The bones of Rousseau \nand Voltaire are here \xe2\x80\x94 their mischief all done, and \ntheir specious errors all exploded. The famous Marat \nwas entombed here; hut the hand of revolution dug \nup his bones, which were thrown into a common sewer; \nand thus disappeared all that death left of a man whose \nname carried terror to a trembling nation. From the \ndome, an extensive view of the city is obtained. The \nlong streets, the thronged Boulevards, the fine churches, \nand the clustering dwellings are all spread out before \nthe eye, forming a beautiful panorama, such as is sel\xc2\xac \ndom seen. \n\nBesides the above, there are many other Catholic \nchurches, filled with pictures and images, and kept in \nrepair at an immense cost, some of which are memora\xc2\xac \nble as the scene of events which have been recorded in \nhistory. There are about forty-two thousand Catholic \npriests and bishops in France, with convents for the \nTrappists, Capuchins, Benedictines, and many others, \nwho go about barefoot, or shod with sandals, like so \nmany hermits, who have dehumanized themselves, and \nlost their manhood. There are several Protestant sects \nin Paris, of whom the Calvinists are the most numerous. \nThis denomination has four or five places of worship, \nand about double the number of ministers. The min\xc2\xac \nisters are unlike in religious opinion, and preach in \ndifferent churches every Sabbath. The people follow \nthem from church to church, no one holding a seat, \nbut securing the most agreeable situation he can. I \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. 205 \n\nwent to the Oratoire, on one occasion, to hear the elo\xc2\xac \nquent M. Coquerel. The house was full, and those \nwho could judge said the preacher delivered a very able \ndiscourse, which was doubtless the case; but the whole \nappearance of the man was painfully theatrical. The \ngestures and bearing of the distinguished divine I \ncould hut contrast with* the appearance of one of his \ncolleagues, Adolph Monod, whom I was fortunate to \nsee and hear on another occasion. The latter is not so \ngreat an orator, but a more devout man ; has but little \nof the embellishments of imagination, hut much of the \npower of the cross of Christ. The rich and the noble, \nthe brilliant and the gay, fill the Oratoire when M. \nCoqueril discourses ; the humble, the pious, and the \ngood crowd the aisles when Monod holds up his cruci\xc2\xac \nfied Master. \n\nThe English have a church in Paris; the Wesley- \nans one in Rue de la Concorde, where, one Sabbath, \nI preached to a little company of about two hundred, \nof mixed French, English, and Americans. Under the \npresent government of France, the people are allowed \nfull religious liberty. The Protestant and Catholic \nenjoy equal privileges, and the discussion of religious \ntruth is open to all who choose to engage in it. \n\nThere are in Paris several interesting edifices, which, \nlike the Pantheon, are not used for religious worship, \nbut stand to commemorate some important events. One \nof these is the \n\n\nCHAPELLE EXPIATOIRE. \n\nOn entering this chapel, all that is mournful in the \nhistory of a most unfortunate family is brought vividly \nto our recollection. When the French revolution had \ndone its utmost, and the king and his noble queen, \n\nR \n\n\n6 \n\n\n206 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwhose only crime seemed to be that she was of the \nhouse of Austria, were carried to the guillotine, and \ninhumanly murdered, they were put into coarse coffins, \nand buried in a little cemetery belonging to the church \nof La Madaleine. On the records of that church is \nnow a charge like this: \xe2\x80\x9c For the coffin of the widow \nCapet , seven francs ; \xe2\x80\x9d and this was the whole sum laid \nout for the interment of the gifted, beautiful, and high\xc2\xac \nborn queen, whose word once made proud nobles trem\xc2\xac \nble. With her husband, she was placed in an unlion- \nored grave; and the ground w r as afterwards purchased \nby a stern royalist, who planted it as an orchard, that \nthe traces of the graves might not lead to a discovery, \nfearing that, in some wild and terrible moment, the \npopulace might dig up the bones, and insult even their \ndecay. When monarchy w T as restored, the ground was \npurchased by government, and a neat chapel erected over \nthe spot where the king and queen were interred. To \nthis chapel thousands come to wonder at the violence \nwhich it commemorates. LTp to the present year, there \nhas been one visitor whose heart must have bled at the \nvery sight of its beautiful walls, and in memory of \n\'the fate of those who were laid beneath it. I refer to \nthe Duchess of Angouleme, who, during the present \nyear, (1851,) has been called from earth. She was the \ndaughter of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. At \nthe time of the murder, she was but a child, and, with \nher brother, the dauphin, then only seven years old, \nwas shut up in a dark and gloomy dungeon. The boy \nwas soon let out to a brutal keeper, who had orders \nnot to kill him, but to get rid of him. Hence every \nindignity was heaped upon him. For a whole year, \nhis clothes were not changed; and for six months, his \nbed was not made. Under such treatment, the young \n\n\nVIEW OF PARIS \xe2\x80\x94 CHURCHES \xe2\x80\x94 CHAPELS. \n\n\n207 \n\n\nprince wasted away, and died in June, 1795. Ilis sister \nsurvived, and was treated with brutal violence, until the \nAustrian government induced the French to give her \nup, in exchange for some prisoners of war; and she \nwas taken to the court of Vienna, with a wasted frame \nand a broken heart. She has since passed through \nvarious changes, having been married, elevated, and a \nsecond time driven into banishment, until now she has \nfound shelter in the grave. To her, this chapel, which \nmarks the spot where her parents were buried, must \nhave been an object of great interest; and, every year \nsince, she has been furnished with a bouquet of flowers \nfrom the spot, over which she has wept and mused, \nuntil, entirely withered, she has cast them away. The \n\nCHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND \n\nis also an object of much interest. It was erected to \ncommemorate the death of the Duke of Orleans, who \ncame to an untimely end in 1842. Fie was out, riding \nin his carriage, when the horses became unmanageable ; \nand, in endeavoring to leap to the ground, his foot ivas \nentangled, and, being precipitated to the earth, his skull \nwas fractured. He was taken and carried into a gro\xc2\xac \ncery on the spot where the chapel now stands. His \nfather, Louis Philippe, and the other members of the \nroyal family, were soon on the ground; but the unfor\xc2\xac \ntunate voung man died in a few hours after. The old \ngrocery was taken down, and a chapel, dedicated to St. \nFerdinand, was erected on the spot. The chapel has \nseats for about fifty persons, and is fifty feet long, built \nin Gothic style. Opposite the doorway is the altar, and \nover it a statue of the Virgin and Child. On the left \nside of the chapel is another altar. On the right is a \nbeautiful group of statuary, representing the prince on \n\n\n208 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\nhis death bed, with an angel kneeling over him. This \nangel w r as the work of the Princess Marie, the deceased \nsister of the duke, who little dreamed that she was \nfashioning the marble for the monumental tomb of her \nbrother. Behind the altar is the little room in which \nthe prince died, remaining nearly as at that time. A \nfew rough chairs, a confessional and crucifix, constitute \nthe only furniture. On one side is a mournful picture \nrepresenting the death scene as it actually occurred. \nThe duke is stretched upon a bed, pale and bleeding. \nThe king holds his hands, with a countenance full of \nthe deepest grief; the queen and many of the nobles \nare looking on or weeping in the most abject sorrow ; \nwhile a robed priest, with a benign countenance, adds \nto the effect of the scene. \n\nThe Duke of Orleans was very popular with the \npeople, and had he been alive his father would hardly \nhave been driven from his throne in the late revolu\xc2\xac \ntion ; or if this had been the case, his son would have \nbeen allowed to assume the reins of government with\xc2\xac \nout resistance. The next son of the king was as un\xc2\xac \npopular as the Duke of Orleans was beloved; and \nwhen the tide of anarchy came surging against the \nthrone of Louis Philippe, he had no one to roll it back \nagain. The son of the Duke of Orleans, the Count of \nParis, is still alive; and if ever the tide turns again in \nfavor of monarchy, as it surely will, the count, who is \nnow but a child, will be the most likely to ascend the \nthrone. He is said to be a boy of good parts, an amia\xc2\xac \nble disposition, but somewhat destitute of energy and \ndecision. God grant that the time may not soon come \nwhen France, and gay, beautiful Paris shall be again \ndeluged with blood. \n\n\nPARISIAN LIFE \n\n\n209 \n\n\nXVII. \n\nI \n\nPARISIAN LIFE. \n\nOne cannot fail to observe that the Parisians are \nvery much devoted to light amusements. The evidence \nof this fact meets you at every corner, and in every \ngreat gathering. These amusements are generally of \nthe lightest and most trivial kinds; and however de\xc2\xac \nvoted an Englishman or an American might be to \npleasure, he would soon tire and weary himself with \nthe vain and foolish sports which engross so much of \nthe time of the middle and lower classes of Paris. The \ngreat pleasure grounds are the \n\nCHAMPS ELYSEES, \n\na fine promenade, striking west from Place de la Con\xc2\xac \ncorde one and a quarter miles, laid out with foot and \ncarriage paths, and forming a beautiful resort for the \ngay and fashionable crowds, who sit and walk by hours, \nhearing sweet music, and witnessing gay scenes. Trees \nfinely trimmed, and hedges carefully trained, give shel\xc2\xac \nter from the sun, while thousands of chairs and benches \nfurnish seats when the people are weary. These \ngrounds are let for panorama and other exhibitions, \nfrom which an income is derived of about twenty thou\xc2\xac \nsand francs per annum. On the afternoon or evening \nof any pleasant day, thousands of persons are seen mov\xc2\xac \ning about under the trees, or resting themselves on the \nbenches, or enjoying some of the sports of the place \n\n27 R * \n\n\n210 \n\n\nEUIiOPA. \n\n\nand occasion. On Sabbath day, the crowd swells to tens \nof thousands, and, in holiday attire, move about with\xc2\xac \nout the least noise or confusion. The appearance of \nthese grounds is much like the appearance of one of \nour muster fields, but without the confusion and noise \nof the latter. Let me describe the Champs Elysees, as \nI first saw them. Approaching by the Rue St. Honore, \nthe grounds presented themselves to my sight, filled \nwith fifty thousand persons. All kinds of amusements \nseemed to be in progress. Beneath the trees, young \nmen, in large numbers, were engaged in the various \ngames calculated to give strength and vigor to the \nmuscular system. On both sides of the Avenue de \nNeuilly, which is twelve feet wide, and paved with \nbitumen, were pavilions, richly decorated and finely \nilluminated, radiant with all the colors of the rainbow, \nand flowing with banners, ribins, pennants, and laces. \nThese were open on one side, and filled with singers. \nIn front were about one hundred tables, with two \nchairs to each. The whole was enclosed with ropes, \nwithout which stood thousands looking on and listen\xc2\xac \ning to the fine singing and music. Any person was \nallowed to go in, and sit down on the chairs, and use \nthe tables, without charge, but was expected to order \nwine and refreshments. Husbands and wives, lovers \nand ladies, parents and children, were here sipping \nwine and eating ices, and enjoying the occasion. The \nsingers were dressed in the hight of French fashion, \ngesticulated with French vehemence, and drew shouts \nof applause from French auditors. On one occasion, \nseeing other people entering the enclosure, a friend and \nmyself took our seats with the rest. Soon a waiter \ncame, and asked us, in indifferent English, what we \nwould have. We told him we did not wish to drink, \n\n\nPARISIAN LIFE. \n\n\n211 \n\n\nand, perhaps, were not allowed to retain our seats with\xc2\xac \nout doing so. He replied, \xe2\x80\x9c Well, nobody don\xe2\x80\x99t never \ncome here that don\xe2\x80\x99t take nothing.\xe2\x80\x9d This was suffi\xc2\xac \ncient, and we moved away. The proprietor of the cafe \nhires these singers, and secures his remuneration by the \nfree drinking of the people. A little farther on, a few \nyoung men and women were playing on violins and \nharps. They were gathered around several candles, \nwhich were set in the ground. Now and then, a few \nsous were thrown to them, which they eagerly gathered \nup. In one place was a blind fiddler, scraping with all \nhis might, and near by him a man with some dancing \ndogs, while learned goats were giving an exhibition in \nanother direction. All forms of gambling were seen. \nChildren were gambling for cakes of gingerbread and \ncandy; women, for combs, and little articles of toilet \nuse; men,for articles of greater value. Wooden horses, \ncradles, and ships turned by a wheel; fandangoes, of \nimmense size ; and a hundred other devices to secure \nmoney or mirth. Moving up and down the walks, or \nengaged in sport, are crowds of fresh-looking, gay, \nfashionable people, on whose countenances not a trace \nof care may be seen. There is no noise, no disorder, \nno quarreling, no drunkenness, but all is as quiet as \nthe streets of Boston on Sunday. \n\nBounding these grounds are buildings of more per\xc2\xac \nmanent character, designed for those kinds of exhibi\xc2\xac \ntions which cannot be held in the open air; and, when \nthe walks are deserted in the wet and lowering day, \nthese halls of mirth may be found densely crowded. \nHow this scene of gayety is kept up week after week, \nand year after year, seems a mystery. Two or three \nvisits are enough for the steady Englishman, and he \nturns from it with disgust. In London or New York, \n\n\n212 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsuch an exhibition could not be sustained a year; and \nyet the volatile French enjoy it; and in those fields \nmay be found the people of Paris without distinction \nof rank, from the poetic Lamartine, the brave Cavai- \ngnac, and that prince of fashion, Count d\xe2\x80\x99Orsay, down \nto the working men and women of the lowest orders. \nDown through Avenue de Neuilly dashes the chariot \nof the republican president, and anon rolls after it \nthe coupe of the grisette. Ledru Rollin and M. de \nGirardin walk cosily arm in arm, talking over the \npolitics of the nation, while by them sweeps the tide \nof life, or round them whirls the vortex of human \nbeings, bent on pleasure, and caring not who rules \nor ruins. \n\nThe French live much in the open air. In the city, \nthey throng the public walks and gardens ; and in the \ncountry, they cultivate the fields, and women perform \nmuch manual labor. I had often read of the part \ntaken in the various revolutions by the women of \nParis; but I never could understand it. I had read \nof that mob of women which swept out to Versailles, \nand back again to Paris, controlling the army, overaw\xc2\xac \ning the populace, judging the king, and overturning \nthe government, but was always at a loss to understand \nthe secret. But a brief residence in Paris explains the \nwhole. The lower class of women in France are ac\xc2\xac \ncustomed to all kinds of hardship, and have unsexed \nthemselves by the constant performance of rough out- \nof-door duties ; and, by contact with coarse, uncouth \nmen, they become as masculine, brazen, and bold as the \nsoldiers in the army. Wandering through their pleas\xc2\xac \nure grounds, they present a gay and pleasing spectacle, \nwith the sparkling black eye, and the frank, open coun\xc2\xac \ntenance ; but, when aroused and maddened by revenge \n\n\nPARISIAN LIFE. \n\n\n213 \n\n\n* * r \xe2\x80\xa2 . t \n\nor want, they enter into scenes of disturbance with as \nmuch readiness as their lovers and husbands. A \nyoung man, a graduate of one of our universities, \nwent to Paris to perfect himself in the science of \nmedicine, to which he had devoted himself. While \nthere, he became acquainted with a pretty, agreeable \nyoung woman, who drew his attention and engaged his \naffections. They were married, and she returned with \nhim to America. He established himself in his pro\xc2\xac \nfession in one of our quiet towns, and commenced at \nonce a good practice. But his wife has been to him \na continual plague. She persists in cultivating the \ngardens, grooming his horse, managing the affairs of \nhis stable, and entirely refuses to attend to the appro\xc2\xac \npriate duties of woman in her family. For a while, \nthe husband resisted this wayward inclination, but in \nvain; and he at last surrendered, and now she has her \nown way, to his great grief and mortification. Of \nsuch women was that mob composed which accom\xc2\xac \npanied the beautiful Marie Antoinette from Versailles \nto Paris, holding up to the window of her carriage the \ntrunkless heads of her faithful servants, who had been \nslain in her defence. \n\nTHE HIPPODROME \n\nis another place of fashionable resort for the Parisians. \nThis is an immense structure without the city, built \nin Moorish style, of an oval form, three hundred and \neighty feet in diameter, and capable of seating ten \nthousand persons. Several times a week, this place \nis open for equestrian performances, and hither thou\xc2\xac \nsands resort to witness feats of agility and strength. \nWe wandered in, one afternoon, while a balloon was \n\n\n214 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n* \n\nbeing inflated, which, shortly after, made a fine ascen\xc2\xac \nsion, carrying up seven men in gallant style. While \npreparations were made for the ascension, the people \nwere amused by several performances in chariot riding, \nafter the old Homan style, which was free from much \nthat is so offensive to correct morals in such exhibi\xc2\xac \ntions in America. The disposition for amusement may \nhe judged by the fact that, though this building is open \nnearly all the year, it always finds an audience brilliant, \nfashionable, and numerous. \n\nThere are also a great variety of amusements of all \nkinds. The theaters furnish a resort for thirty or forty \nthousand persons every evening, while concerts, balls, \nand public gardens are all well patronized. The public \ngardens in Paris are far more objectionable than those \nin London, and respectable ladies seldom enter them. \nThey are very attractive in their arrangements and dec\xc2\xac \norations, and perhaps a visit to one of them gives a \nmore correct view of one form of Parisian life than \ncan be obtained from any other source. I wandered, \none night, with my two clerical companions, into \n\nTHE CHATEAU DES FLEURS, \n\nwhich is a few acres of ground, profusely ornamented, \nand realizing the schoolboy\xe2\x80\x99s idea of a fairy grotto. \nWalks are neatly laid out, flowers and shrubbery are \ndelightfully arranged, fountains are glistening in the \ngaslight, and the whole garden seems alive with joy. \nThe trees are hung with colored lights, the grass is \ntwinkling with little Chinese lanterns, sweet flowers are \nblooming all around, and wreaths and festoons seem \nready to fall upon the head of beauty. In one corner \nare saloons for billiard tables ; near by are refreshment \n\n\nPARISIAN LIFE. \n\n\n215 \n\n\nrooms; in one comer are arrangements for shooting; \nat a distance is a beautiful little grove, in which sits a \nfortune-teller, to reveal the mysterious destiny of those \nwho are foolish enough to pay their money for such an \nobject. In the center is an open space for dancing. \nThe earth is hard and level, and seems well fitted for \nthe purpose. A large orchestra is on a beautiful stand, \nback of this open space, discoursing sweet music. Here \nthe young men and women of Paris come to spend their \nevenings in gambling, eating, or dancing. Though ter\xc2\xac \nribly destructive to morals as these places must from \nnecessity be, they are, doubtless, less poisonous to so\xc2\xac \nciety than the low dances which are held in our large \ncities. While there is much to intoxicate the passions, \nsteal away the senses, and bewilder reason, there is \nalso much to please the imagination and satisfy an \ninnate love of the beautiful; while, in the dances \namong us, there is lust without beauty, and vice with\xc2\xac \nout taste. Every appeal is made to the lowest appe\xc2\xac \ntites and propensities of our fallen nature, and not \none effort made to please the judgment or improve \nthe taste. \n\nAll the public gardens and pleasures of Paris are \nunder the strict attention of the police, who, without \nuniform, are moving about in all directions. The least \nsigns of indecorum will secure their interference; and \nsuch is the influence of this body of men, that, in all \nthe time I remained in Paris, I did not observe one \nsingle instance of that loose, vulgar rowdyism which \nis so noticeable in England and America. There were \nno gatherings on corners of the streets, no disputes \nalong the Boulevards, and, though the streets and \npleasure grounds were thronged, none seemed to be \n\n\n216 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ndisposed to disorder and contention. On the counte\xc2\xac \nnances of the living, moving mass seemed to be the \nmost determined good nature; and though I have been \nin the streets at almost all hours, yet I did not see a \ndrunken man or a disorderly person during my whole \nstay in that delightful city. The most charming order \nseemed to prevail, not only in open sunlight, but in \nthe dim and dismal night. \n\n\n\nOBJECTS OE INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\n217 \n\n\nX Y111. \n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\nThe finest view of Paris, and I think the finest view \nof any city I ever took, was from the top of \n\nTHE TRIUMPHAL ARCH, \n\nsituated on an elevated ground, overlooking the city. \nIt was commenced by Napoleon, and completed in \n1836, at a cost of more than ten million francs. It \nconsists of a grand central arch, ninety feet high and \nforty-five feet wide, through which passes a traverse \narch, scarcely less bold and magnificent in its propor\xc2\xac \ntions. The monument rises to a hight of one hundred \nand fifty-two feet, and sinks its solid stone foundation \ntwenty-five feet below the surface of the ground. The \npiers and the entablature are richly ornamented with \ncarved stone work, and form one of the most magnifi\xc2\xac \ncent triumphal arches in the world. The ascent is ob\xc2\xac \ntained by a flight of two hundred and sixty-one steps; \nand when, at the expense of weary limbs, it is reached, \none of the finest prospects conceivable bursts upon \nthe sight. For an hour, I stood looking down upon \nthe city which spread out before me. The Champs \nElysees, with the spacious avenue, was thronged with \npeople. Beyond, the palaces were glistening in the \nsun ; the Notre Fame and the Pantheon lifted up large \ntowers and domes, like monuments amid a sea of habi\xc2\xac \ntations, the ornamented columns pointing upward, like \n\n28 s \n\n\n218 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe lingers of a giant; the broad, flat roof of La Mada- \nleine stretched out like a plain; while all around, a \nbeautiful country was spread in every direction. I \nhave stood upon the dome of St. Paul\xe2\x80\x99s, in London, \nand St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, in Pome; but I do not remember a \nfiner view than that which is obtained from the top of \nthe triumphal arch. The view from the dome of St. \nPaul\xe2\x80\x99s is destroyed by the dim, hazy atmosphere, and \nthe perpetual fogs which hang over London. That ob\xc2\xac \ntained from St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s is broken by ruins, and marked \nby the signs of decay every where observable. \n\nAnother fine view of Paris is obtained from \n\nPERE LA CHAISE, \n\nthe beautiful cemetery north-east of the city. For a \nlong time, this lovely spot, where the dead now sleep, \nwas the garden of a convent, and gloomy friars roamed \nwhere now reigns the silence of death. In 1804, it was \npurchased and laid out as a burial-place, and is now \nthe most noted cemetery in the world. I do not think \nit so beautiful as Mount Auburn or Laurel Hill. \nThere is a crowded appearance, which detracts much \nfrom its solemn and mournful aspect. It is filled with \nmonuments, chapels, urns, and other funereal orna\xc2\xac \nments. The most striking feature of this place is the \ngreat number of little chapels, erected over different \ngraves, large enough to hold two or three persons, and \nin which are chairs, an altar, and a crucifix. To these \nchapels friends repair to weep, and to pray for the souls \nof those whose ashes are beneath. The tombs are also \ncovered with wreaths, flowers, and votive offerings of \nevery description. The long street leading to the ceme\xc2\xac \ntery is filled with women and children braiding wreaths \nand making artificial flowers, which friends purchase as \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\n219 \n\n\nthey enter, and leave upon the grave. A description \nof one of these monumental chapels will give a gen\xc2\xac \neral idea of the whole. The one which I sketched was \nof soft sandstone, Corinthian architecture, seven feet, \nlong and four feet wide. A man could stand upright \nin it. The walls were thin, and the door of iron trel- \nlised work, through which the interior could be seen. \nIt was furnished with a chair, a prayer book, several \npots of the geranium, a vase of natural flowers, a kneel\xc2\xac \ning statue, a silver crucifix, a miniature daguerreotype, \na mourning picture, and some twenty-five wreaths of \nartificial flowers. A little table on which some of \nthese things stood was covered with white muslin, and \nthe floor neatly spread with painted carpet. In the \nrear, behind the altar, or table, was a small stained \nglass window; and the whole structure was neat and \nbeautiful. The cemetery, which has about one hun\xc2\xac \ndred acres, is filled up with chapels and monuments, \nbeneath which sleep in death many who were once \nloved and honored in life. One of the most conspic\xc2\xac \nuous monuments here is that of the two lovers, Abe\xc2\xac \nlard and Heloise, whose story is better known to all \nthe ladies than it is to me. It is built out of the mate\xc2\xac \nrials of the abbey which was founded by Abelard, and \nof which his unfortunate companion was the first ab\xc2\xac \nbess. No stranger goes to that cemetery without in\xc2\xac \nquiring for this remarkable tomb, and none turn from \nit without an expression of pity for the fate of those \nwhose death it is designed to commemorate. \n\nThe burial-place of Marshal Ney, whose only crime \nwas that he loved his country too well, is here. After \nhaving fought the battles and avenged the wrongs of \nFrance, he was condemned and shot as a traitor; and \nhis ashes are here, without a monument. An iron fence \n\n\n220 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nencloses tlie spot where he sleeps, and on one of the \nrails an old soldier has scratched with his sword the \nthree letters of his name; and this is the only inscrip\xc2\xac \ntion which marks his resting-place. As I stood over \nthat plain grave, the dim past came rushing through \nmy mind. The storm of battle again raged upon the \nearth. The solid ground shook with the clash of \narms and the tramp of thousands. I was at Fried- \nland, and Borodino, and Waterloo, and saw the magnif\xc2\xac \nicent column of Ney advancing to the terrible charge, \npressing into the smoke and tumult of the battle, often \nrepulsed, torn, and mangled, but at last victorious. I \nheard Napoleon call him the \xe2\x80\x9c bravest of the brave,\xe2\x80\x9d \nand saw him rush where death and danger were to be \nbraved. The*scene changes, and the battle is over. \nOne man is led out to die. His step is firm and his \nhead erect. With a noble declaration of fidelity to \nFrance, he is shot to appease the clamors of the Duke \nof Wellington, the present idol of the English nation. \nBuried in a dishonored grave, which none who admire \npersonal courage and heroic devotion to country can \nvisit without emotion, he sleeps, awaiting the sound of \nthe last trumpet. \n\nConnected with the cemetery is a chapel for burial \nservices, capable of seating about three hundred per\xc2\xac \nsons, and is a plain stone edifice, without ornaments or \ndecorations. While we were in the grounds, we saw \nan old man, with his wife, and two children, engaged \nin prayer over a new-made grave. The wind was play\xc2\xac \ning with his waving hair, and wafting his petition up \nto God. A funeral came in, bearing some lowly corpse \nto its long home; and, as we moved away, the last \nsound we heard was the rattling in of the earth upon \nthe plain and unornamented coffin. There are about \nsixteen thousand tombs in this cemetery. \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PxYRIS. \n\n\n221 \n\n\nTHE MORGUE \n\nis a place which I visited with much melancholy inter\xc2\xac \nest. This is a plain Doric building on the banks of \nthe Seine, where dead bodies are brought to be recog\xc2\xac \nnized by friends. They are divested of their clothing, \nwhich is hung up beside them, and are allowed to re\xc2\xac \nmain three days, at the end of which time they are \nburied. They are laid out upon a brass table, or plat\xc2\xac \nform, behind a glass partition. The table is inclined, \nand the whole person may be viewed by the spectator. \nAbout three hundred a year, or nearly one a day, are \nbrought here, most of whom are drawn from the river. \nI went in to this sad place on two occasions. The first \ntime, it was empty; no human form was laid out there \nin the chill of death. But the second time, it was not \nso. Two bodies were laid out for inspection. Large \nnumbers were continually coming and going, and an \nidle, morbid curiosity seemed to impel the people for\xc2\xac \nward, and gather them close around the bodies. At \nlength, a woman came with a basket on her arm. She \ncame in careless and gay, singing some familiar song, \nand pressed her way up to the glass, through which \nshe could see the bodies. She gazed a moment, turned \npale, uttered a shriek, and rushed away, followed by the \ncrowd. She had recognized in the form of one of the \ndead men a husband, brother, or lover, and, in the full\xc2\xac \nness of her heart, had gone away to weep. \n\nAs we left the place, the dead-cart came in with more \nbodies. We could not tell the number; but the man \nwho drove it had three hats in his hand, and the load \nappeared to be heavy. \n\nThe stranger who is alone in Paris will have some \npeculiar feelings as he goes into this home of death, \n\ns * \n\n\n222 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nand beholds the forms of the dead stretched out for \nrecognition. He will realize his own liability to fall, \nstricken by the hand of disease, away from home, and \nin the midst of strangers, and be laid out thus, with no \nfriend to come and recognize him, and bear him away \nto a distant burial. \n\nNor can one help inquiring as to the cause of these \nnumerous deaths. Did they faint and fall, or did they \ncast themselves by design into the Seine ? Were they \ntired of life, and did they expect to escape from misery \nby suicide ? It is a melancholy fact that, in the midst \n\xe2\x80\xa2 of the gay inhabitants of Paris, suicides are terribly \nfrequent. Almost every day, some poor fellow-creature \nputs an end to his own life, and goes up to meet his \nGod a self-murderer. The pleasures of that light and \nglad metropolis do not make the people content with \nlife ; and weary of it, and tired of its perplexities, and \nwith a perverted view of the future, they rush out of \ntime into an eternity of which they know but little, \nand for which they are not prepared. \n\nTHE HOTEL DES INVALIDES, \n\nor royal house for poor and infirm soldiers, is situated \non the left bank of the Seine. This admirable charity \nwas founded by Louis XIV., and is an object of great \ninterest: It is occupied by soldiers who have been dis\xc2\xac \nabled, or who have served in the army thirty years; \nand of these there are now about three thousand. \nThey are well cared for, well fed and clothed, all dress\xc2\xac \ning in a plain, neat uniform. They have a church, \nlibrary, and all the other appendages of such an insti\xc2\xac \ntution. We rode in, passing a row of cannon, \xe2\x80\x94 the \ntrophies of African conquests, \xe2\x80\x94 along by the barracks, \ngazing out upon old soldiers who were thronged around, \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 223 \n\nsome minus an eye, some a leg, and some an arm. On \nentering, we found a company of Napoleon\xe2\x80\x99s old sol\xc2\xac \ndiers drawn up for review. Some had legs, and some \nhad eyes; but the majority of them were in some way \ndisabled. It was an affecting sight to see these old \nsoldiers, whose faces will now kindle up with enthusi\xc2\xac \nasm at the mention of Waterloo, Austerlitz, and Lodi. \nThey are men who have fought under the eye of the \nemperor, and marched to deadly battle to the thunders \nof his artillery. It was some festival, and high mass \nwas being said in the church; and we met the gov\xc2\xac \nernor of the Invalides, Jerome Bonaparte, ex-king of \nWestphalia, being escorted in by a company of soldiers. \nWe knew him at once, from his resemblance to Napo\xc2\xac \nleon \xe2\x80\x94 the cocked hat, the same countenance and bear\xc2\xac \ning ; and I almost imagined that the emperor was \nagain among men, and moving before me. He is a \nnoble-looking man ; and, as he moved by, we uncovered \nour heads, which he perceiving, and probably recog\xc2\xac \nnizing us as strangers, very courteously returned by \nremoving his cocked chapeau. We followed on to \nthe church, which is ornamented with flags, torn and \nbloody, which the French have taken in battle. A \nfew years ago, there were three thousand of these \ntrophies of war; but, on the entry of the allied forces \ninto Paris, in 1814, Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king of Spain, \ncommanded them to be burnt, that they might not fall \ninto the hands of their former owners. The present \nnumber is less; and among them is seen none taken \nfrom American ranks; the stripes and stars wave not \namid those signals of blood and conquest. \n\nIn the center of the church, beneath a dome, is being \nbuilt the magnificent tomb of the emperor, whose sleep \nat St. Helena has been broken by the clamors of pride, \n\n\n224 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nand whose ashes were borne back to France, a few years \nago, in funereal pomp such as the world never witnessed \nbefore; and here they will remain guarded and wept \nover by the veterans who have served under him in his \nmost terrible battles. \n\nThe kitchens, dormitories, and dining-rooms are in \nexcellent order. The various spacious apartments are \nhung with pictures and adorned with statues, and the \nwhole constitutes one of the most interesting objects \nwhich a stranger can visit in the whole city. \n\nTHE GOBELINS. \n\nThe stranger in Paris will find great pleasure in vis\xc2\xac \niting the manufactory of ornamental tapestry, named \nfor one Jean Gobelin, who commenced the business \nsome four or five centuries ago. He was succeeded by \nseveral other private persons, and the whole establish\xc2\xac \nment at length fell into the hands of the government ; \nand one hundred and twenty hands are now employed \nin the manufacture of the most beautiful fabrics for \nthe state. Some of the pieces of tapestry made here \nrequire several years, and are most exquisite in their \ndesign and finish. We saw it in all the various stages \nof progress, and nothing can exceed the perfection to \nwhich the art is brought. Softer and richer than the \nnicest paintings, these pieces of tapestry are sent away \nto decorate the palaces of kings. I noticed particu\xc2\xac \nlarly a very fine piece of work of this kind, nearly fin\xc2\xac \nished. It was a scene drawn from the history of Napo\xc2\xac \nleon. He had arrived to the sad conclusion of obtaining \na divorce from his beautiful empress Josephine. Actu\xc2\xac \nated by political motives, and impelled by an uncontrol\xc2\xac \nlable ambition, he had already taken the steps necessary \nin such a case. A letter is sent from one of Napoleor/g \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\n225 \n\n\nmarshals, announcing to the wife the plans of the em\xc2\xac \nperor. This tapestry represents Josephine laying the \nletter before her husband, and appealing to him to \ndeny its contents. The whole scene is one of touching \nbeauty. Josephine is on her knees ; the tears are roll\xc2\xac \ning down her cheeks; the open letter is in her jew\xc2\xac \neled hands; while her whole countenance bears the \nmarks of the most beautiful grief and anxiety. Napo\xc2\xac \nleon stands before her, with scarcely less of sorrow on \nhis own countenance; and he turns half away, to hide \nhis feelings. Without the door are listening figures, \nready to catch the words uttered, and go away and \nspread them through the metropolis. The figures are \nas large as life, and wrought in a most perfect manner. \nOne can hardly gaze upon it without tears ; and I no\xc2\xac \nticed that the French stopped longer before it, and be\xc2\xac \ncame more excited in beholding it, than in viewing any \nother scene. \n\nSpeaking of Josephine reminds me that the house in \nwhich she formerly lived still stands in Rue Victoire, \nan object of interest to the stranger. Here her youth \nwas spent, and here she lived when a young, ardent \nman became her lover, and poured into her ear the tale \nof his passion. She was lovely, gentle, and dovelike; \nhe was fiery, impetuous, and strong. She clung to him \nas the vine clings to the mighty oak. To her he here \nunfolded his proud projects and opened his great de\xc2\xac \nsigns, to which she shook her head in silence. Soon \nhe began to put these plans into execution, and at \nlength came and led her away to the old Cathedral of \nNotre Dame, and placed a crown upon her head. She \nloved him with undying and untiring affection; his \nbattles she watched with the most painful interest; \nand in all France there was not a truer heart than that \n\n29 \n\n\nI \n\n\n226 EUROPA. \n\nwhich Napoleon found, ere his dream of conquest com\xc2\xac \nmenced, in a cottage shaded by rich foliage, in a little \nlane in Rue Victoire. \n\nOne of the darkest deeds of Napoleon\xe2\x80\x99s history was \nhis infamous divorce from this lovely and accomplished \nfemale. His overleaping ambition led him to it. His \nheart was not alienated, and he loved Josephine still; \nbut he gave her up for the cold, half-hearted, superfi\xc2\xac \ncial Maria Louisa, who deserted him in his misfortunes, \nand lived in gayety while he continued in exile. \n\nThere are also many other private residences of much \nhistorical interest, and many public buildings which are \nassociated in the mind with the most fearful events \nwhich ever transpired in that city of crime and pleas\xc2\xac \nure. These \n\n\nVESTIGES OF REVOLUTIONS \n\nare found in almost every street, and each palace and \npublic garden has its tale of horror to tell, which \nmakes the blood run cold, and freezes up the heart \nwith dread. In one place, you will be stopped and \npointed to the house in which Marat met his terrible \nend. As you see the guide tremble, you will ask him \nto relate the story. He will tell you of a beautiful \nyoung woman, of delicate form and fair complexion, \nwho left her aged sire one day, placing on his table a \nnote saying that she had gone to England, should never \nreturn, and requesting him to forget her. On she wan\xc2\xac \nders, towards Paris, in the lumbering diligence. On \nreaching the city, she repairs to a hotel, sleeps a while, \nand then wanders out to purchase a sheath knife. On \nshe goes, with the knife buried in her garments, to the \nhouse of citizen Marat. He is a coward, steeped in \nblood, and suspects some treachery, and will not see \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\n227 \n\n\nlier. She retires to her hotel, and writes to him urgent \nepistles. Of these he takes no notice. She sends \nagain, telling him that she can unfold infamous plots, \nand reveal horrid purposes; but he is still afraid. At \nlength, sick and tired, he goes into his bath; and his \npursuer knocks at the door, and mingles her musical \nvoice with the echo. The guilty Marat hears a fe\xc2\xac \nmale tone, and Marat never was insensible to female \ncharms. He cries, \xe2\x80\x9c Come in; \xe2\x80\x9d and Charlotte Cor- \nday stands before him. She tells him of treason; of \nhonored men engaged in it; of the way to arrest it. \nHis face grows pale with rage; and he seizes his pen \nto write the names of foes just given him, declaring, \nwith an oath, that they shall have blood to drink. As \nhe bends over his paper, Charlotte plunges her knife \ndeep into his heart; and his purple gore mingles with \nthe water of his bath, and the names which he has \nwritten are blotted out with blood. At once, Paris is \nin arms. The din of confusion sounds, rings, and \nechoes. The woman surrenders herself into the hands \nof officers, and is led to the revolutionary tribunal. \nShe owns the horrid crime, and, with exulting voice, \nexclaims, \xe2\x80\x9c I killed Marat! He was a savage beast, \nand his death will give repose to my bleeding country.\xe2\x80\x9d \nShe is doomed to die. Out goes the death cart from \nthe gloomy prison, and in it rides Charlotte Corday, \nwith the red death gown on, her cheeks as fair and \nbeautiful as when, a few days ago, she left her distant \nhome. The cart stops, and soon the executioner holds \nup her bleeding head, that the people may see that his \nwork has been done faithfully. The spirit of Charlotte \nCorday, beautifully misguided, goes chasing the hag\xc2\xac \ngard soul of Marat up to the judgment seat of Christ. \n\nIn another street will be pointed out the house in \n\n\n228 EUROPA. \n\nwhich lived Admiral Coligny, who was slain on that \nterrible night which preceded St. Bartholomew\xe2\x80\x99s day. \nFor days previous, the unsuspecting Huguenots came \npouring into the city, filling the hotels, and thronging \nits private residences. The night comes, and the clang\xc2\xac \ning hell of St. Germaine gives the signal, and the ser\xc2\xac \nvants of the pope are drenching their swords in Prot\xc2\xac \nestant blood. Torches glare on the night, and hold \ncrimes are committed in the streets. Already thou\xc2\xac \nsands have fallen, whole families butchered, and whole \nkindreds swept away. The noise and confusion in\xc2\xac \ncrease, and a vile host surrounds the hotel of the ad- \nmiral, the leader of the Protestants. They force the \ndoors ; the brave Swiss guard are slain in the hall; the \nchamber of the sick and suffering noble is invaded; \nand a German menial passes a sword through the body \nof the veteran, and then gashes the face and hands. \nBelow is heard the voice of the Duke of Guise, asking, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Is it done % \xe2\x80\x9d The assassins reply by forcing the mu\xc2\xac \ntilated body through the window, and hurling it upon \nthe pavements below. The duke wipes the blood from \nthe face, recognizes Coligny, and, kicking the lifeless \nclay, passes on to finish his work. Through every \nstreet goes the bloody band, with white scarfs on their \narms and white crosses on their hats, from the Louvre \n\\ to the Boulevards. All that day, the tide of blood \nflows; the houses are full of death; and the Seine \n\n\xe2\x96\xa0 fV. \\ . - , . \xe2\x80\xa2 . \n\nis red and gory. Out goes from Paris the dreadful in- \ntelligence. The streets of Pome echo with shouts of \ngladness ; and the pope goes to the cathedral, and cele\xc2\xac \nbrates high mass, and, from the high altar of St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, \napplauds the murderous work. \n\nIn taking another turn, we stumble upon the spot \nwhere Princess Lamballe, the unfortunate friend of \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOBJECTS OE INTEREST IN PARIS. \n\n\n229 \n\n\nMarie Antoinette, was so cruelly murdered. Her only \ncrime was, that she was too much beloved by the unfor\xc2\xac \ntunate queen and her royal husband. She is first \ndragged to prison, and kept a while \xe2\x80\x94 every day ex\xc2\xac \nposed to insult and scorn. At length, the thirst for \nblood is so great, that she is demanded as a victim. A \nwild crowd of devils incarnate gather, and surge along \nto the place where she is confined, and demand that \nshe be brought forth. At the sight which meets her \neye, she faints again and again ; but the mob wait not \nlong. They raise her up, and force her to walk along \nstreets which are filled with dead bodies. As she goes, \nthe fiends catch in their hands the blood of some of \nthe poor victims who are dying by the wayside, and \ncast it into her face. If she falters, they prick her side \nwith swords. Now, her face is gashed; and soon she \nfalls, stumbling over a heap of the slain, and is speared \nupon the spot. The clothing is torn from her body, \nwhich is exposed to every insult that fiendish cruelty \ncan devise; and, at length, one leg is torn from the \ngoiy and gashed body, and rammed into a cannon, \nwhich is fired off amid the shoutings of the crowd. \n\nAlmost every spot in the city s&ems to be associated \nwith some vile scene in the dim and dreadful past \nThis window is one from which some dead form wa* \ncast, and that from which the first gun, in some tumult, \nwas fired. In this street, nobles were speared or shot \ndown; and in that, pavements were torn up, and barri\xc2\xac \ncades formed, to protect life or destroy it. Here stood \nthe guillotine, and there the Bastille. The Hotel de \nVille is memorable as having been the place where the \nrevolution commenced, and also the place where Robes\xc2\xac \npierre was taken, after the fury of that dreadful period \nhad passed away. His case you all know; and his \n\nT \n\n\n230 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nname is written in letters of blood over the city, on the \npublic buildings and triumphal columns. That guilty \nman aroused a storm which he could not control. He \nwas shot in the very place where he had reveled in splen\xc2\xac \ndor, and died on the guillotine to which he had doomed \nso many of the unfortunate victims. Over the very \nplaces where these terrible scenes once transpired the \npeople throng without any signs of grief or sadness. \nOne would imagine Paris to be one of the most happy \nplaces in the world, did not terrible facts assure him to \nthe reverse of this. Every thing is looking glad and \npleasant. The public streets and pleasure grounds are \nall smiling and beautiful, and discontent does not seem \nto reign. But go behind the curtain ; inquire into the \nreal condition of the people; and you will scarcely find \na trace of true and substantial bliss. England, with \nall her suffering and vice, has more true and solid enjoy\xc2\xac \nment by far than the gay metropolis of France. While \nI was in Paris, the public papers chronicled numerous \ncases of suicide and self-destruction. One morning, a \nman who kept a pleasure house in the Champs Elysees, \ndissatisfied with life, arose from a restless pillow, and \nwent out and shot himself. His friends found him \nwith his jaw shot off, and his corpse cold. On the \nsame morning, on one of the trees of this fairy place \na poor creature was found hung. His body was cut \ndown and carried to the Morgue, where friends came \nand recognized it. These instances are so common, \nthat they do not move the public breast, or arouse the \n* public conscience. \n\nWould time and space allow, I might describe other \nobjects of much interest to the stranger in Paris. The \ncity is full of places and objects of great historic re\xc2\xac \nnown ; and one may wander about for months, meeting \n\n\nOBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PARIS. 231 \n\nwith new objects of interest every clay. I might take \nyou to churches tilled with images, pictures, saints, and \ndevils for aught I know, whose walls are covered with \ndim inscriptions, and whose altars daily smoke with the \nincense of superstition; to vast libraries, one of which \n(Bibliotheque Royale) numbers eight hundred thou\xc2\xac \nsand books, eighty thousand manuscripts, four hundred \nthousand medals, three hundred thousand maps, and \none million engravings; to cabinets of antique articles, \nwhere are objects of great curiosity, such as the seal of \nMichael Angelo, the iron chair of King Dagobert, the \nshield of Hannibal, the zodiac of Denderah, and every \nnamable and unnamable wonder; to the abattoirs, those \ncreations of Napoleon by which the health and comfort \nof the people are much increased; to the Bourse, where \nthe living daily throng in such crowds; and to the \ncatacombs, where repose the bones of the dead; to \nbeautiful gardens and fine fountains; \xe2\x80\x94 indeed, to \nevery scene of life, love, and beauty. \n\nWhile wandering about, one day, we fell into the \nstudio of our countryman, Mr. Healy, who was en\xc2\xac \ngaged in painting the great picture of the United \nStates Senate. The picture represents Webster reply\xc2\xac \ning to Hayne, and is designed to represent the scene as \nit occurred. There sit Benton, Calhoun, Clay, and \nother noted men. Mr. Webster is speaking, while in \nthe gallery are some of the most distinguished men and \nwomen of the land, among whom is Mrs. Webster, then \na young bride, enjoying the triumph of her husband. \nThe painting was then unfinished, and I thought was \ntoo stiff and formal. Mr. Webster was bolt upright, \nand seemed quite lifeless. It has since been finished, \nand brought to this country, and is now on exhibition \nin some of our large cities; but I have not seen it. \n\n\n232 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nMy criticism may be unjust, and likely is, as it is quite \nimpossible for one to form an opinion of a painting \nwhich has not received the finishing touch of the artist. \nHowever, the fame of Mr. Healy is so well established, \nthat no injury can be done him by my remarks upon \nhis great work. \n\nI may also be alone in this opinion, as I have seen \nno notice of the painting, and do not pretend to judge \nof an art of which I know so little. The artist stands \nhigh in his profession on the other side of the Atlan\xc2\xac \ntic ; and if he has failed, to any extent, in the work of \nwhich we speak, it may doubtless be attributed to the \npeculiar character of the scene which he has endeavored \nto delineate, which is not capable of such striking ef\xc2\xac \nfect as may be produced in the painting of some other \nscenes and objects, such as the carnage of battle and \nthe strife of war. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 233 \n\n\nXIX. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. \n\nThe French nation presents a strange spectacle to \nthe world, and holds up an example which none would \nwish to imitate. It is to-day (November, 1851) a re\xc2\xac \npublic. Its supreme magistrate is a president, who \nmust be a native of France, more than thirty years old, \nand is elected by the people. The legislature is the \nNational Assembly, which is composed of several hun\xc2\xac \ndreds of members, also elected by the suffrages of the \npeople. The president nominates three men, one of \nwhom is chosen by the Assembly as vice president. \nHe also selects his own cabinet. The general day of \nelection is the second Sunday in May, every fourth \nyear. The salary of the president is six hundred thou\xc2\xac \nsand francs, in addition to which frequent appropria\xc2\xac \ntions are made for the extra expenses of these officers. \n\nLouis Philippe came to the throne of France in 1830, \nin the midst of the existence of several distinct parties. \nThe Republicans were clamorous for a democracy ; the \nLegitimists for the restoration of the elder branch of \nthe Bourbon family; while a middle class looked to \nthe house of Orleans as the only hope of their blood- \ndrunken nation. Lafayette presented Louis Philippe \nas the representative of a liberal government; and he \nwas accepted by the people, and crowned accordingly. \nFrom the day of his coronation up to the year 1848, \nhe continued to reign, his throne ever surrounded by \n\n30 t* \n\n\n234 \n\n\nEUIIOPA. \n\n\ntraitors, frequent attempts made upon his life, and \nstorm and tempest continually howling around him. \nHe was, on the whole, a good king, a man of tolerable \nintellect, with a good knowledge of human nature, and \nan instinctive love of peace and order. During his \nadministration, public buildings were erected, the arts \nflourished, and the nation was prosperous and happy. \nBut, overlooking all these considerations, the people \nthirsted for revolution. Banquets were held, at which \nthe revolutionary orators made violent speeches. Fierce \nand angry discussions were held in the House of Depu\xc2\xac \nties. Ledru Rollin, Lamartine, and Barrot, each with \na point to carry, harangued the people. In February, \nthe waves of anarchy began to dash against the throne. \nParis was full of troops; groups, in suppressed mur\xc2\xac \nmurs, were heard discussing the state of the nation; \nnight and day, soldiers, with drawn swords, were sta\xc2\xac \ntioned all over Paris, and stood in dumb silence, await\xc2\xac \ning they knew not what. The people expected the \noverturning of the throne. They did not wait long; \nfor soon, one evening, groups were seen with torches \nand red flags parading the streets, excited by their \nwild leaders. One of these processions reaches the \nHotel of Foreign Affairs, where a column of soldiers \nis drawn up. Here a random shot is fired \xe2\x80\x94 no one \nknows by whom, or for what purpose; but it com\xc2\xac \nmenced the revolution, drove Louis Philippe from his \nthrone, and changed the kingdom into a republic. \nThrough Paris sounds the cry of terror, that blood \nhas been shed; and when blood begins to flow in \nFrance, no one knows where it will end. The dead \nbodies are gathered up, placed in a cart, and hurried \naway. Thousands follow with these terrible trophies \nto the office of the National. Here every attempt is \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 235 \n\nmade to inflame the passions of the people. The bodies \nin the dead-cart are overhauled, and the form of a fe\xc2\xac \nmale is held up, all gory and red, and inflammatory \nspeeches are made over the terrible display. Soon the \nhells are sounding, the pavements of the streets are \nbeing torn up, men and women are arming themselves, \nand the revolution is in progress. \n\nWhile all this is taking place in the street, the Tui- \nleries has been filled with councilors. M. Mole, M. \nThiers, M. Guizot, and others have been called in to \nconsult with the perplexed king. Louis Philippe, un\xc2\xac \nwilling to shed blood, hesitates; but his hesitation is \nfatal. While he listens to the various plans, a messen\xc2\xac \nger rushes in to tell him that the soldiers are giving \naway their arms to the people. The commandant still \ndeclares that the revolution can be stayed; that one \nbroadside would drive back the masses who are filling \nthe Place de la Concorde. Hour after hour is wasted, \nand the rage of the people knows no bounds. At \nlength, the king gives orders to have the soldiers fire \nupon the mob. But the old officer shakes his head, and \nexclaims, \xe2\x80\x9c Too late! \xe2\x80\x9d The only alternative is abdi\xc2\xac \ncation, and Louis Philippe writes his withdrawal from \nthe throne, in behalf of his grandson, the Count of \nParis. One scene follows another in quick succession. \nFirst, the king is seen taking the arm of the queen, \nand, followed by members of the royal family, passing \nout of a side door into a cab found in the street, and \nhurrying away into a returnless exile. Then the \nDuchess of Orleans is seen in the Chamber of Dep\xc2\xac \nuties, with her two children, pleading for their rights, \nwhile over her hangs the sword, and around her shout \nthe infuriated madmen. She is the widow of the old\xc2\xac \nest son of the king, and is arrayed in mourning yet for \n\n\n236 \n\n\nEtTROPA. \n\n\nthe sad death of her husband, who was thrown from \nhis carriage and killed a while before. She comes into \nthe Chamber of Deputies with the vain hope of restor\xc2\xac \ning the tottering throne, and saving for her son the \nremnant of royalty. As she approaches the tribune, \nshe moves her veil, and casts her calm blue eye around \nupon the astonished and bewildered deputies, as if to \nread her fate in their countenances. In one hand she \nleads the young king, who has just been made sover- \xe2\x80\xa2 \neign of France by the abdication of his grandfather ; \nin the other she holds the hand of the other child, the \nDuke of Chartres \xe2\x80\x94 two beautiful children, wearing \nshort, black jackets, with snow-white collars, and a \nslight regal ornament suspended from the neck. Mur\xc2\xac \nmurs of approbation follow her as she moves on. Her \npale and serene look saddens all hearts, and all resent\xc2\xac \nment and revenge are banished from the breasts of the \nmembers. She takes her seat at the foot of the tribune, \nand utters a silent but beautiful appeal to the feelings \nof the deputies. Speech after speech is made, and it \nseems as if the tide is turning in favor of monarchy, \nwhen shouts are heard without. Eude voices clamor \nfor admittance; guns are discharged in the street; and \na crowd of assailants burst into the Chamber. They \nlook with glaring eyes upon the beautiful duchess and \nher children, and cry, \xe2\x80\x9c Why is she here 1 \xe2\x80\x9d The tide \nwhich had begun to set towards royalty begins to roll \nback again. The deputies grow pale, the duchess trem\xc2\xac \nbles, and her children clap their hands with joy at the \nscenes around them. Their mother, with a paper in \nher hand, arose to speak ; but they would not hear her, \nand she sat down in confusion, feeling that her case was \nhopeless. Soon the chamber was full of wild armed \nmen, and the very tribune was gleaming with bayonets. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 237 \n\n\nThe whole scene w T as wild heyond description. One \nwho witnessed it gives the following account: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The people were heard rushing against the door on \nthe left, at the foot of the tribune. The clash of arms, \nthe cries, shouts, questions, and groans of men, con\xc2\xac \nfounded together, rang through the corridors. \n\n44 The hall and the tribunes sprang up at a bound. \nMen with outstretched arms, bayonets, sabers, bars of \niron, and torn standards above their heads, forced their \nway into the hemicycle. It was the column of Captain \nDunoyer, swelled by the Republicans it had recruited \non its route. This column had first entered the Tuile- \nries pellmell with the masses of insurgents who had \ninvaded the chateau by all its entrances. They had \nthere saved the municipal guards and the soldiers for\xc2\xac \ngotten in the retreat. Afterwards reaching the throne \nroom, the column had been there preceded by Lagrange, \nthe enthusiastic combatant of the insurrections of Ly\xc2\xac \nons and Paris. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Lagrange held in his hand the abdication, which \nhe had taken, as we have seen, from Marshal Gerard at \nthe moment when the old warrior displayed it before \nthe people to disarm them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Lagrange, mounted on a bench, read the abdica\xc2\xac \ntion, and then, surveying his auditory with an inquis\xc2\xac \nitive look and a smile of disdain, he seemed to ask \nif this miserable satisfaction were sufficient for the \nblood poured out for three days. 4 No ! no ! \xe2\x80\x99 cried the \nvictors. 4 No royalty, nor reign!\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x98Bravo, friends,\xe2\x80\x99 \ncried Lagrange; 4 we must have the republic.\xe2\x80\x99 At \nthis word, the applause broke forth. Orators took the \nvery throne for a tribune. They mounted it, and there \nproclaimed the abolition of royalty. Captain Dunoyer \nand his men detached one of the flags that decorated \n\n\n238 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe dais of the throne. Others imitated them, tore the \nstandards, divided the rags, and made trophies, scarfs, \nand cockades of them. Captain Dunoyer rallied around \nthe flower of his men, summoned by his voice from the \nspectacle of the destruction of the chateau. He re\xc2\xac \nformed his column, and cried, 4 To the Chamber! Let \nus pursue royalty into the asylum where its shadow \nhas sought refuge.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 The column crossed the Seine, and moved along the \nQuay d\xe2\x80\x99Orsay, amid cries of 4 Down with the regency! \xe2\x80\x99 \nIt was swelled in its progress by those men whom pop\xc2\xac \nular currents draw in, as an overflowing river absorbs, \nwithout selection, all the purity and impurity upon its \nbanks. A butcher\xe2\x80\x99s boy, his apron stained with blood, \nbrandishing a cutlass in his hand; a bareheaded and \nbald old man, with a white and bristling beard, armed \nwith a drawn sword, of antique fashion, taken from \nsome museum, whose guard was formed by a loaf \npierced by the long blade \xe2\x80\x94 a living model of the \npainter\xe2\x80\x99s studio; other vagabonds, attracting attention \nby their rags, and the singularity of their arms and \nattire, \xe2\x80\x94 placed themselves at the head of the National \nGuards and combatants, like so many eruptions of the \nvolcanic explosion of the people. Pupils of the Poly\xc2\xac \ntechnic School marched between these men and the \ncolumn. They advanced in double-quick time. The \noutposts of the line in vain crossed bayonets; the Re\xc2\xac \npublicans beat down the arms of the soldiers, passed \nthem, and perceived the court carriages, which were \nwaiting for the duchess at the doors of the Chamber. \nThey were afraid that the supplications and tears of a \nwoman would deprive them of the revolution. \n\n44 The butcher\xe2\x80\x99s boy, knife in hand, crossed the empty \nspace between the tribune and the steps. The deputies \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 239 \n\nfell back in horror, shielding themselves from contact \nwith his bloody garments. They formed a denser \ngroup on the upper benches, around the Duchess of \nOrleans. The princess, unintimidated, took notes with \na pencil on her knee. She was doubtless searching \nher heart for words that would best save her son.\xe2\x80\x9d 1 \n\nEvery moment the throng became more clamorous; \nthe deputies grew more inflammatory. The butcher\xe2\x80\x99s \nboy ran towards the Duchess, crying, \xe2\x80\x9c The spawn of \nroyalty, we must make an end of them,\xe2\x80\x9d but was held \nback by a brave son of old Marshal Soult, who hurled \nhim down into the crowd with just indignation and ab\xc2\xac \nhorrence. \n\nAt length, it became apparent that the noble woman \ncould no longer remain in safety. The deputies who \nhad gathered around her were unable any longer to \nsave her from violence, and she was forced out of the \nhall, and left in the crowd without. Here she was sep\xc2\xac \narated from her children, and, covered with a veil which \nconcealed her countenance, she was dashed about by \nthe swarms of people, until she fell against a glass \ndoor, which yielded, and she was borne away to a place \nof safety. The little Count of Paris met with more \nsevere treatment. He was recognized, and a brawny \nman was about strangling him in the streets, when he \nwas rescued by a national guard, who carried him, at \nthe risk of his own life, to his mother. The Duke of \nChartres fared still worse. He fell in the street, and \nwas trodden down by the mob. Rescued at length, he \nwas taken away, and for several days his mother re\xc2\xac \nmained without any knowledge of his safety, in the \nmost distressing anxiety. \n\n\n1 Lamartine\xe2\x80\x99s History of the Revolution. \n\n\n240 \n\n\nEUROrA. \n\n\nWhile all this was taking place at the seat of gov\xc2\xac \nernment, the king, with the queen and their children, \nhad fled as far as Dreux, where he heard that his abdi\xc2\xac \ncation had not saved the throne to his grandson. He \nnow began to fear for his own safety. The sad fate \nof Louis XVI. was before his mind, and he resolved to \nescape at once to England. Under the name of Theo\xc2\xac \ndore Lebran, he succeeded in the attempt, while his \nyounger son, the Duke of Montpensier, with his wife, \na delicate young woman, fled to Brussels. The whole \nfamily were at length united on English soil, secure \nfrom the waves of popular tumult which are contin\xc2\xac \nually dashing in France. \n\nAfter the exciting scenes which we have now de\xc2\xac \nscribed had transpired, a provisional government, with \nLamartine at the head, was formed, which soon became \nswallowed up in what has been termed a republic. \n\nWe now come to the time of Louis Napoleon, who \nis the son of Louis Bonaparte, ex-king of Holland. \nHis mother was the daughter of Josephine, the fair \nbut frail Hortensia Beauharnais, with whom his father \nlived but a short time. 1 He was thus a nephew of the \n\n\n1 The following account is given \nof Louis Napoleon\xe2\x80\x99s parentage: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x9cLouis Napoleon Bonaparte, who \nis more of a man than the world have \nsupposed, is the nephew of the great \nNapoleon Bonaparte, and grandson \nof Josephine, his first wife. This \ncaptivating woman had two children, \nboth by her first husband \xe2\x80\x94 Eugene \nand Hortense Beauharnais. Louis \nBonaparte, father of him who is now \nat the head of the French people, \nwas the third brother of the great \nNapoleon, and was born at Ajaccio, \n(Corsica,) on the 2d of September, \n1778. His marriage with the daugh\xc2\xac \nter of Josephine was not his own \nchoice, but brought about by the \n\n\njoint labor of Napoleon, and espe\xc2\xac \ncially Josephine, who artfully accom\xc2\xac \nplished many objects by which she \nhoped to make certain her own posi\xc2\xac \ntion as empress. The first proposal \nwas made to him in July, 1800, short\xc2\xac \nly after the return of the first consul \nfrom the campaign, one of the con\xc2\xac \nflicts of which was the battle of Ma\xc2\xac \nrengo. He then gave it a decided \nnegative. Not long after, it was re\xc2\xac \nnewed, but with no better success; \nand to escape further importunity, \nLouis Bonaparte made a tour of sev\xc2\xac \neral months in Germany. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c In October, 1801, Josephine, not \nat all discouraged by the two pre\xc2\xac \nvious refusals to comply with her \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 241 \n\ngreat Napoleon, to whose station he has so frequently \naspired. He was made, by the emperor, Grand Duke \nof Berg, but obtained no distinction as a warrior or \nstatesman. His youth seems to have been marked by \nnothing which would entitle him to any unusual honor, \nas a man or as a politician. \n\nHe first presented himself to the world in an insur\xc2\xac \nrection at Strasbourg, which was badly planned, and re\xc2\xac \nsulted most unfavorably. The garrison, consisting of \nseveral regiments, and the people, were enthusiastic in \nhis favor. But owing to the most unskillful general\xc2\xac \nship, he lost his cause. Scarcely a blow was struck, or \na gun fired, or a drop of blood shed. A stern royalist \nran in among his own soldiers, and declared to them \nthat the person calling himself Louis Napoleon, nephew \nof the emperor, was only an impostor. They became \nclamorous at once, and demanded that Louis Napoleon \nshould prove his identity; and before he could do this, his \ncamp was in complete disorder, and he was taken pris\xc2\xac \noner. In this expedition, he certainly exhibited a want \nof tact and skill, as well as self-possession and bravery, \nand received, as he deserved, the scorn of his associates. \n\nWe next find him in an insurrection at Boulogne, \n\n\nproposals, made a fresh assault upon \nLouis. One evening, during a ball \nat Malmaison, she took him aside; \nNapoleon joined the conference, and \nafter a long conversation \xe2\x80\x98 they made \nhim give his consent,\xe2\x80\x99 in the lan\xc2\xac \nguage of Louis himself, and on the \n4th of January, 1802, the contract, \nthe civil marriage, and the religious \nceremony took place at the private \nresidence of the first consul in \nParis. Hortense Bcauharnais had \njust left the celebrated boarding \nschool of Madame Campan, and had \nno different part in the affair than her \nhusband \xe2\x80\x94 both becoming instru\xc2\xac \nments in the hands of the first con- \n\n31 \n\n\nsul and Josephine. \xe2\x80\x98Never,\xe2\x80\x99 wrote \nLouis, \xe2\x80\x98 was there a more gloomy \nceremony; never had husband and \nwife a stronger presentiment of the \nbitterness of a reluctant and ill-as\xc2\xac \nsorted union.\xe2\x80\x99 And Madame Cam- \npan, who was at a ball given in honor \nof the event, states that \xe2\x80\x98 every coun\xc2\xac \ntenance beamed with satisfaction \nsave that of the bride, whose pro\xc2\xac \nfound melancholy formed a sad con\xc2\xac \ntrast to the happiness she might have \nbeen expected to evince; she seemed \nto shun her husband\xe2\x80\x99s very looks, lest \nhe should read in hers the indiffer\xc2\xac \nence she felt towards him.\xe2\x80\x99\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nU \n\n\n242 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwhich was as badly managed, and resulted as disgrace\xc2\xac \nfully as the other; and he was shut up by the French \ngovernment in the citadel of Ham, where he remained \nuntil he was made president, four years ago. During \nthe existence of the provisional government, an effort \nwas made to recall him, and restore to him his privi\xc2\xac \nleges, but without success. Lamartine himself intro- \nduced a decree, which was adopted by the National \nAssembly almost unanimously, declaring Louis Napo\xc2\xac \nleon to be an outlaw, a disturber of the peace of the \nnation, a man dangerous to national honor; and de\xc2\xac \nclared his continued confinement necessary to the pros\xc2\xac \nperity of France. \n\nBut when the election of president was ordered, his \nname was mentioned, by partisans, as a candidate. The \npeople who honor the name and reverence the memory \nof Bonaparte, were carried away with the idea of hav\xc2\xac \ning another ruler of the same name, and, by a large \nmajority, he was elected to guide the ship of state. In \nadministering the affairs of the government, he has \nbeen more successful than his most sanguine friends \nimagined, and has exhibited some traits of character \nwhich none supposed him to possess. But an attentive \nobserver could not fail to see that all his efforts have \nbeen tending towards a centralization of influence, and \nevery month the conviction has deepened, that he would \nnot retire from office without an exhibition of his real \ncharacter and object. He is a man of more ambition \nthan common sense, and has secured his present po\xc2\xac \nsition simply from the fact that he bears a mighty name. \nHis virtues, if he has any, never would have given him \nany title to leadership; and any effort which he might \nhave made for office and honor would have been re\xc2\xac \nceived with contempt and scorn. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 243 \n\n\nHe is now in middle life, and lives in licentious \nsplendor in the Champs Elysees, surrounded by ambi\xc2\xac \ntious and designing men, and gay and beautiful women. \nIlls morals are said to be modeled after French no\xc2\xac \ntions of propriety. He may often be seen walking in \nbis fine gardens, or dashing in bis carriage through \nthe streets. He has rendered himself somewhat pop\xc2\xac \nular by his speeches at public meetings, banquets, and \nrailway openings, and has proved more adroit and in\xc2\xac \ngenious than some of his opponents. His reign \xe2\x80\x94 for \nby such a name will his administration of government \nbe known\xe2\x80\x94has been as severe and stern as that of Louis \nPhilippe. The press has been curbed, the public voice \nhas been hushed, and the popular will has not been \nknown; During the last four years, public works have \nbeen stopped, public confidence has been destroyed, and \nthe nation has been waiting for the close of his time \nof office, for the thunder and blood of another revo\xc2\xac \nlution. That France is a republic only in name, is \nabundantly demonstrated by the refusal of the presi\xc2\xac \ndent to allow our present distinguished national guest, \nM. Kossuth, to land on French soil. \n\nEngland received him with open arms; her minis\xc2\xac \nters and statesmen turned out to welcome him, and he \nmarched in triumph from the water side to the palace \nof Westminster. But republican France 1 refused him \na landing, shut him out from the sympathy of her \npeople, denied him the rest of a single night, and sent \nhim away to tell that France is no home for the op\xc2\xac \npressed, no refuge for the flying patriot. In the speech \n\n1 This chapter, up to this point, the peculiar construction of some of \nwas written previous to the late out- the sentences. No sane man would \nbreak in Paris, and ere the infamous now think of calling France a re\xc2\xac \ncoup d\xe2\x80\x99etat of Louis Napoleon had public, \nbeen struck. This will account for \n\n\n244 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nof Kossuth, made to the members of the American \npress, at a banquet given to him in New York, he \nholds the following truthful language, which will find \nan echo in the breast of every man who has spent any \ntime in the boasted French republic: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c You know, gentlemen, how the press is fettered \nthroughout the European continent, even, for the pres\xc2\xac \nent, in France itself, whose great nation, by a strange \nfate, sees, under a nominally republican but centralized \ngovernment, all the glorious fruits of their great and \nvictorious revolutions wasting between the blasting \nfingers of centralized administrative and legislative \nomnipotence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c You know how the independent press of France is \nmurdered by imprisonment of their editors, and by fees; \nyou know how the present government of France feels \nunable to bear the force of public opinion \xe2\x80\x94 so much \nthat in the French republic the very legitimate shout \nof \xe2\x80\x98 Vive la Republique \xe2\x80\x99 has almost become a crime. \nThis very circumstance is sufficient to prove, that in \nthat glorious land, where the warm and noble heart \nof the French nation throbs with self-confidence and \nnoble pride, a new revolution is an unavoidable neces\xc2\xac \nsity: It is a mournful view which the great French \nnation now presents; but it is also an efficient warning \nagainst the propensities of centralization, inconsistent \nwith freedom, because inconsistent with self-govern\xc2\xac \nment ; and it is also a source of hope for the European \ncontinent, because we know that things in France can\xc2\xac \nnot endure thus as they are. We know that to become \na true republic is a necessity for France; and thus we \nknow, also, that whoever be the man who, in the ap\xc2\xac \nproaching crisis, will be honored by the confidence of \nthe French nation, he will, he must, be faithful to that \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. \n\n\n245 \n\n\ngreat principle of fraternity towards the other nations, \nwhich, being announced by the French constitution to \nthe world, raised such encouraging but bitterly disap\xc2\xac \npointed expectations through Europe\xe2\x80\x99s oppressed con\xc2\xac \ntinent.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSuch had been the course of things up to the close \nof 1851. On the night of the 1st of December, a \npublic reception was given by the president, which was \nattended by the most distinguished men of the Cham\xc2\xac \nber and of the army. Late at night, the lamps were \nextinguished ; the foes of Napoleon departed to form a \nconspiracy against him, and he to arrest the very men \nwho were plotting his downfall. The arrest of the \ngenerals of the army is thus facetiously described: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n44 General Bedeau, whose disposition is stated to be \nof a wily, scheming, and 4 managing \xe2\x80\x99 order, entered \ninto argument and discussion ; insisted on considering \nthe matter in a variety of lights, for the improvement \nof his captors\xe2\x80\x99 minds ; and finally arrayed himself en \ngrande tenue , in order to avail himself of whatever \ninfluences his uniform should chance to possess with \nthose he might meet with on his way. \n\n44 Not so the General Changarnier. As the officials \nentered, he snatched up a brace of pistols, and ex\xc2\xac \nclaimed, \xe2\x80\x98Je suis arme .\xe2\x80\x99 The chief quietly replied that \nhe saw such was the case, and that he was well aware \nthat General Changarnier, by discharging his weapons, \ncould kill a couple of those who had come to take him. \nBut he suggested this course would scarcely be attended \nwith appreciable advantages, inasmuch as the house was \nentoure by soldiers, so that the general\xe2\x80\x99s escape would \nbe impossible, and as, moreover, the ultimate result \nwould assuredly be a prompt trial and a dishonorable \nexecution. These arguments had weight with the \n\nu * \n\n\n246 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nhasty but sensible Changarnier, who thereupon laid \ndown his pistols, and surrendered his person. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNot so, again, with the amiable Cavaignac. The \ngentler occupation in which he had lately been engaged \nhad probably softened his heroic spirit; and, upon his \nbeing aroused from his slumbers, and informed that he \nwas arrested, he placidly remarked, \xe2\x80\x98C\xe2\x80\x99est juste, and, \nrubbing his eyes, requested to be apprised whether he \nmight be permitted to dress himself, adding, in the most \ncourteous manner, that his toilet would not detain him \nlong. Being entreated to make his arrangements pre\xc2\xac \ncisely in the way most agreeable to himself, he rose, \nwent through the toilet duties with the most perfect \ncomposure and completeness, and then, presenting him\xc2\xac \nself with a bow to the officer, politely declared himself, \n6 A vos or elves\' \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It is, I trust, not below 4 the dignity of history \xe2\x80\x99 to \nadd that General Cavaignac forthwith addressed a letter \nto the young lady whom he was so shortly to have es\xc2\xac \npoused, in which he chivalrously declared that he con\xc2\xac \nceived that the event which had occurred had entirely \ndeprived him of any right to consider her bound by \nengagements made with a free man ; and he formally \nreleased her from any such ties. If I may state this, \nI must claim leave to add, for the admiration of all \nwho can appreciate high-mindedness, that the lady \npromptly and gracefully replied, that, so far from con\xc2\xac \nsidering the event in question as having released her \nfrom a tie in which she took so much pride, it had, \nif possible, rendered her engagement more binding \nthan before. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c From which little romance let us pass to the very \nunromantic conduct of Colonel Charras, who, being \nalso captured in bed, refused to get up, refused to \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 247 \n\n\ndress himself, or to allow himself to be dressed; swore \nthat, if taken at all, he would he taken en chemise; \nand was, into the bargain, taken at his word, being \nbundled up with such bedclothes as came readiest, and, \nin that unseemly guise, thrust into a vehicle and con\xc2\xac \nveyed to prison. General Lamoriciere made a deter\xc2\xac \nmined resistance, of a more soldierly kind; but the \nimpression seems to be that the account of it which \nfound its way into print was much exaggerated, and \nthat no particular harm was done.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nGeneral Cavaignac was soon to he married to Mad\xc2\xac \nemoiselle Odier; and, when he was arrested, like a \ntrue man, he sat down and wrote her a full and free \ndischarge from all her former engagements. His cir\xc2\xac \ncumstances had changed; he was a prisoner; his cap\xc2\xac \ntivity was to last he knew not how long; and he gave \nher full freedom to act accordingly, writing her as \nfollows: \xe2\x80\x9c You have youth, beauty, accomplishments, \nwealth; a throng of admirers, young, and more meri\xc2\xac \ntorious than I am, surround you. Choose from among \nthem, and you will be nearly as happy as you deserve \nto be \xe2\x80\x94 happier than I can make you.\xe2\x80\x9d The noble \nwoman instantly replied, giving him an assurance of \nher changeless love, and her determination to share his \nfortunes, be they adverse or propitious. The general, \nas is known, has since been liberated, and at once ap\xc2\xac \nplied to the Archbishop of Paris to unite him in mar\xc2\xac \nriage to the woman of his choice. The ecclesiastic \nconsented on condition that the bride would pledge to \nhave her children educated in the Catholic faith. Mad\xc2\xac \nemoiselle Odier, who is a Protestant, refused to give \nher consent, and, with the general, went to Holland, \nwhere the knot was tied without any such restrictions. \n\nOn the morning of December 2, whoever walked \n\n\n248 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nabroad might have seen, on the walls of the houses, \nand the comers of the street, the famous proclamation, \nrunning in these words : \xe2\x80\x94* \n\nIn the name of the French people, the president of \nthe republic decrees, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nArt. I. The National Assembly is dissolved. \n\nArt. II. Universal suffrage is reestablished. The \nact of the 31st of May is repealed. \n\nArt. III. The French people are convoked in their \nelective colleges from the 14th to the 21st of De\xc2\xac \ncember. \n\nArt. IV. The state of siege is decreed in the line of \nthe first military division. \n\nArt. V. The Council of State is dissolved. \n\nArt. VI. The minister of the interior is charged \nwith the execution of this decree. \n\nLouis Napoleon Bonaparte. \n\nThis was followed by an address to the army, on \nwhich the base usurper relies for support. \n\nSoldiers : Be proud of your mission ; you will save \nthe country. . I rely upon you, not to violate the laws, \nbut to command respect for the first law of the coun\xc2\xac \ntry, national sovereignty, of which I am the legitimate \nrepresentative. \n\nYou long suffered, like me, from the obstacles that \nprevented me from doing you all the good I intended, \nand opposed the demonstrations of your sympathy in \nmy favor. Those obstacles are removed. The Assem\xc2\xac \nbly sought to impair the authority which I derive from \nthe entire nation ; it has ceased to exist. \n\nI make a loyal appeal to the people .and the army; \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 249 \n\nand I tell them, either give me the means of insuring \nyour prosperity, or choose another in my place. \n\nIn 1830, as well as in 1848, you were treated as a \nvanquished army. After having branded your heroical \ndisinterestedness, they disdained to consult your sympa\xc2\xac \nthies and wishes; and, nevertheless, you are the elite \nof the nation. To-day, at this solemn moment, I wish \nthe voice of the army to be heard. \n\nVote, then, freely, as citizens; but, as soldiers, do \nnot forget that passive obedience to the orders of the \nchief of the government is the rigorous duty of the \narmy, from the general down to the soldier. It is for \nme, who am responsible for my actions before the peo\xc2\xac \nple and posterity, to adopt the measures most conducive \nto the public welfare. \n\nAs for you, maintain entire the rules of discipline \nand honor. By your imposing attitude assist the coun\xc2\xac \ntry in manifesting its will with calmness and reflection. \nBe ready to repress all attempt against the free exercise \nof the sovereignty of the people. \n\nSoldiers: I do not speak to you of the recollections \nattached to my name. They are engraved on your \nhearts. We are united by indissoluble ties. Your his\xc2\xac \ntory is mine. There is between us, in the past, a com\xc2\xac \nmunity of glory and misfortunes. There shall be, in \nthe future, a community of sentiments and resolutions \nfor the repose and grandeur of France. \n\nLouis Napoleon Bonaparte. \n\nPalace of the Elysee, December 2. \n\n\nTo the people, in a proclamation, he gave a more full \nmanifestation of his purpose, unfolding more at large \nhis plans. But whoever reads and knows the facts in \nthe case must be aware that he cares nothing for the \n\n32 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npeople. Relying upon the bayonet and the sword, he \nis determined to compel an acquiescence in his plans; \nand whoever sees the result will witness as monstrous a \nwrong upon the rights of the people as was ever com\xc2\xac \nmitted by the emperor himself. Here is his address to \nthe people: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFrenchmen : The present situation cannot last much \nlonger. Each day the situation of the country becomes \nworse. The Assembly, which ought to be the firmest \nsupporter of order, has become a theater of plots. The \npatriotism of three hundred of its members could not \narrest its fatal tendencies. In place of making laws \nfor the general interest of the people, it was forging- \narms for civil war. It attacked the power I hold di\xc2\xac \nrectly from the people; it encouraged every evil pas\xc2\xac \nsion ; it endangered the repose of France. I have dis\xc2\xac \nsolved it; and I make the whole people judge between \nme and it. The constitution, as you know, had been \nmade with the object of weakening beforehand the \npowers you intrusted to me. Six millions of votes \nwere a striking protest against it; and yet I have faith\xc2\xac \nfully observed it. Provocations, calumnies, outrages, \nfound me passive. But now that the fundamental part \nis no longer respected by those who incessantly invoke \nit, and the men who have already destroyed two mon\xc2\xac \narchies wish to tie up my hands, in order to overthrow \nthe republic, my duty is to baffle their perfidious pro\xc2\xac \njects, to maintain the republic, and to save the country, \nby appealing to the solemn judgments of the only sov\xc2\xac \nereign I recognize in France \xe2\x80\x94 the people. \n\nI, then, make a loyal appeal to the entire nation ; \nand I say to you, if you wish to continue this state of \ndisquietude and malaise that degrades you and endangers \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 251 \n\nthe future, choose another person in my place; for I \nno longer wish for a place which is powerless for good, \nhut which makes me responsible for acts that I cannot \nhinder, and chains me to the helm when I see the \nvessel rushing into the abyss. If, on the contrary, \nyou have still confidence in me, give me the means of \naccomplishing the grand mission I hold from you. \nThat mission consists in closing the era of revolution, \nin satisfying the legitimate wants of the people, and \nin protecting them against subversive passions. It \nconsists especially to create institutions which survive \nmen, and which are the foundation on which some\xc2\xac \nthing durable is based. Persuaded that the instability \nof power, that the preponderance of a single Assembly, \nare the permanent causes of trouble and discord, I sub\xc2\xac \nmit to your suffrages the fundamental bases of a con\xc2\xac \nstitution which the Assemblies will develop hereafter. \n\nFirst. A responsible chief, named for ten years. \n\nSecond. The ministers dependent on the executive \nalone. \n\nThird. A council of state, formed of the most dis\xc2\xac \ntinguished men, preparing the laws, and maintaining \nthe discussion before the legislative corps. \n\nFourth. A legislative corps, discussing and voting \nthe laws, named by universal suffrage, without the \nscrutin de lists , which falsifies the election. \n\nFifth. A second Assembly, formed of all the illustri\xc2\xac \nous persons of the nation \xe2\x80\x94 a preponderating power, \nguardian of the fundamental pact and of public liberty. \n\nThis system., created by the first consul in the begin\xc2\xac \nning of the present century, has already given to France \nrepose and prosperity. It guaranties them still. Such \nis my profound conviction. If you partake it, declare \nso by your suffrages. If, on the contrary, you prefer a \n\n\n252 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ngovernment without force, monarchical or republican, \nborrowed from some chimerical future, reply in the \nnegative. Thus, then, for the first time since 1804, \nyou will vote with complete knowledge of the fact, and \nknowing for whom and for what you vote. \n\nIf I do not obtain the majority of the votes, I shall \nsummon a new Assembly, and lay down before it the \nmission I have received from you. But if you believe \nthat the cause of which my name is the svmbol \xe2\x80\x94 that \nis, France regenerated by the revolution of \xe2\x80\x9989, and \norganized by the emperor \xe2\x80\x94 is still yours, proclaim it \nto be so by ratifying the powers I demand of ,you. \nThen France and Europe will be preserved from an\xc2\xac \narchy, obstacles will be removed, rivalries will have \ndisappeared; for all will respect, in the will of the \npeople, the decree of Providence. \n\nDone at the Palace of the Elysee, this 2d of December. \n\nLouis Napoleon Bonaparte. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 - \xe2\x80\xa2 ^ * < \xc2\xab * , . \xe2\x80\x99 - * \xe2\x99\xa6 \n\n\xc2\xbb \\ \' * \' \xe2\x80\x99 . v* - - - -- a .. * \n\nA large number of the members of the Chamber of \nDeputies known to be unfavorable to Napoleon were \narrested; others tried to assemble, and at length suc\xc2\xac \nceeded, and enacted the following decree: \xe2\x80\x94* \n\nRepublique Francaise, ) \n\nAssemblee Nationals, December 2, 1851. $ \n\nWhereas, article 68 of the constitution enacts as fol\xc2\xac \nlows : The president and his ministers are each respon\xc2\xac \nsible for the acts of the government; and any measure \nby which the president of the republic shall dissolve or \nprorogue the National Assembly, or place any obstacle \nto the exercise of its functions, is an act of high trea\xc2\xac \nson, \xe2\x80\x94 by that very act, the president forfeits his au\xc2\xac \nthority, and every citizen is bound to refuse obedience \nto his orders. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. \n\n\n253 \n\n\nThe Assembly, therefore, since it is hindered by vio\xc2\xac \nlence from accomplishing its mission, decrees: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLouis Napoleon Bonaparte is deprived of his func\xc2\xac \ntions as president of the republic, and the citizens are \ncalled on to refuse him obedience. \n\nThe executive power passes in its plenitude to the \nAssembly. \n\nThe judges of the High Court of Justice are called \non to meet immediately, upon pain of dismissal, to pro\xc2\xac \nceed to judgment against the president and his accom\xc2\xac \nplices. \n\nIt is enjoined upon all functionaries that they obey \nthe requisition made in the name of the Assembly, \nunder penalty of forfeiture, and the punishment pre\xc2\xac \nscribed for high treason. \n\nMade in public sitting this 2d December, 1851. \n\n(Signed) Benoist D\xe2\x80\x99Azy, President. \n\nVitet, Vice President. \n\nChapot and Moulin, Secretaries. \n\nThey also sent out an address to the French people, \ncalling upon them to arise and hurl the usurper from \nhis position. But to the eloquent appeal there was no \nresponse. The people had little more love for the \nNational Assembly than for the president himself, and \nheard the burning words of the Chamber without the \nleast enthusiasm. They feared one hundred thousand \nbayonets, that were glistening within the walls of Paris. \nThe whole address may be judged by the following \nsentences: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Will you be debased 1 Will you be enslaved 1 \nWill you become henceforth an object of eternal con\xc2\xac \ntempt and ridicule to the oppressed peoples who await\xc2\xac \ned their deliverance at your hands 1 \n\n\nv \n\n\n254 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Louis Bonaparte has just crowded into a few hours \nmore crimes than it would have been thought possible \nto include in the life of man. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Like a thief, he has seized upon the liberties of his \ncountry by a nocturnal surprise \xe2\x80\x94 a vulgar artifice, \nwhich certain people have been rash enough to call \ncourage. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c He has audaciously trifled with the sanctity of the \ndomestic hearth. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c By the help of his swaggering soldiery and police, \nhe has silenced every voice in Paris except his own. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c At one blow he has suppressed all the journals, \nand has cast forth into the streets of Paris, without \nbread, those of your brethren whom the press sup\xc2\xac \nported. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c He has outraged, stricken down, and trampled un\xc2\xac \nder foot the national representation, not only in the \npersons of your enemies, but also in that of Greppo, \nthe energetic and loyal representative of the workmen \nof Lyons, and in that of Nadaud, the mason, who has \nso often and so nobly defended your interests in the \ntribune. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Ho you w r ant to have a master ? And do you wish \nthat that master should be Louis Bonaparte! You \nhave seen the air with which he traversed the streets \nof Paris, hedged in by soldiers, covered by cannon, and \ncausing himself to be borne in triumph by his staff, \nadding to the crime of high treason the insolence of a \nconqueror, and treating France as a conquered coun\xc2\xac \ntry\xe2\x80\x94 he whose military annals can boast of nothing \nexcept the opprobrium of the Roman expedition. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHe boasts of restoring to you universal suffrage, \nbut on condition that it be worked for his private \nadvantage, and not for yours, since he is going for ten \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 255 \n\nyears to be your master. \xe2\x80\x98No scrutiny of the list,\xe2\x80\x99 he \nsays. Do you quite understand what that means 1 It \nmeans that the elections are to be made by registers \nlodged in the offices of the mayor. The great swin\xc2\xac \ndling maneuver which has been practiced upon France, \nonce in her history, is to be renewed. Will you permit, \nprecisely when it is pretended to restore your right, \nthat it shall be filched from you ] \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Moreover, to exercise the right of the suffrage, you \nmust be free. Let him begin, then, by restoring free \nspeech to the journals; let the doors be flung wide \nopen to popular meetings; let every man speak his \nmind, and learn that of others. Why those bayonets * \nWhy those cannon ? To restore universal suffrage with \nthe state of siege, is to add mockery to falsehood. A \npeople proclaimed sovereign, it is the mantle of slavery \nthrown over your shoulders, even as the barbarian chief, \nin the time of the Lower Empire, threw the purple over \nthe Roman emperors in placing them among his camp \nfollowers. Do you wish to be enslaved ? Do you wish \nto be debased ? Such is the cry wrung from us by an \nindignation impossible to be restrained. We who, in \nour exile, can at least speak, do speak. But we owe \nmore than speech to the republic \xe2\x80\x94 our blood belongs \nto it. We know it, and shall not forget it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn the mean while, Victor Hugo fled to Brussels. \nLouis Blanc found a refuge in London, from which he \nwrites letters denouncing Napoleon, and showing \nwhat the plan is on which he may be expected to act. \nThe charge which he brings against the usurper \nis this: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c To divide Europe into three great empires \xe2\x80\x94 a Rus\xc2\xac \nsian empire, extending to Constantinople; an Austrian \nempire, with the definitive annexation of Italy; a \n\n\n256 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nFrench empire, with the addition of Belgium. From \nthis new holy alliance between three great despotic \nempires to cause to arise a war to the death against the \nDemocratic party, and against the Liberal and Consti\xc2\xac \ntutional party; to extinguish beneath the army\xe2\x80\x99s tread \nwhat the absolutist powers call the revolutionary flame, \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 that is to say, whatever lights the human spirit on \nthe way of progress, \xe2\x80\x94 and if England resists, to crush \n\nher;.such is the plan, (who can doubt it \n\nlonger 1) \xe2\x80\x94 such is the sacrilegious plan, of which the \nsack of Paris is the commencement, and for the accom\xc2\xac \nplishment of which Louis Bonaparte has delivered , \nFrance into the hands of French Cossacks: \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c On the reality of this plan, and on the abominable \ncomplicity which binds to the fortune of the Emperor \nNicholas the ambition of Louis Bonaparte, I may be \nable very shortly to publish some proofs, which I am \nnow in course of collecting. We can then judge of \nthe important influence which Russian gold exercises \nin the humiliation and misfortunes of France.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSoon blood began to flow in the streets of Paris. \nHundreds were slaughtered while quietly sitting in \ntheir houses on the Boulevards. The press was re\xc2\xac \nstricted, and a guard placed in every office, and the \nnews went out to the world, that in a single night \nrepublican France was changed into a military des\xc2\xac \npotism. \n\nIn England and America, the tidings were received \nwith regret, while bonfires were built in Rome, and \npublic rejoicings were held in Vienna. \n\nThe election of a president for ten years was given \nto the people, and, under the influence of fear, they \nhave decided to be slaves. The vote stood as fol\xc2\xac \nlows : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n1 \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 257 \n\nThe whole number of ballots, . . 8,116,773 \n\nYeas, ....... 7,439,216 \n\nNays,. 640,216 \n\nMajority, . . 6,789,479 \n\nUpon which the president uses the following extraor\xc2\xac \ndinary language: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c France has comprehended that I departed from \nlegality to return to right. Upwards of seven mil\xc2\xac \nlion votes have absolved me. My object was to save \nFrance, and perhaps Europe, from years of trouble and \nanarchy. I understood all the grandeur of my mission. \nI do not deceive myself as to its difficulties ; but, with \nthe counsel and support of all right-minded men, the \ndevotedness of the army, and the protection which I \nshall to-morrow beseech Heaven to grant me, I hope to \nsecure the destinies of France, by founding institutions \nresponding to the democratic instincts of the nation, \nand the desire of a strong and respected government; \nto create a system which reconstitutes authority with\xc2\xac \nout wounding the feelings of equality, in closing any \npath of improvement; and to lay the foundation of \nan edifice capable of supporting a wise and beneficent \nliberty.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Catholic religion has been restored to the Pan\xc2\xac \ntheon, the hands of the priests have been strengthened, \nand the wheel of progress, to all human appearance, \nhas turned backward in France a quarter of a century. 1 \n\n\n1 The state of society may be gath\xc2\xac \nered from the following paragraphs, \ntaken from late Paris papers : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c A deputation, consisting of some \nof the principal editors of the mod\xc2\xac \nerate press, were received by the \npresident of the republic in a private \ninterview, which they had requested \nfor the purpose of representing the \n\n33 \n\n\ngrievances to which they were ex\xc2\xac \nposed by the rigorous censorship un\xc2\xac \nder which the newspapers have been \nplaced since the revolution of the 2d \nof December. The gentleman who \nheaded the deputation spoke for ful\xc2\xac \nly half an hour, and concluded his \nspeech by expressing a hope that the \npresident would give some moderate \n\ny ^ \n\n\n\n258 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nMy conviction is, founded upon what knowledge I \nhave of French history, and what I saw of the French \npeople while in that country, that a liberal monarchy \n\xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9ca throne,\xe2\x80\x9d as Lafayette said, \xe2\x80\x9c surrounded by lib\xc2\xac \neral institutions \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 would be better for h ranee than a \nrepublican form of government. Under existing cir\xc2\xac \ncumstances, a republic must be a military despotism ; \nand law must be enforced and order preserved only at \nthe point of the bayonet. A wise and liberal king, \nwho could command the respect and secure the affec\xc2\xac \ntion of his people, would be preferable to one who, \nthough called by a less formidable title, would secure \nno respect and demand no affection. There are several \nreasons why France is not prepared for a republican \ngovernment, and why such a government cannot exist ; \nand, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n1. She lacks a system of general, popular education. \nA republic is the highest style of human government, \n\n\nlatitude to the papers to comment \nupon passing events. Louis Napo\xc2\xac \nleon listened with great composure \nand patience; but his only answer \nwas the following: \xe2\x80\x98 Gentlemen, the \npress has already destroyed two dy\xc2\xac \nnasties. I may fall like the others; \nbut I shall take care that it shall not \nbe by the press.\xe2\x80\x99 And with this he \nbowed them out. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The Marquise d\xe2\x80\x99Osmond, a Legit\xc2\xac \nimist lady, gives brilliant reunions at \nher hotel on the Boulevard de Made\xc2\xac \nleine ; and her guests would talk pol\xc2\xac \nitics. The minister of the interior \napprised inadame that such subjects \nwere disagreeable to the government. \nBut madame would give soirees, and \nguests would talk of what interested \nFrance and the world. The minister \nof the interior insisted that politics \nmust be dropped. Madame then in\xc2\xac \nvited only ladies ; but \xe2\x80\x98 only ladies \xe2\x80\x99 \nwould talk politics rather than scan\xc2\xac \ndal, and the courteous minister of the \n\n\ninterior was compelled, by high au\xc2\xac \nthority, to request madame to name \nwhat chateau she would prefer for a \ncountry residence, with a postscript \nstating that she must not return to \nParis without express presidential \npermission. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c M. Thiers wrote a letter to the \nminister of the interior for leave to \nreturn to France, offering to abstain \nfrom politics. The minister went to \nLouis Napoleon with the letter, and \ndesired to know what answer he was \nto send. Louis Napoleon said, \xe2\x80\x98 Give \nme the fourth volume of The History \nof the Revolution, by Thiers.\xe2\x80\x99 The \nbook was given, and Louis Napoleon \npointed to a passage which he had \nmarked, in which Thiers reproaches \nthe emperor for not having expelled \nfrom France, as a measure of securi\xc2\xac \nty, several of his political adversa\xc2\xac \nries. \xe2\x80\x98 Copy the passage,\xe2\x80\x99 said Louis \nNapoleon, \xe2\x80\x98 and send it to M. Thiers, \nas the answer to his application.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 259 \n\nand, next to a theocracy, which wo never can expect to \nsee until human nature is greatly changed, is most de\xc2\xac \nsirable. But a republic is not made in a single hour. \nThere are materials which cannot be made into demo\xc2\xac \ncrats, and which, under a democratic government, would \nprove worthless. It is no compliment to say that a \nsavage would make a good republican. We have a \ngreat and successful republic; but it does not follow \nthat all other nations are ready to follow our example. \nThe training of our Union has been peculiar, and the \npeople have been. schooled into habits and principles \nwhich fit them for democracy. The imperfect educa\xc2\xac \ntion of the French people; the lack of a general sys\xc2\xac \ntem of education; the few who can read the name on \nthe ballot which they cast into the box, \xe2\x80\x94 are sure \nevidences that they would make indifferent republi\xc2\xac \ncans. The idea of self-government among a people \nwho have no school-houses is an absurdity. It may \nexist as a theory, but never as a fact. While a few in \nFrance are learned and eloquent, the mass of the peo\xc2\xac \nple are left without the advantages of a common edu\xc2\xac \ncation, and the number wdio can read and write is com\xc2\xac \nparatively small. Under such circumstances, liberty \nwill not be appreciated, and a free government will be \nproductive of more evil than good. Men must be re\xc2\xac \nstrained, if not by reason and education, by sword and \nbayonet. Thus the revolution which drove Louis XVI. \nfrom his throne to the guillotine resulted in the estab\xc2\xac \nlishment of an empire of force, which was sustained \nonly by continual violations of the evident and primary \nprinciples of civil liberty. The revolution which sent \nLouis Philippe into exile is tending to the same result, \nand every future revolution and convulsion will only \nadd new horrors to the history of that blood-drunken \nand impulsive nation. \n\n\n260 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n2. France is destitute of a pure religion. No repub\xc2\xac \nlic ever lived long without a pure and exalted faith. \nThe old republics which orators and poets tell about fell \nbecause they were destitute of a living principle, which \nis essential to the very idea of self-government. France \nhas no such religion. Forty-two thousand priests \xe2\x80\x94 \nmany of them Jesuits \xe2\x80\x94 are crushing the life and spirit \nof freedom; and a free, liberal government, with such \nan encumbrance, is an impossibility. The nearer you \nget to Rome, the more dense is the darkness, and the \nmore abject the slavery. In that whole city, with its \nmultitude of crosses, and cathedrals, and public build\xc2\xac \nings, there is only one newspaper; and that so insig\xc2\xac \nnificant and badly printed, that no man in England, \nFrance, or America would read it. The false church \nrules France; and the priests are at the foundation of \nthis new outburst of despotism. They cannot live and \nflourish in a republic. Their empire must be over a \nnation of slaves ; and their constant effort will be, must \nbe, to degrade the government and enslave the people. \nThe government of a nation always corresponds with the \nprevailing system of religion. Episcopacy cannot pre\xc2\xac \nvail in a democracy ; Congregationalism cannot succeed \nin a monarchy. There is a direct antagonism between \nthem ; and if either of them should come to pass, it \nwould be a paradox as yet unknown. \n\nHence, to make France a republic, you must uproot \nRomanism, and overturn the dominion of the Papal \ntyrant. However the priests may act in energy, they \nalways tend to a subjugation of the people, to the limi\xc2\xac \ntation of human rights, and the overthrew of political \nequality. No isolated case can refute this general \nfact; and a single case of patriotism in a priest may \nnot change this general charge, the verity of which is \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 261 \n\n/ \n\nknown the world over, from the gates of the Vatican \nto the shores of America. Any hope of France is vain \nwhile this host of ecclesiastics, wedded to tyranny, and \nmore powerful than the president, more influential than \nthe National Assembly, more dreadful and irresistible \nthan the army, continues to exist. While these men \nlive in France, she cannot be free. While they mould \nthe consciences of the masses, and sway the hearts of \nthe rude people who throng the pleasure grounds and \ncrowd the Boulevards, orators may declaim from the \ntribune, and poets may send out their lays \xe2\x80\x98in praise \nof liberty ; but no freedom will be enjoyed. An army \nof ecclesiastics, with beads and crosses in their hands, \nis more potent in Paris to-day than the legions of \nLouis Napoleon; and the idea of a republic is a chi\xc2\xac \nmera of the imagination which will never be realized in \nFrance until the Protestant religion forms its founda\xc2\xac \ntion. You may bring any splendid theory or subtile \nargument to refute the notion ; hut I have the history \nof the world \xe2\x80\x94 facts which none can deny \xe2\x80\x94 to indorse \nmy opinion that, in a democracy, the church must be \nCongregational, and that Episcopacy and monarchy are \ninseparable. \n\n3. The character of the French people is a poor \nguaranty for a permanent government. They are not \na law-abiding people, and love change and excitement. \nThey have become familiarized* to revolutions, and ex\xc2\xac \npect them, and enter into them with the same zest that \nthey pursue their pleasures. They Avould be satisfied \nwith the best government among men only as long as \nit was new. King, emperor, president, are all alike \nreceived with blessings to-day, and curses to-morrow. \nBesides, every measure which has been taken to elevate \nthe people has proved abortive. A while ago, when \n\n\n262 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe restrictions were partially removed from the press, \nthe land was flooded with infamous productions; and \nobscene, blasphemous sheets fell like snow flakes into \nalmost every family. The eloquent M. Coqueril, a \nmember of the Chamber of Deputies, said, while we \nwere in Paris, that France had no moral literature of \nher own ; and that every book in the language, fit to be \nput into the hands of children or youth, was a trans\xc2\xac \nlation. Though this statement should doubtless be \ntaken with some abatement, yet it is very true that the \nliterature of France is of a most debasing and corrupt\xc2\xac \ning kind, a reflection of the moral character of the \npeople. \n\nThe fact, too, that Paris rules the nation is no ways \nfavorable to the permanence of a republic. All France \nnow obeys the dictation of a mob in the metropolis. \nThe honest laborers of the farming districts know but \nlittle and care but little whether Louis Philippe or \nLouis Napoleon is at the head of government; and if \nthe rabble in Paris prevail, they very readily acquiesce \nin whatever they do. Before a republic can be estab\xc2\xac \nlished, the moral tone of the people must be changed, \nand the whole present arrangement of society altered. \nChalons, Dijon, and Lyons must have a voice in na\xc2\xac \ntional affairs, and not only a voice as at present, but an \ninfluence which shall be felt and respected. \n\n4. The public buildings, palaces, and monuments are \nindescribably associated with royalty. They lose their \nglory in the eyes of the French as soon as the king is \nremoved. This obstacle to a democracy is greater than \nit at first appears, and has an influence which we should \nnever imagine. There is the palace of the Tuileries, \nbuilt by Catharine de Medicis, improved by the kings, \nthe place where the massacre of St. Bartholomew\xe2\x80\x99s \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 263 \n\nday was planned, the royal residence of a privileged \naristocracy, which is now open to all who choose to \nvisit it. The French wander through the stately pile, \nfrom the opera room to the consecrated chapel, but they \nfind no glory in such an edifice while it continues with\xc2\xac \nout an occupant. There are the rooms of Louis XVI., \nand the saloons of Napoleon, and the chambers of \nLouis Philippe, deserted, cold, and dismal. They go \nout to Fontainebleau and St. Cloud, those retreats of \nbeauty, wealth, and fashion, which have been associated \nin their minds with royalty, and return dissatisfied and \ndiscontented. They throng the gardens and halls of \nVersailles, but every thing reminds them of something \nthat has departed. Here are seven miles of pictures in \none pile of buildings, and whoever should give two \nminutes to the examination of each individual work of \nart, would require eight days to complete his task. \nThese paintings are calculated to foster a warlike, mo\xc2\xac \nnarchical spirit. They represent scenes of blood and \nglory. Napoleon figures conspicuously. Here he is at \nthe battle of the Pyramids; distributing the cross of the \nlegion of honor at Boulogne; making a triumphal en\xc2\xac \ntry into Paris; receiving the deputies of the government \nwhich proclaimed him emperor; haranguing his army \nprevious to battle; receiving the delegates and keys of \nthe city of Vienna; giving orders before the battle of \nAusterlitz; having an interview with Francis II.; enter\xc2\xac \ning triumphantly into Berlin; bidding adieu to Alexan\xc2\xac \nder ; being married to Maria Louisa; crossing the Alps \nover the winding Simplon; guiding his army at St. \nBernard; storming the bridge of Lodi; at Marengo, at \nWagram, and in a hundred scenes and places calculated \nto fire the beholder with military enthusiasm. Here \nalso are pointed out the scenes in which the kings of \n\n\n264 \n\n\nEUllOPA. \n\n\nFrance have figured, and these are all calculated to in\xc2\xac \nspire the people with a love of royalty. \n\nOn Sunday, thousands of the people visit Versailles, \nexamine these pictures, walk through the private apart\xc2\xac \nments, behold the furniture used by kings, and the very \nbeds on which they reposed, wander through the gar\xc2\xac \ndens and behold the different walks and arbors, all \nconnected with monarchy and military glory. These \nbuildings, erected at an immense expense, and filled \nwith relics of the past, and open to the gaze of the \nmost humble citizen, all plead for the restoration of \nthe throne. The French walk through these kingly \nhalls as through the chambers of a tomb, and see no \nbeauty or glory because a royal master does not preside \nin them. As the proud old castles of Germany and the \nRhine have no beauty and glory now, because dissevered \nfrom feudal customs and the age of chivalry, so these \nvast pleasure grounds and familiar resorts of the Paris\xc2\xac \nians are mute and inelegant, because the titled dig\xc2\xac \nnity of monarchy does not abide in them. To a people \nwho live mostly in the open air, the influence of this \nfeeling goes farther than we can understand, and \ndoubtless, to the pleasure-loving people, pleads more \neloquently for the establishment of monarchy than do \nthe privileges of freedom for a genuine republic. \n\n5. A republic, if established at all, must rise in the \nmidst of long-established prejudices, and against the \nremonstrance of the whole continent. The power of \nearly teaching is engaged on the side of the throne. \nThe children of Paris have grown up with shouts of \nroyalty upon their lips; and in the establishment of a \ndemocratic form of government, they do what nations \nare seldom known to do \xe2\x80\x94 break away from all the \nprejudices and usages of the past. Riding in a car, one \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 265 \n\nday, from Versailles to Paris, a young lady of polished \nmanners and educated mind, who was in the car with \nus, made this remark, which I suppose would he in\xc2\xac \ndorsed by a large majority of the people of France: \n\xe2\x80\x9c A republic,\xe2\x80\x9d she said, \xe2\x80\x9c is a good thing for America, \nbut not for France; the people want a royal family \nto.love.\xe2\x80\x9d And while these preferences and prejudices \nexist, unchanged by education and uncontrolled by re\xc2\xac \nligion, it is impossible to expect a free and enlightened \nrepublic. The throne may indeed be broken down, but \na military despotism will take its place.- I have no faith \nin a political millennium which is to take effect in \nEurope, irrespective of the influence of education and \nreligion. The ballot, box, in a nation where eight out \nof ten of the voters cannot read the name of their can\xc2\xac \ndidate for office, must be of little benefit. We have in \nour land a strange monomania for republics, and we \nwould set them up in New Zealand and Botany Bay, \nif we could; and ere long we shall have some good- \nnatured philanthropist striving to poetize us into the \nidea, that a model republic may be made in our state \nprison, and that warden, chaplain, and sentinels may \nall be elected from among the criminals. \n\nOn one side of the British Channel is a republic; on \nthe other side is a kingdom. The kingdom is peaceful, \nhappy, quiet, and liberal; the republic is agitated, il\xc2\xac \nliberal, and despotic. In the kingdom, the voice of \nconscience is heard, God reigns, and the press is free; \nin the republic, there is no public conscience, the army \nreigns, and the press is fettered. Is it the name of \nfreedom for which men contend ? then let them go to \nrepublican France. Is it the reality for which they \nseek? then let them abide in monarchical England. \n\nDo not misunderstand me. I do not say that a \n\n3.4 w \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n266 \n\nx \n\ngenuine republic is not better than a monarchy; nor \ndo I argue that a people who can govern themselves \nshould give up that government to others. But I do \naffirm that continental Europe is not prepared for a \ndemocracy; that republican governments, under present \ncircumstances, are not only improbable, but impossible. \nThe Protestant religion must precede a republic, and \nform its basis. The Papacy and freedom are inconsist\xc2\xac \nent, and entirely irreconcilable with each other. We \nhave at this moment on our soil a noble champion of \nfreedom, the representative of a struggling nation, over\xc2\xac \nwhelmed but not conquered; a nation that loves liberty \nand political equity, and which will secure it in the \nultimate; a nation hemmed in by the hosts of Central \nand Western Europe, but still counting the hours to \nthe morning on which shall dawn the sun of Hungarian \nindependence. But this chafed and afflicted people, \nwho still cry for liberty, are cheered by the Bible and \nthe Protestant religion. Kossuth is a noble illustration \nof an enlightened Calvinist, and openly declares that \nfrom the word of God he has drawn those sublime \nsentiments which he has thundered forth in the ears of \ntyrants and their slaves. His speeches are read with \nterror in the pontifical palace at Borne, and every blow \nhe strikes is felt by the mother of harlots and abomi\xc2\xac \nnations. The religious feelings of a people are more \npotent than their political preferences. If they have a \nfree religion, they will have a free government. A \nProtestant community never can be long enslaved. \nThey may be hunted from cave to mountain, track\xc2\xac \ning the soil with blood, and illuminating earth with \nthe flames of martyrdom; but they will still be free. \nA Catholic country never can be republican. The re\xc2\xac \nligion of the country is an absolute monarchy, and it \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 267 \n\nwill control, pervert, and use the government for its \nown ends. The history of the world illustrates this, \nand teaches, in every lesson which it gives, that the \npolitics of a nation will be the counterpart of the re\xc2\xac \nligion which is disseminated by the professed ministers \nof God. \n\nWe now await with anxiety the next arrivals from \nEurope. What intelligence they will bring, none can \ntell. France may submit 1 to the military dictation of \nLouis Napoleon, who now stands with his feet upon the \nconstitution of his country, appealing to the army to \naid him in striking down the liberties of the people ; or \nthey may resist, and sustain the constitution, or per\xc2\xac \nchance erect a throne, and place upon it the young \nCount of Paris, son of the Duchess of Orleans. The \nother nations of Europe may quietly see the work go \non, or may be kindled by it into a flame. But what\xc2\xac \never the result may be, we have confidence that it will \neventuate in the overthrow of tyranny, and in the \ndownfall of that false church of which Pius IX. is the \nhead, which stands so obviously in the way of the peace \nand freedom of the world. God is arranging the \nchanges which are occurring upon the earth, and or\xc2\xac \ndering them to his own glory; and political men are \nonly the instruments in his hands of bringing about his \ngreat designs. Nations are marching and counter\xc2\xac \nmarching according to his pleasure, and among them \nhe is turning and overturning, that his Son may reign \nfrom shore to shore and from pole to pole. \n\nBefore closing what I have to say upon France, allow \nme to utter a word upon a point in relation to which \nmy statements may appear irreconcilable. I have said \n\n\n1 France has submitted. \n\n\n268 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\nthat the French were a gay, excitable people, ready for \nrevolution and riot, and yet I have remarked, that while \nin Paris I did not see a drunken man, or witness, by \nnight or day, one scene of disorder. The explanation \nwhich I would give to the general and universal quiet \nof Paris, in a time of peace, arises from the efficient \nregulations of the police. Paris is full of spies and \nsecret officers, who check the least appearance of tu\xc2\xac \nmult. They are on every corner, in every lane, under \nevery tree, in every building, and effectually overawe \nthe people and keep them quiet. But this check is \nremoved as soon as signs of revolution appear. The \npolicemen are frequently the instigators of violence, or \nif they cast their influence on the side of order, the \nmen and women who an hour ago feared them, now \nhave gathered strength and numbers, and are able to \ndefy the police and all their regulations. This single \nfact will explain why a people so naturally excitable \nare kept quiet and orderly in the metropolis. There \noccurred, on the 4th of July last, a singular instance \nof \xe2\x80\x9c French liberty.\xe2\x80\x9d A gentleman had invited the \nAmericans in Paris to assemble, and in a quiet manner \ncelebrate with him the day. A French band was in \nattendance, and during the evening was requested to \nplay the \xe2\x80\x9c Marseillaise Hymn,\xe2\x80\x9d which had been prohib\xc2\xac \nited by government. The soul-stirring strains floated \nout upon the air of night, and were caught by the \nsecret police, who rushed in and scattered the band, and \nall the French visitors and attendants. Some one arose \nand said, \xe2\x80\x9c The police may prevent a French band from \nplaying the hymn, but they cannot prevent American \ncitizens from singing it; \xe2\x80\x9d and merry voices, in good \nround Saxon speech, sung it through, to the consterna\xc2\xac \ntion of the landlord, and the indignation of the police. \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 269 \n\nThe scene is represented by one who witnessed it as \ngiving any thing but an idea of liberty. We wonder \nnot, when, by the order of Louis Napoleon, the French \nlie which has hitherto appeared conspicuously upon the \npublic buildings \xe2\x80\x94 44 Liberte , JEgalite , Fraternity \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 \nwas painted out and erased, that the Red Republicans \nshould wander about chalking where the words had \nbeen, 44 Infanterie , Cavalerie , Artilleries \n\nWe bid adieu to Paris \xe2\x80\x94 to its palaces, its triumphal \nmonuments, its gay scenes, and its fading glory. We \nleave it with the conviction that it will never be a gen\xc2\xac \nuine republic until its infidelity and its Romanism give \nplace to purer and more truthful dogmas. One of the \nmost eloquent of orators of that convulsed and bleed\xc2\xac \ning nation understands this, and in his truthful sen\xc2\xac \ntences we read the cause of the sad downfall of the \nland of glorious Lafayette. Lamartine, in one of those \nsublime ascents in which we admire scarcely less the \nbeauty of the language than the noble utterance of the \nmelancholy truth which it teaches, presents a powerful \nand painful contrast between the dying words of the \nPuritans of England and America and the sensualists \nof France. 1 In the godless lives and deaths of the \nactors in France, the world reads a lesson, and discovers \nwhy the republic was so soon stranded. Louis Napo\xc2\xac \nleon is no improvement on Mirabeau, Danton, Marat, \nand Robespierre; his republic \xe2\x80\x94 O mercy! \xe2\x80\x94 must re\xc2\xac \nsult like theirs. We listen to the orator. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWashington and Franklin fought, spoke, suffered, \nascended, and descended in their political life of popu\xc2\xac \nlarity, in the ingratitude of glory, in the contempt of \ntheir fellow-citizens \xe2\x80\x94 always in the name of God, for \n\n\nw * \n\n\n1 Bien Publique. \n\n\n270 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwhom they acted; and the liberator of America died \nconfiding to God the liberty of the people and his \nown soul. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Sidney, the young martyr of a patriotism guilty of \nnothing but impatience, and who died to expiate his \ncountry\xe2\x80\x99s dream of liberty, said to his jailer, \xe2\x80\x98I rejoice \nthat I die innocent towards the king, but a victim, re\xc2\xac \nsigned to the King on high, to whom all life is due.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The republicans of Cromwell only sought the way \nof God, even in the blood of battles. Their politics \nwere their faith, their reign a prayer, their death a \npsalm. One hears, sees, feels that God was in all the \nmovements of these great people. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c But cross the sea, traverse La Mancha, come to our \ntimes, open our annals, and listen to the last words of \nthe great political actors of the drama of our liberty. \nOne would think that God was eclipsed from the soul; \nthat his name was unknown in the language. History \nwill have the air of an atheist when she recounts to \nposterity these annihilations, rather than deaths, of \ncelebrated men in the greatest year of France. The \nvictims only have a God; the tribunes and lictors \nhave none. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Look at Mirabeau, on the bed of death. \xe2\x80\x98 Crown \nme with flowers,\xe2\x80\x99 said he; \xe2\x80\x98 intoxicate me with per\xc2\xac \nfumes. Let me die to the sound of delicious music.\xe2\x80\x99 \nNot a word of God or of his soul. Sensual philoso\xc2\xac \npher, he desired only supreme sensualism, a last volup\xc2\xac \ntuousness in his agony. Contemplate Madame Boland, \nthe strong-hearted woman of the revolution, on the cart \nthat conveyed her to death. She looked contemptu\xc2\xac \nously on the besotted people who killed their prophets \nand sibyls. Not a glance towards heaven! Only one \nword for the earth she was quitting \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x98 O Liberty! \xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\nLOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS. 271 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cApproach the dungeon door of the Girondins. \nTheir last night is a banquet; the only hymn, the \nMarseillaise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Follow Camille Desmoulins to his execution. A \ncool and indecent pleasantry at the trial, and a long \nimprecation on the road to the guillotine, were the two \nlast thoughts of this dying man, on his way to the last \ntribunal. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Hear Danton, on the platform of the scaffold, at \nthe distance of a line from God and eternity \xe2\x80\x94 6 I have \nhad a good time of it; let me go to sleep.\xe2\x80\x99 Then to \nthe executioner \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x98 You will show my head to the peo\xc2\xac \nple ; it is worth the trouble.\xe2\x80\x99 His faith, annihilation ; \nhis last sigh, vanity. Behold the Frenchman of this \nlatter age ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c What must one think of the religious sentiment \nof a free people whose great figures seem thus to \nmarch in procession to annihilation, and to whom that \nterrible minister \xe2\x80\x94 death \xe2\x80\x94 itself recalls neither the \nthreatenings nor promises of God! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The republic of these men without a God has \nquickly been stranded. The liberty won by so much \nheroism and so much genius has not found in France \na conscience to shelter it, a God to avenge it, a people \nto defend it against that atheism which has been called \nglory. All ended in a soldier and some apostate repub\xc2\xac \nlicans travestied into courtiers. An atheistic republi\xc2\xac \ncanism cannot be heroic. When you terrify it, it \nbends; when you would buy it, it sells itself. It \nwould be very foolish to immolate itself. Who would \ntake any heed ] the people ungrateful, and God non\xc2\xac \nexistent ! So finish atheist revolutions ! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n272 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXX. \n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\nWe turned our backs on Paris, one bright and beau\xc2\xac \ntiful day, glad to escape from the endless round of vain \nand frivolous amusement to the quiet scenes and cool \nbreezes of the country. The ride from Paris to Cha\xc2\xac \nlons takes a long day, and lies through a country finely \ndiversified \xe2\x80\x94 now passing long rows of women toiling \nlike slaves in the field, now through tunnels miles in \nlength, and anon driving across beautiful vine-covered \nplains. On Sunday, the day before, a part of the road \nhad been opened for the first time. Louis Napoleon \xe2\x80\x94 \nthen the republican president, now the military despot \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 had made a speech, and signs of the festival, such as \nflags, wreaths of flowers, evergreens, and mottoes, were \nseen all along the way. We had all kinds of company \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 women, with bags containing bread, meat, and wine ; \njabbering Frenchmen, who kept up a conversation de\xc2\xac \nlightfully unintelligible; children, who felt it duty to \ncry half the way ; and a few men who used an honest \ntongue. We arrived at Chalons, a town of about four\xc2\xac \nteen thousand inhabitants, at eleven o\xe2\x80\x99clock at night, \nand forthwith crowded into an omnibus, which, after \nan unusual amount of scolding, fretting, snapping of \nthe whip, rolled to a dirty hotel, where we stopped for \nthe night, and at length grumbled ourselves to sleep. \n\nEarly the next morning, we took a little dirty steamer, \nwhich would not be tolerated on the Hudson, for Lyons. \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\n\n273 \n\n\nThe boat started early, and breakfast was to be taken \non board, and, very soon after starting, we went down \nbelow, where congregated as filthy a company as could \nbe found in Naples. We asked if we could have some \nbreakfast, and were answered in the affirmative. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWell, we will have some beefsteak.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It finished,\xe2\x80\x9d was the consoling reply. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Well, we will have some bacon.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cIt finished.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cA cup of coffee, then.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cCoffee all finished.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThus we went on asking for on\xc2\xa3 article after another, \nto each of which the provoking reply was given, \xe2\x80\x9c It \nfinished,\xe2\x80\x9d with the utmost coolness. At length, we \nlearnt that every thing was finished but some hard \nrolls, a little butter which tasted of garlic so strongly \nthat we could not eat it, and a cup of what was called \n\xe2\x80\x9c tea,\xe2\x80\x9d and which tasted like herbs \xe2\x80\x94 say burdocks, \nsteeped in salt water, and sugared with snuff. \n\nThe sail down the River Saone is very beautiful, and \nthe scenery all along the banks is most delightful, \nthough, perhaps, not equaling the castle-guarded Rhine, \nwhich every traveler wishes to see. High hills, covered \nwith vines, cultivated to the very summit, and sloping \nbeautifully to the river; fine villages, sleeping on the \nshores; little boats gliding up and down; steamers \nnow and then sweeping by, and rippling the waves to \nthe flower-fringed bank on either side, \xe2\x80\x94 all render the \nvoyage one of uninterrupted pleasure. \n\nAt the confluence of the Saone and the Rhone lies \nthe old town of \n\nLYONS, \n\nwhere we stopped over night. I was agreeably disap\xc2\xac \npointed in the appearance of this place. It is a well- \n\n35 \n\n\n274 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nlocated, cleanly, and pleasant town, and my remem\xc2\xac \nbrances of it are most agreeable. We wandered into \nthe old cathedral, a monument of an expiring faith, \nsaw some fine churches, bridges, and public buildings, \nand here obtained our first view of the majestic Alps, \nand old, hoary Mont Blanc, with its summit covered \nwith eternal winter. \n\nLyons has two hundred thousand inhabitants, many \nof whom are engaged in the manufacture of silk, an \nestablishment for which we had the pleasure of visiting. \nI could but mark the common courtesy of the people \nof this town, as we moved about from one object of \ninterest to another. We called at a large store, and \ninquired where we could find a silk manufactory, and \nhow we could obtain admittance. The gentlemanly \nmerchant, though his shop was full of customers, not \nonly gave us all the information we requested, but sent \na clerk to show us the way through the long, narrow \nstreets, and introduce us to some persons who would \nadmit us to what we wished to find. The town is well \ngarrisoned, and from the hights on the west formidable \nfortifications look down with frowns upon the people. \nThe two rivers are spanned by beautiful bridges \xe2\x80\x94 sus\xc2\xac \npension, cast-iron, and stone. \n\nLeaving Lyons, we take the steamer again, and sail \ndown the Bhone, passing beneath the very bluffs from \nwhich the pious Waldenses, the humble followers of \nPeter Waldo of Lyons, were cast in the fury of per\xc2\xac \nsecution. In imagination, I could see these devoted \npeople assembled in the glens, and catch, as we glided \nby, the smoke of their fires and their shady forms. \nSwelling from devout lips came rolling down their \nsublime song, which now rose in wild and thrilling \ncadence, and anon seemed to die away amid the lofty \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\n\n275 \n\n\nliills. And there is seen an armed band winding up to \nthe secret place, with stealthy steps and slow, to do \nthere, amid the followers of God, a work of death. \n\nAll along the banks of this river are old Roman \nremains, some of them in a tolerable state of preserva\xc2\xac \ntion. As we approach Avignon, the seat of the popes \nwhen they were banished from Rome, and where their \nold palace, used for a prison, still stands, we pass under \nthe Bridge of the \xe2\x80\x9cHoly Spirit,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 the somewhat inap\xc2\xac \npropriate and singular title of the longest stone bridge \nin the world, \xe2\x80\x94 built six hundred years ago, the first \nbridge ever thrown across the Rhone. It has twenty-six \narches, and is the noblest structure of its kind in France. \n\nWe stopped an hour in \n\nAVIGNON, \n\none of the most barbarous places I was ever in. The \ncurse of the popes seemed to rest upon it. There were \nmore officious porters and hackmen at the landing, more \nofficious landlords waiting to take advantage of our \nignorance, more crying children in the streets, and more \nfilthy, wretched habitations than I ever saw in any one \nplace in so short a time ; and of all the towns and cities \nwhich I visited, of but one other have I brought away \nan impression so unpleasant as of this. Other travel\xc2\xac \ners speak very well of Avignon; but my impression \nwas, that if half of the people could be shut up in the \nold Popish palace, and the other half could be set to \nwork cleaning the streets, it would be a passable town. \n\nAt dusk, we left Avignon in the cars for \n\nMARSEILLES, \n\nwhere we arrived at ten o\xe2\x80\x99clock. As we neared the \ntown, we secured our first view of the Mediterranean \n\n\n276 EUROPA. \n\nSea, spread out nobly beneath a pale moonlight. We \nsoon found ourselves at the Hotel des Emperors, where \nour accommodations were as fine as could he obtained \nat any public house in Boston. We, according to the \ncommon usage, hired our apartments, and took our \nmeals when and where we wished. At this hotel, as \nat all others, no man pays for more than he eats. If \nhe sits down to the table, and eats a simple breakfast, \nhe is charged accordingly for each article, and not for \nhis breakfast as a whole. This plan enables a traveler \nto regulate his expenses according to his means, and is \nvery favorable for any one who is disposed to be tem\xc2\xac \nperate and economical. \n\nWe here made the acquaintance of our consul, Mr. \nHodge, who took great pains to render our stay in the \nplace pleasant. Our representatives abroad are not \nalways agreeable men, and the attention of government \nshould be turned to the conduct of some of its officers \non the continent. They are sent out to protect Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan citizens; and they do give protection with a ven\xc2\xac \ngeance. Contrary to law, many of them force the trav\xc2\xac \neler to pay an exorbitant sum for an examination of his \npassports, and, instead of rendering him any assistance, \nare perfect plagues. The whole passport business is a \nshameful humbug. I took with me one of these docu\xc2\xac \nments, signed by the present secretary of state, which \nI supposed would carry me through; but the powers \nthat be care no more for the name of Daniel Webster \nthan they do for David Crocket. Some forty and more \nconsuls, police officers, and understrappers persisted in \nwriting their jaw-breaking names upon it, for which \nthey charged me from one franc to ten francs each. \n\nWe were, however, received by Mr. Hodge with the \ngreatest kindness, and every facility given us to see the \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. 277 \n\ntown to the best advantage. The gentlemanly officer \ncame to our hotel with the latest New York papers, \npointed out the places to be seen, gave us instruction as \nto our future course, and really conferred upon us a \ngreat favor. All our countrymen speak of Mr. H. in \nterms of approbation, and I am convinced that he is \none of the few men who represent America in distant \nnations to the general satisfaction of travelers. Had \nHorace Greeley, who was so plagued with his passport \nall through Europe, visited Marseilles, he would have \nfound, in our consul there, one whose urbanity and good \nnature go far to make the American in a strange land \nvalue and admire the government to which he owes his \nallegiance. Mr. Hodge is apparently about sixty years \nof age, frank and courteous, of great conversational \npowers, dignified in his bearing, well acquainted with \nthe wants, condition, and prospects of the country to \nwhich he has been sent, and the hour spent with him is \nfresh and fragrant in my memory. \n\nMarseilles has the most outlandish appearance of any \ncity to which I had arrived. In the streets there was a \npromiscuous commingling of all nations. Here were \nthe turbaned Turk, the unchristian Jew, the wandering \nGypsy, the polished Parisian, the austere Englishman, \nand the inquisitive Yankee, coming and going on this \ngreat broad road from London and Paris to Naples and \nPome. As you move about the narrow streets, your \neye every where rests on strange sights. Here a milk\xc2\xac \nman moves along the streets with his cows and goats, \nstopping at each door, and drawing milk enough for the \nfamily within; and they are sure that no water has di\xc2\xac \nluted that. There men and women are sitting by their \ndoor steps burning coffee and chocolate nuts, to be used \nby themselves, or sold to others. Here fine flower \n\nx \n\n\n278 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nmarkets are held in the public streets, and there rich \nstalls of delicious fruit tempt the taste of the passer by. \nPriests and nuns are moving about, the former sleek and \nwell fed; the latter, pale, modest, and saintlike. \n\nOn a high hill on the south of the town, looking out \nto sea, is a chapel dedicated to \xe2\x80\x9c Our Lady,\xe2\x80\x9d which is a \ncurious thing in its way. It is founded upon the ruins \nof a temple of the ancient Druids, and was built six \nhundred years ago. It is small, dark, and dingy, and \nis evidently not designed for public worship. It is now \nfull of votive offerings, which hang there as the evi\xc2\xac \ndences of a perverted religious sentiment. Sailors when \nin danger at sea, and men and women when sick at \nhome, make vows to the Virgin, and when they recover, \nor are delivered from peril, whatever it may be, are ac\xc2\xac \ncustomed to bring some offering to this chapel. These \nofferings are of small value, and have reference and \nallusion to the peculiar circumstances in which the \nperson has been placed. Here are many pictures \xe2\x80\x94 \nsome representing a shipwreck, some a sick bed, some \none scene, and some another. They are in value from \nfive cents to five dollars. Here also are models of ships; \nstrings of beads ; crosses; clothing which persons had \non when saved from danger; crutches which were used \nby the lame before their recovery; wax and stone hands, \nfeet, and arms, contributed by persons who had lost such \nlimbs, but whose health was restored. Some of these \narticles are very old, and some date as far down as the \npresent year. On the chapel is a bell, beautifully chased \nwithout, and weighing twenty thousand pounds. The \ntongue is eight feet long, and must weigh near half a \ntun. From the flat tower of this chapel a fine view is \nobtained. On one side is the town, with its red tile \nroofs, public buildings, churches, and its narrow, wind- \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\n\n279 \n\n\nmg streets; beyond, imbosomed in rich foliage and \nshady trees, are scattered on the hillsides six thousand \ncountry seats of the more wealthy people; and behind \nall are the bleared and cloud-capped mountains. On \nthe other side is seen the beautiful Mediterranean \xe2\x80\x94 \nfirst, the docks, old and new; then the harbor, in which \nis the island where is the prison in which Mirabeau was \nconfined in his youth by his austere parent, which con\xc2\xac \nfinement made him the ferocious man that he was. Be\xc2\xac \nyond stretches the boundless blue, and we were told \nthat on every clear day we could see out forty miles, \nwhich statement you may credit if you please. The \nharbor was covered with neat gondolas, with fancy awn\xc2\xac \nings, and lazy occupants lounging in the shade, while \nout to sea were seen the larger vessels, the full-rigged \nship, and the puffing, bustling little steamers. \n\nOn Sunday, I embarked for Naples on board the \nErcolano. I was somewhat reconciled to the necessity \nof sailing on that day, from the fact that I could spend \nthe time as profitably on the deep as on the land, amid \nthe parades of soldiers, the firing of cannon, and the \nringing of bells. The first sound I heard in the morn\xc2\xac \ning was the discordant echo of the drum, and the last \nwhich fell on my ear, as we faded from the land, was the \nboisterous shout of sailors on the wharf. So, muttering \nas well as I could, and to the best tune I knew, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Thy temple is the arch \n\nOf yon unmeasured sky ; \n\nThy Sabbath the stupendous march \nOf grand eternity,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI saw the busy seaport losing itself in the dim and \n\n% \n\nmisty distance. \n\nI was amused now and then in noticing the habits of \n\n\n280 \n\n\nECEOPA. \n\n\ni \xc2\xbb r r l \xc2\xbb \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nthe people. As we left the landing, a pleasant scene \ntook place between some friends who had come down \nto see others off. When the intimation was given that \nwe were about to start, these French people fell to kiss\xc2\xac \ning each other indiscriminately, fathers saluting sons, \nand mothers embracing daughters, brothers bringing \ntheir huge beards together, and a universal smacking \ntaking place. Though I confess such a scene to be not \nexactly to my taste, yet I looked upon it as a beautiful \nexhibition of affection and regard, much better than the \nwant of respect which is so often found among relatives \nand friends among us. \n\nWe had on board the Ercolano two full-grown, com\xc2\xac \npletely blossomed white friars, the first genuine ones I \nhad seen. I had noticed monkery and priestcraft in \nParis, but it was evident that the two fat, lazy, careless \ncreatures we had with us trained in a company different \nfrom any I had seen. They were on their way to Rome, \nand one of them was the superior of his order, and \nwas distinguished from his fellow by a ring, engraven \nwith some cabalistic character, which he wore upon \nhis finger. In other respects they were attired alike. \nThey had on wooden sandals; white flannel browsers of \nthe coarsest texture and the most careless cut; a walk\xc2\xac \ning cloak, or chemise, or gown, which reached to the \nfeet, of the same material; a rough leather belt around \nthe body, to which were hung a few beads, a wooden \ncrucifix, a small wooden skull, and a few other mean\xc2\xac \ningless trinkets. On the head was a black nightcap, \nor something which would answer for it, covering a \nshaven crown. They seemed to be men of little energy \nor character. A blank, fadeless look, and an indiffer\xc2\xac \nence to every thing around, seemed to characterize \nthem, and they were objects of pity and contempt. \n\n\nSOUTHERN FRANCE. \n\n\n281 \n\n\nThe sail down the Mediterranean is delightful. At \none time, high hills and bluffs project out into the deep- \nblue wave, and then come sloping banks, at the base of. \nwhich little towns and villages cluster, and whose4ides \nare covered with verdure. On some of the hills can be \n\nr \xe2\x80\xa2*\' \n\nseen the ruins of ancient fortifications which have fallen \ninto decay, and which declare to the stranger the les\xc2\xac \nsons of his own frailty. \n\nOur passage down- was rendered pleasant by the \nformation of new acquaintances, as w T e had on board \nseveral Americans and Englishmen with whom we had \nnot met before. The time passed away in animated \ndiscussions upon various subjects, and those of us who \nloved the sea were not overjoyed when our steamer \napproached the land. \n\n36 x* \n\n\n282 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXI. \n\nGENOA. \n\nAfter a passage of twenty-two hours, we entered the \nharbor of Genoa, and shot up towards the town, which \nis situated on the side of the hill, in a semicircle, form\xc2\xac \ning a beautiful amphitheater of palaces. At a dis\xc2\xac \ntance, the town looks small, and one would hardly \nimagine that it contained one hundred and fifteen \nthousand inhabitants, crowded into its toppling dwell\xc2\xac \nings, which are piled story upon story, until they seem \nalmost unable to stand alone. Passing around the \nlight-house, we lay under the guns of the battery two \nor three hours, while some useless formality about our \npassports was taking place, when the gens d\'armes gra\xc2\xac \nciously permitted us to land, extorting from us a fee, \nof course. We at length escaped from gens d\'armes , \ntide waiters, commissioners, valets, and beggars, and \nreached the Hotel de la Ville, which was formerly a \npalace, built in Tuscan style, with a rough stone base\xc2\xac \nment, upon which rose an elegant structure, to the \nhight of some five or six stories. \n\nIt was fete day when we arrived, and the lads and \nlasses were all out, arrayed in holiday attire. The lat\xc2\xac \nter were neatly dressed. The headdress was especially \nbeautiful and becoming. It consisted of a thin white \ncrape or muslin scarf, thrown over the head, falling \n\n\nGENOA. \n\n\n283 \n\n\ndown upon the shoulders, and reaching nearly to the \nfeet. These pretty women were moving through the \nstreets, hanging on the arms of gayly-dressed soldiers, \nwho are paid only a few cents a day for their services, \nor riding with fast horses along the crowded thorough\xc2\xac \nfare, and presenting a spectacle at once unusual and \nanimating. \n\nThe churches of Genoa are very superb, and are \nfilled with all sorts of trumpery, from the bones of a \ndead dog to a marble Beelzebub. The old cathedral is \nbuilt in alternate layers of black and white marble, and \nis an interesting, though not a beautiful building. \nHere the superstitious Catholics claim to keep the \nbones of John the Baptist in a little chapel, under a \nmarble sarcophagus. The bones are in an iron box, \nenclosed in another of marble. I ran my cane through \na hole in the box, but could feel nothing like bones, nor \ncould I start the old saint into life again, though I con\xc2\xac \njured him to speak. A great amount of money is raised \nupon these bones once a year, when they are taken out \nand a frolic held over them. In this cathedral is kept \na dish, probably of glass, which the monks say is formed \nof a single emerald, called the Sacra Catino. Some \naffirm that it was presented by the Queen of Sheba to \nSolomon ; others declare that it was the dish in which \nthe paschal lamb was put at the great feast; and others \nstill assure us that it was the dish in which Joseph of \nArimathea caught the flowing blood of Jesus as he \nhung upon the cross. What nonsense! \n\nOver the door of one church I saw the unhallowed \ninscription, \xe2\x80\x9c Indulgentia plenaria quotidiana perpetual \nThe streets were filled with priests and friars, black, \nwhite, and gray, dressed very much like those we saw \non board the steamer, but more filthy, many of them \n\n\n284 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nbarefoot, and contrasting strongly with the well-fed, \nportly priests, with their nice black robes and cocked \nhats. \n\nGenoa has been called the city of palaces, and these \nare all open to public inspection. Strangers from every \nclime wander through halls still elegant in their deser\xc2\xac \ntion, and beautiful in their decay. Any person may \nrent a palace at a less cost than he can hire a decent \ntenement among us, and beggars now tread where nobles \nused to live. \n\nWe tried to inquire about Christopher Columbus, but \nwere only laughed at for our pains. Nobody seemed to \nknow him, or to be familiar with a name which is asso\xc2\xac \nciated with the greatest nation in the world, and which \nis respected by every man of science and erudition. A \nfew only in that city know that that name is connected \nwith an enterprise more honorable than the most glo\xc2\xac \nrious victory ever won upon the fields of blood. \n\nThe people of Genoa are very fond of amusements. \nFeast days and festivals occur so often that one can \nhardly keep the run of them, and operas and concerts \nare in full blast through most of the year. A recent \ntourist 1 relates a circumstance to show the fondness of \nthe Italians for music and mirth, which he himself wit\xc2\xac \nnessed in the opera. Clara Novello, the prima donna \nof the season, was singing and acting, when, in the pit \nand directly before the stage, 44 a man was suddenly \nseized with convulsions. His limbs stiffened; his eyes \nbecame set in his head, and stood wide open, staring at \nthe ceiling like the eyes of a corpse; while low and \nagonizing groans broke from his struggling bosom. \nThe prima donna came forward at that moment, but \n\n\n* Headley, Letters from Italy, \n\n\nGENOA. \n\n\n285 \n\n\nseeing this livid, death-stamped face before her, sud\xc2\xac \ndenly stopped, with a tragic look and start, that, for \nonce , was perfectly natural. She turned to the bass \nsinger, and pointed out the frightful spectacle. He \nalso started back in horror, and the prospect was that \nthe opera would terminate on the spot; but the scene \nthat was just opening was the one in which the prima \ndonna was to make her great effort, and around which \nthe whole interest of the play was gathered, and the \nspectators were determined not to be disappointed be\xc2\xac \ncause one man was dying, and so shouted, 4 Go on! go \non! \xe2\x80\x99 Clara Novello gave another look towards the \ngroaning man, whose whole aspect was enough to freeze \nthe blood, and then started off in her part. But the \ndying man grew worse and worse, and finally sprang \nbolt upright in his seat. A person sitting behind him, \nall-absorbed in the music, immediately placed his hands \non his shoulders, pressed him down again, and held him \nfirmly in his place. There he sat, pinioned fast, with \nhis pale, corpse-like face upturned, in the midst of that \ngay assemblage, and the foam rolling over his lips, while \nthe braying of trumpets and the voice of the singer \ndrowned the groans that were rending his bosom. At \nlength, the foam became streaked with blood as it \noozed through his teeth, and the convulsive starts grew \nquicker and fiercer. But the man behind held him \nfast, while he gazed in perfect rapture on the singer, \nwho now, like the ascending lark, was trying her lofti\xc2\xac \nest strain. As it ended, the house rang with applause, \nand the man who had held down the poor writhing \ncreature could contain his ecstasy no longer, and lifting \nhis hands from his shoulders, clapped them rapidly to\xc2\xac \ngether three or four times, crying out over the ears of \nthe dying man, \xe2\x80\x98Brava, brava!\xe2\x80\x99 and then hurriedly \n\n\n286 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nplaced them back again, to prevent his springing up in \nhis convulsive throes. The song ended, and the gens \nd\xe2\x80\x99armes entered, and carried him speechless and lifeless \nout of the theatre.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nI slept one or two nights in Genoa, or tried to sleep. \nThe hotel was a perfect bedlam; the streets were full \nof all sorts of noises; and in the house opposite the \nnarrow passage was kept up a constant jabbering, \nwhich reminded me of the hideous jargon of the North \nAmerican Indians, and more than once did I dream of \nthe scalping-knife and the tomahawk, and start up to \nhear the merry laugh of a dozen young creatures, who, \na few feet from my window, in the next hotel, were \n. shouting, screaming, yelling, and dancing with all their \nmight. When the people of Genoa sleep I do not \nknow, but presume, from what I saw, that they are \nquite successful in turning night into day. \n\n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94 CIYITA YECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. 287 \n\n\n/ \n\n\nXXII. \n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94PISA \xe2\x80\x94CIYITA VECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. \n\nWe took the steamer from Genoa one evening, at six \no\xe2\x80\x99clock, with the fair prospect of a dreadfully unfair \nnight. The winds howled; the sky was dark and \novercast; and the waves rolled and tumbled, dashed \nforward and backward, rose and fell, as if angry with \nthemselves and the little puffing - steamer which was \nendeavoring to struggle through them. Directly over \nthe cabin, in which about thirty of us were pent up, \nw T ere six horses, which kept up a continual kicking \nwithin a few inches of our aching heads. Once, dur\xc2\xac \ning the night, the stalls in which they were confined \ngave way, and the affrighted animals went capering \nabout the deck, to the consternation of the passengers \nbelow, who knew not the cause of the commotion \nabove. The whole company, with a few exceptions, \nsprang up, supposing we were going to the bottom; \nand as they huddled together near the door, jabbering \nin five or six different languages, the scene was inde\xc2\xac \nscribably ludicrous. Order was at length restored, the \nhorses were captured, and the steamer, in due form, \nwent bustling into Leghorn about sunrise. At the \nHotel San Marco, we found one John Smith, who \nserved us with a decent breakfast, after which we \nwalked about the town. Leghorn is a dull place, the \nstores and houses all bearing marks of decay. Busi\xc2\xac \nness seems to be stagnant and dead, and we moved \nabout amid deserted habitations and silent streets. \n\n\n288 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nAbout twelve miles from Leghorn is Pisa, a town of \nmuch interest, containing about twenty-nine thousand \ninhabitants, out to which we went in the cars. The \ntown was preparing to celebrate the day of its patron \nsaint, which is the 16th of June. A grand illumina\xc2\xac \ntion was to take place, and such preparations, on a \nscale so grand, I never saw before. The saint to be \ncelebrated is San Eanieri, who died 1356. He lived a \nvile and wicked life, abandoned by God and all things \ngood. Before his death, however, he became an exam\xc2\xac \nple of piety. We wish we could say as much for all \nthe canonized saints. He was indefatigable in his la\xc2\xac \nbors for the poor, and died respected and beloved by \nall. The preparations made to celebrate this day were \nfine. Every house seemed to be covered with frame\xc2\xac \nwork from which floods of light were to blaze out. \n\nThe great objects of interest are the cathedral, bap\xc2\xac \ntistry, leaning tower, and Campo Santo. The cathedral \nis one of the most elegant in Italy. The doors are of \nmassive bronze work. The interior is of alternate \nlayers of black and white marble, giving it a unique \nappearance. The dome is finely frescoed, and fine \npaintings adorn the walls. In the nave hangs sus\xc2\xac \npended a chandelier, once beautiful, but now black and \ntime-worn, and suspended from the center of the dome \nabove by a black, dirty rope. This chandelier suggest\xc2\xac \ned to Galileo the idea of the pendulum, which has \nsince been applied to so much advantage to the world. \nThe pulpit is of ancient order, and is a superb struc\xc2\xac \nture of richly-carved marble; and the whole church is \nwealthy with paintings, mosaics, and sculpture. It is \nin the form of a Latin cross, and is bedecked with or\xc2\xac \nnaments magnificent and costly. Candles bum on the \naltars, and music echoes along the deserted aisles. As \n\n\n\n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94 CIVITA YECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. 289 \n\n\nwe entered, a monk, with his face covered with a black \nnightcap, with holes for his hateful eyes to glare out, \ncame to beg, and, in a piteous, whining tone, entreated \nus to give something to the church. \n\nNear the duomo is the baptistry, which was built in \nthe eleventh century. It is a large building, in the \nform of an immense dome, which rises to a hight of \none hundred and seventy-nine feet. The external and \ninternal appearance of the structure has great effect. \nThe pulpit is a hexagon, and rests upon nine pillars, \nand is covered with basso-rilievo work. The basin is in \nthe middle, and is large enough for ten or fifteen per\xc2\xac \nsons to occupy at one time. The whole appearance of \nthe basin and the building gives unequivocal evidence \nthat immersion was here performed. The same remark \nmay be made of the baptistry at Florence, which is \nconstructed on a similar plan. \n\nClose at hand is the wonderful leaning tower, which \nhas seven bells, and is two hundred and seventy-eight \nfeet high. We ascend by a winding staircase, and \nfrom the top enjoy a fine prospect of the surrounding \ncountry. The deviation is from fifteen to eighteen \nfeet; and as I stood looking down, the danger of fall\xc2\xac \ning appeared so great, that I was glad to descend as \nsoon as possible. One naturally clings to the rail of \nthe gallery as he looks down from the dizzy elevation \nupon the earth beneath, which seems to be passing \nfrom under him. Whether the tower was built as it \nis, in a leaning position, or whether the foundations \nhave settled, is a matter of question, nor can an exam\xc2\xac \nination settle the point. I incline to the latter opinion, \nwhich accords with the view taken by most travelers. \n\nThis group of buildings, with the Campo Santo, \nforms one of the most interesting objects of study and \n\n37 y \n\n\n290 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ninterest that can be found in Italy. The leaning tower \nis in itself a wonder, and the whole group, where mil\xc2\xac \nlions of dollars have been expended, deserves a visit \nfrom every person who goes within a hundred miles \nof the spot. \n\nReturning to Leghorn a while, we wandered about, \nand at length went down to the steamer, determined \nnever to set foot on the soil of that place again. The \nways in which the people contrive to get at the pockets \nof the traveler are legion. You are compelled to pay \nas you enter the port, and as you leave it; as you go to \na hotel, and when you come away, shaking off the dust \nof your feet. You can neither eat, drink, or sleep, \nwalk, or play, without being charged for it. Contrary \nto our expectations, \'sve were thrown into this place \nagain, a while after, and took breakfast at Hotel du \nNord, where we were detained, abused, fleeced, and, at \nlength, fed. Before we went away, the keeper of the \nhotel, or rather a servant, for the keeper was a woman, \nrequested us to write some recommendation in his com\xc2\xac \nmonplace hook, that he might show it to other Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan travelers who should happen to fall into the hands \nof the official and unofficial plunderers of Leghorn. \nThis was too much; and one of our company sat down \nand wrote the following lines, to which we all appended \nour names: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFive strangers, from a foreign shore, \n\nTook breakfast at Hotel du Nord; \n\nOur names, which may be found below, \n\nOur homes and destination show. \n\nWe\xe2\x80\x99ve had our trials and vexations, \n\nDelayed by Tuscan regulations. \n\nTaxed, cheated, foiled at every stage, \n\nScarce can we contain our rage. \n\nPatience ; a few short months, and we \nShall hail a land of Liberty. \n\n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94CIYITA YECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. 291 \n\nWe gave the book to the servant, who could not \nread a word of it, and, supposing it to be, instead of \nthe truth as it was, a lying compliment to his house, \ndone up in poetry, and signed by five respectable \nnames, took it with a profusion of bows and nods, \nunintelligible thanks, and gracious smiles. \n\nLeaving Leghorn, after our first visit, we set sail for \nCivita Vecchia. As we went out of the harbor, a \nboat manned with galley slaves rowed across our bows. \nThere were fifteen of them, chained together, and to \nthe boat. They were dressed in red fiannel frocks, and \nwore caps of the same material. They were all mur\xc2\xac \nderers ; and it would be interesting to converse with \nthem, and draw out the personal history of each, and \nlearn how, step by step, the amiable and virtuous young \nman descended from respectability to the daring deed \nfor which he wears the chain and lives in prison. \n\nCIVITA VECCHIA, \n\nthe next town at which the steamer stops, is one of the \nmost disagreeable in Italy. I said there was one place \nworse than Avignon ; this is it. We were not allowed \nto land on our way down the coast, but unfortunately \nwent there on our return. We arrived in a dili\xc2\xac \ngence from Rome about midnight, and pursued our \nway to the Hotel Orlando, the best in the place, but \nwonderfully poor at that. We found all asleep; but, \nby storming the citadel, we at length aroused the in\xc2\xac \nmates, who came down to us grumbling and scolding \nin a most furious manner. By dint of Italian, French, \nEnglish, and Cossack, we finally made them understand \nthat we wished to go to bed; but for a long time it \nremained doubtful whether we should succeed. An\xc2\xac \ntonio called to Alfieri, and Alfieri shouted to Scipio \n\n\n292 \n\n\nETJROPA \n\n\nand Pompeius, and they together ran after Signore, \nwho came, at length, and put us four into two as dirty \nchambers as w T as ever the lot of unoffending travelers \nto fall into. However, we had each a bed, minus \nsheets and pillows; and, as the insides were altogether \ntoo had, we threw ourselves upon the outsides, and in \na moment were as comfortably asleep as filth and fleas \nwould allow. We might have remained asleep about \nten minutes, when a disturbance in the entry gave signs \nof an assault upon our dormitory. A violent pounding \nupon the door was heard, and a man and woman, in an \nunknown tongue, demanded admittance. What was \nto pay we did not know, and, for a while, we let them \nwork. But it was \xe2\x80\x9c no go,\xe2\x80\x9d and my companion, in no \nenviable mood, sprang from the bed, exclaiming, \xe2\x80\x9c I\xe2\x80\x99ll \nknow what the matter is ! \xe2\x80\x9d and, throwing open the \ndoor, he confronted the servants, with sheets and pil\xc2\xac \nlows for our beds. Giving them a good round scolding, \nof which they understood not a word, he shoved the \ndoor in their faces, turned the key, and threw himself \nupon the bed, which creaked and groaned beneath the \nburden, while the discomfited servants went away puz\xc2\xac \nzled to know why Signore should wish to sleep in a \nbed full of fleas without sheets. \n\nIn the morning, our baggage was examined by the \ncustom-house officers. Mine passed without much \ntrouble; but a friend had in his trunk an oration \nwhich he had delivered a while since in New York, \nbefore some society that requested its publication. \nThe official found a copy of this printed document, \nand thumbed it over a while without being able to \nknow whether it was incendiary or not. His eye was \nattracted by the word \xe2\x80\x9c Society,\xe2\x80\x9d on the title page, and \nhis mind conjured up some terrible danger in having \n\n\nLEGHORN \xe2\x80\x94 Cl VITA VECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94BAY OF NAPLES. 293 \n\nthat little pamphlet in a man\xe2\x80\x99s trunk going through \nItaly. Thus he detained us an hour or two, when he \ntold the owner to call at the police office at a given \nhour,\xe2\x80\x94I believe the next day, \xe2\x80\x94 and he could have his \nbook. But we declined waiting so long ; and for aught \nI know, the authorities of that abominable place are \ngravely investigating the contents of my friend\xe2\x80\x99s ora\xc2\xac \ntion up to the present time. \n\nPursuing our way down the Mediterranean, we at \nlength arrived at Naples. We were called up at sun\xc2\xac \nrise to gaze upon the finest prospect ever presented \nto mortal sight. We had passed a troublous night. \nNameless insects had been disturbing our dreams, and \nit was with unfeigned delight that we heard the cry, \n\xe2\x80\x9c All up! We are entering the bay.\xe2\x80\x9d I went on deck ; \nand though I had expected a beautiful view, the reality \nmore than equaled the idea which I had pictured to \nmy imagination. The full, yellow moon was setting \nbehind us, in the dim and shadowy west. On one side \nwas Naples, and all around the watery amphitheater \nwere stretched goodly cities in one continuous and un\xc2\xac \nbroken course. In the background towers Vesuvius, \nthe object of deepest interest, like a giant amid its \nrocky compeers, a dim and indistinct cloud hovering \naround its summit. The first view of Vesuvius was \n\nnot what I had imagined; and Rev. Mr.-, at my \n\nside, exclaimed, \xe2\x80\x9c What a cheat!\xe2\x80\x9d and turned away, \nhalf vexed that the old mountain was not bellowing, \nand thundering, and pouring down its torrents of lava \nupon the plains below. We were all unprepared for \nits quiet, modest, inviting look, though we might have \nexpected it. But as we gazed, the peak seemed to rise \nhigher, the cloud appeared to expand, and in a little \nwhile, with the slight aid of imagination, I confess I \n\ny \n\n\n\n294 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nhad the Vesuvius of \xe2\x80\x9c the books \xe2\x80\x9d before me, and was \ndisappointed no longer. \n\nThe Bay of Naples, gazed upon from the sea, or from \nthe surrounding shores, is an object of great interest; \nand long we stood enraptured with the charming ar\xc2\xac \nrangements of nature and art. The beauty of the bay \narises from a variety of circumstances. Its form is reg\xc2\xac \nularly curved, and all around are shining palaces, look\xc2\xac \ning down upon its shores, and off upon its waters. \nBehind the towns and villages, the hills and mountains \nrise abruptly, and seem to stand as high towers charged \nwith molten torrents, which they are ready to pour out \nupon the surrounding country. \n\nOn reaching the harbor of Naples, we were per\xc2\xac \nplexed a while with the inconvenient and unnecessary \narrangements of the port. Every thing seems to be \ndesigned to extract money from the traveler, and de\xc2\xac \nlay him in his journey. The landlords and the police \nseem to have entered into copartnership to pillage the \npurses of all who wish to enter the city. We escaped, \nat length, from the \xe2\x80\x9c port plague,\xe2\x80\x9d and soon found our\xc2\xac \nselves in a comfortable hotel, where the gentlemanly \nproprietor used every endeavor to render our visit \nagreeable. \n\nNaples has about three hundred and fifty thousand \ninhabitants, and is a very fine city. On approaching it \nfrom the sea, one would hardly imagine how many hu\xc2\xac \nman beings are huddled together. The streets are \nnarrow; the houses rise story on story, until they lose \nthemselves from the view of the gazer, and both streets \nand houses are crowded with as miserable and dirty a \nclass of beings as can be found in Italy. The lower \norder of Neapolitans are very meanly clad, and ap\xc2\xac \nproach a step nearer barbarism than any I had \n\n\nLEGHORN\xe2\x80\x94CIYITA YECCHIA \xe2\x80\x94 BAY OF NAPLES. 295 \n\npreviously seen. The men wear a coarse crash shirt, \nwith coarse trowsers, which are tied around the waist \nwith a cord. An old straw hat completes the rig. The \nlegs and feet, from the knees downward, the arms, \nfrom the elbows, and the shoulders, brown and sun\xc2\xac \nburnt, are generally uncovered. As to shoes, they are \na luxury or a superfluity which the poorer people sel\xc2\xac \ndom indulge in. The women dress correspondingly, \nand are seen moving through the streets singing, with \nloads upon their shoulders which would almost break \nthe back of a donkey. \n\nThe better class, however, dress very neatly; and on \ngala days the crowded streets present a gay and bril\xc2\xac \nliant spectacle. The soldiers in uniform, with waving \nplumes, and the young women, with their muslin scarfs, \nand gay, laughing features, give a showy appearance to \nthe whole town. \n\nI found a home for a few days at \xe2\x80\x9c Hotel de New \nYork,\xe2\x80\x9d my windows looking out upon the mountain \nand the bay. Hour after hour have I sat and gazed \nupon that fine sheet of water, terminated on the right \nby Cape Misenum, and on the left by Cape Minerva, \nand closed in and guarded by the Island of Capri, \nwhile a succession of hills sloping to its shores forms \nwhat the Neapolitans call the \xe2\x80\x9cwater crater.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe city of Naples is twelve miles in circuit, with \nample fortifications; three hundred churches; forty \nasylums for the poor and orphans; with a vast variety \nof objects connected with the past and the present, to \ninterest the traveler, and make him feel that the sen\xc2\xac \ntiment of the Neapolitan enthusiast, who exclaims, \n\xe2\x80\x9c Vedi Napoli , e poi mori ,\xe2\x80\x9d is not altogether a vain \nboast, or a mistaken idea, as we shall find in a few \nsucceeding chapters. \n\n\n296 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXIII. \n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\nHaving secured lodgings in tlie city, we engaged a \nvalet de place , who told us to call him Joseph, and \nwent out to explore the old ruins in the vicinity. \nThe city was very gay and cheerful, it being the feast \nday of some saint, whose name and virtues I did not \nlearn. The streets were full of people, and it was with \nsome difficulty that we threaded our way out into the \ncountry. The festivity of the occasion brought out in \nsquadron the famous Italian lazzaroni, who met us at \nevery step, and ran along after us, sometimes for miles. \nThis class of persons are a great source of annoyance \nto travelers. They rush out from the roadside, men, \nwomen, and children, uttering the most piteous cries, \nand hold up a torn hat or a filthy hand to receive \nthe penny which you throw into it. Of all the speci\xc2\xac \nmens of humanity I ever saw, these were the most mis\xc2\xac \nerable. Deformed, crippled, bleeding, they were at \nonce the most disgusting and pitiable creatures imagi\xc2\xac \nnable. Suffering and dying by the wayside, they cast \nimploring looks and utter imploring cries to every trav\xc2\xac \neler. No human heart can withstand the appeals made \nby these objects of destitution and want. But while \nmany are really needy, the great mass are undeserving \nof charity. They are strong men and women, who \nmight work if they were disposed, but prefer to prac\xc2\xac \ntice imposition upon the stranger. They perform all \n\n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\n297 \n\n\nkinds of tricks to secure a little money, and are ready \nto steal at the most favorable opportunity. We saw \nblind beggars who could see if a piece of foreign money \nwas given them; cripples who could run faster than \nour horses while there remained the least chance of \ntheir receiving a gift; dumb men who could curse you \nin two or three different languages if you refused to \naid them. \n\nEscaping from these, and riding by the palaces of the \nking, the theaters, and several noble buildings, we leave \nthe city by the grotto of Posilippo, a road dug out \nunder a mountain, half a mile long, one hundred and \nfifty feet high, and wide enough for three carriages to \ndrive abreast. It was hewn out at an immense expense \nof time and labor, and was probably the work of slaves; \nperhaps of the early Christians, who, incurring the \ndispleasure of the pagans, were sent here to toil and \ndie on the public road. As we entered the grotto or \ntunnel, a hermit rushed out, an odd-looking, dehuman\xc2\xac \nized being, who besought charity. We gave him a \ncontemptuous look, and drove on. \n\nEmerging from the grotto, we ride through a coun\xc2\xac \ntry which bears various marks of volcanic influence. \nHills have been cast up rudely by the wayside, and \nmountains overhang which look as if they had recently \nbeen disgorged from the bowels of the earth. The \nruins of houses which have been shaken down by \neruptions appear along the way, broken aqueducts and \nbaths, and all the evidences of spoiled art and ruined \nluxury. On the side of one of these volcanic hills we \nsaw at work, hewing stone, a party of convicts, clad in \nthin blue clothes, with a chain passing from the waist \nto the foot. These convicts are not obliged to work. \nThey receive pay for what they do \xe2\x80\x94 five or six cents \n\n38 \n\n\n298 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\na day. Those who are laborious and diligent are re\xc2\xac \nleased, about one fourth of their time being remitted. \nThus, if a man is sentenced for twelve years, he not \nonly receives his wages, but is liberated at the expira\xc2\xac \ntion of nine years. A guard of soldiers were stationed \nover them, so as to render escape impossible. \n\nAfter an hour\xe2\x80\x99s ride, we arrived at the ancient town \nof Puteoli, where Paul tarried seven days, when he was \non his way to Pome. The old Bridge of Caligula, now \nin ruins, remains, and the pier at which Paul landed is \npointed out. The path which led to the Appian Way, \nand that famous old road itself, are visible. I seemed \nto dream, to be so near scenes and places consecrated \nby their connection with the labors and sufferings of \nthe great apostle to the Gentiles. The interest felt in \npalaces, cathedrals, and volcanoes died away when we \narrived amid the memorials of the servant of Jesus. \n\nPassing through Puteoli, we rode along the bor\xc2\xac \nders of Lake Avernus, surrounded by forests in which \nStrabo says the Cimmerians, a race of fortune-tellers, \nlived in caves never lighted by the rays of the sun. \nOn the banks is the Temple of Apollo, where iEneas \nwent to consult the sibyls and the gods ; and the forest \nbehind is that in which he found the golden branch. \nThe lake is small, its noxious gases said to be fatal \nto the respiration of birds, and its depth eighty-five \nfathoms. It is a very respectable frog pond, and is \nmore romantic in the lays of the old poets than in any \nreality. \n\nWe went down into Sibyls\xe2\x80\x99 Cave, which retreats \nfrom the shores of Averno, and enters the bowels of \nthe mountain. Leaving the glorious sunlight, the clear \nair, and the beautiful scenes of nature, we took torches \nmade of hemp, rosin, and tar, four feet long and two \n\n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\n299 \n\n\ninches square, and descended through a long, dark pas\xc2\xac \nsage, begrimed with soot and smoke, slimy and slippery, \ndamp as death, and hissing with reptiles. This long \npassage leads to the Chambers and Baths of the Sibyls, \nwhich were once dry, and beautifully decorated and \nfrescoed. By a late irruption, water has been let in to \nthe depth of about two feet. We were forced to ex\xc2\xac \nplore these chambers on the shoulders of men. Sev\xc2\xac \neral hideous, dirty, hlthy-looking old fellows had fol\xc2\xac \nlowed us some miles for the purpose of taking us in; \nand when w r e had reached the water, we mounted each \nthe shoulders of a cicerone, and on we went. The \nscene w r as a most laughable one, and, withal, somewhat \nserious. The waters splash, as the men pass along; \nthe torches gleam and cast out an unearthly light; our \nhuman horses keep up an incessant sound, half way \nbetween a snort and a groan; and the caverns below \nus seem to echo with the music of the sibyls, whose \nbeautiful forms have departed, but whose spirit voices \nseem to linger in their ancient halls. I do not wonder \nthat one traveler who went in in this way began to \n\xe2\x80\x9c imagine that he was sitting astride the devil\xe2\x80\x99s neck, \nand being borne along the road to the infernal world.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOur friends at home would have enjoyed the spectacle, \ncould they have stood in the Sibyls\xe2\x80\x99 Chamber, and seen \n\nus enter\xe2\x80\x94Mr.-dragging his legs in the water, \n\nand Rev. Dr. M. striking his nice white hat against the \nsmutty ceiling, until it was nearer black than white, \neach holding on to the grizzly hair of the animal we \nrode, expecting every moment he would stumble and \npitch us we knew not where. \n\nHaving reached the chambers, we reposed a while \nwhere once Nero came to see the sibyls; then remount\xc2\xac \ning, we soon found ourselves again in the world, safe \n\n\n\n300 , \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nescaped from Tartarus, well satisfied with our ride and \nwith what we had seen. The men who had run after \nour carriage, and had carried us down into the cave, \ndemanded only a few cents for their labor, which we \ncheerfully paid, though I freely confess that riding such \nhorses is not to my taste. \n\nLeaving the lake, we passed on to the Baths of Nero, \nwhere a rude old man, stripping off his clothes, de\xc2\xac \nscended ninety feet, by a winding passage, and came \nback covered with -perspiration, and fainting with ex\xc2\xac \nhaustion, bringing a bucket of boiling water from the \nboiling springs, in which we cooked an egg. We could \nnot enter ten feet without being driven back by the \nsulphureous heat which is emitted by the volcanic ele\xc2\xac \nments below. Two or three rooms remain, and exhibit \ntraces of former beauty and art; but the whole grotto \nnow bears more of the appearance of being the cave of \nsome frightful hag, who lives upon the fears of others, \nthan the royal baths of a great emperor. \n\nMoving on, we came in succession to the Temples of \nDiana, Mercury, and Venus, which are now in ruins, \nand have few traces of their former magnificence. The \ncapille de Venus, or \xe2\x80\x9cVenus hair,\xe2\x80\x9d is creeping over \nthe broken walls, and covers the spot where once stood \nthe altar. The green lizard and the asp have made \ntheir abodes here, and the hollow echo of the past \ncomes back from the walls and broken domes. We \nreach next the Baths of Venus, which retain more of \ntheir original beauty, and which, with the spacious \nanterooms, are covered with bass-reliefs and frescoes \nof much perfection. \n\nWe next reach the immense reservoir connected with \nthe Julian Port. This vast relic of Eoman times was \nbuilt to supply fresh water to the fleet which anchored \n\n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\n301 \n\n\nin the bay. The water was brought from the higher \nland, and here reserved until it should be needed. The \narches of the reservoir are supported on forty-six im\xc2\xac \nmense pillars, and the whole structure must have re\xc2\xac \nquired a great amount of labor and time. In this \nvicinity are the Elysian Fields and the River Styx, \nimmortalized by Virgil, and so often sighed over by \nromantic young men, when they begin to read the \nclassics. \n\nNero\'s prisons are also near. They look like the \nbloody monster \xe2\x80\x94 fit memorials of his fiendish cru\xc2\xac \nelty. His baths, hot and cold, were not enough to \nwash his stains away. We reach the entrance of the \nprisons, or Hundred Chambers, as they are called, by a \nlong, narrow street, in which half-naked men and wo\xc2\xac \nmen are at work, play, or asleep, lying down on the \nside of the way, with pigs and dogs, defying you, in \nmany cases, to tell which is man and which is beast. \nThe prisons are under the spot where once stood the \nvilla in which lived Julius Caesar, and in which Nero \nkilled his mother, like the fiend he was. It does not \nremain to perpetuate the memory of the wrongs com\xc2\xac \nmitted in it; they are recorded on the pages of history. \nWe entered several of the chambers. They are about \neight feet wide and twenty long. A passage leads from \nthese prisons, which are wholly under ground, to the \nsea, through which prisoners were taken, and cast \ndown, mangled and torn, into the waters beneath. \nThe very walls seem to sweat blood, as we passed from \ndungeon to dungeon, unadorned by a window or inlet \nfor the fresh air, and lighted only by the flambeau car\xc2\xac \nried by our guide. Criminals and Christians, confined \nfor vices and virtues, have died here, and these walls \nhave echoed with curses and prayers. \n\nz \n\n\n802 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nAs we came down the hill, we stopped a while to \nrest at the door of a tolerable-looking house, and in a \nmoment were surrounded with women and young girls. \nI counted twenty-one at a time, varying from ten to \nninety years of age. Their object was to beg, which \nthey did in an unknown tongue. One or two young \ngirls went away and brought us simple bouquets of \nflowers, which they wished us to purchase. These bou\xc2\xac \nquets were of the rudest character, and some of them \nas unsavory as mullen. When we left, two young \ncreatures ran by the side of our carriage nearly two \nmiles. One of them was begging for my handkerchief, \nwhich I certainly should have thrown to her, had I not \nbeen so far from another, and the day was so hot, that \nsuch an article was indispensable. She was a dark- \ncomplexioned, black-haired creature, with eyes fit for a \nprincess, which sparkled as she ran along the road, \ncasting up the dirt with her bare feet, and tossing back \nthe hair from an intellectual forehead. \n\nOn returning towards Naples, we visited several \nruins at Pozzuoli \xe2\x80\x94 the ruined Temple of Justice, with \nits marble pavements, its broken columns, forty-two of \nwhich were from the land of mythology, the large basin \nyet remaining in which the blood of human victims was \ncaught, its arena and its marble seats almost as perfect \nas ever. The Temple of Neptune, a vast edifice, gives \none a good idea of an old Roman amphitheater. Its \nform is oval, and the walls rise ninety feet from the \nlevel of the arena. Seats are all around, rising one \nabove another to the top of the wall; and a canvas \nwas stretched over the whole, for a roof to protect from \nthe sun. Twelve thousand persons could be seated \nwith ease, and perhaps many more. In vaults below \nwere cells and dungeons, in which men and beasts \n\n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\n303 \n\n\nwere kept preparatory to the gladiatorial exhibitions. \nOn a slide, or elevator, they were lifted up into the \narena, and man and beast stood face to face. Many a \nChristian has been torn to pieces on this pavement, \nwhile his death cries have furnished amusement for \nthe degraded people. The very cell in which St. Jan\xc2\xac \nuary, the idol of the people, was chained, is pointed \nout, and the pillar, now fallen, is shown us. Every \ncell has some tale of horror to unfold, and every pillar \nyet seems to groan beneath the silent inscriptions \nwhich are upon it. \n\nLeaving old temples, all in ruins, of the description \nof which you may already be weary, we come to Lake \nAgnano, a sheet of water about three miles in circum\xc2\xac \nference, situated near Pozzuoli. The lake is in the \nbed of an extinct and settled volcano, and the waters \nare very deep. At every eruption of Vesuvius, these \nwaters rise and fall, showing a connection with the \nawful doings of that volcano, though it is between \ntwenty and thirty miles distant. \n\nOn the shores of the lake are several grottoes, which \nare objects of considerable curiosity. One, the Cavern \nof Charon, now the \xe2\x80\x9c Dog Grotto,\xe2\x80\x9d 1 derives its name \nfrom the fact that dogs are here made the subject of a \ncurious experiment. In this cave, a vapor rises from \nthe ground which is fatal to life. A torch brought \ninto contact with it is immediately extinguished, and a \ndog bound and thrown upon the ground will die in two \nminutes. The dog that was put in on the occasion of \nour visit remained about eighty seconds, and was, at the \nexpiration, unable to rise. A pistol, loaded in the best \nmanner, would not discharge itself when held near the \n\n\n1 Grotta del Cane. \n\n\n304 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nNear by is an \xe2\x80\x9c Ammonia Grotto,\xe2\x80\x9d or a cave in which \nammonia gas rises from the ground. The earth is cold, \nand yet an intense heat arises from it; and, though no \ndraught of wind can be perceived, one feels all the heat \nand gentle influence which are derived while standing \nover the register of a large furnace. The effect of in\xc2\xac \nhaling the gas is highly exhilarating, and one would \nsoon become intoxicated, as with opium or ether. \nWhen I came out, my head felt dizzy, my feet light, \nand for a moment they seemed debating whether they \nshould not exchange places with each other; but the \nfresh air soon decided in favor of the old way. \n\nOn the shores of this lake are sulphur baths, where \none needs no fire to keep him warm. The apartments \nare small, rude, and covered with incrustations and saline \ndeposits, and are formed by the sulphureous gases, and \nit was not difficult to imagine how soon a confinement \nin one of them would scorch the rheumatism out of a \npoor man\xe2\x80\x99s limbs, or sweat the palsy out of his painless \nsides. The idea, however, of \xe2\x80\x9ctaking a sweat\xe2\x80\x9d in one \nof the drawing-rooms of Mount Vesuvius is somewhat \nnovel. The region all around is volcanic; and, in \nmany places, the earth is so warm, that, a few inches \nbelow the surface, the hand cannot be laid upon it. \nThere are also old Roman remains, which yet linger \nto tell the story of the past. \n\nAs we rode into Naples, after a visit to Agnano, we \nsaw a novel and characteristic exhibition of the Catho\xc2\xac \nlic religion. Just on the outskirts of the city, a wooden \ncross, with a representation of our Savior hanging upon \nit, was set up. The whole figure was exceedingly rude \nand uncomely, and looked like any thing but the Savior \nof the world. A priest was on a little elevated plat\xc2\xac \nform beside it, declaiming vehemently, and frequently \n\n\nRAMBLES AROUND NAPLES. \n\n\n305 \n\n\npointing, with a look of rage or sorrow, to the crucifix. \nAs his speech went on, two monkish-looking creatures \nwere handing round the plate for the carlines. The \npeople were uncovered, and the rude rabble who swept \nby took off their hats, and murmured some word of \napprobation, as they passed. The two monks stopped \nall who were willing to contribute; and if begging is \nany evidence of devotion, they were eminently pious. \nWith long faces, they moved about among the crowd, \nthrusting the plate into the eyes of every one who \nlooked as if he was the possessor of a single piece of \nmoney, uttering a sort of whine, which evidently was \nmeant for an expression of religious fervency. Our \nguide uncovered his head as we passed, but told us, \nwhen we were out of the way, that he had no faith in \nthat scene, though he acknowledged himself to be a \ndevout Catholic. \n\n39 z* \n\n\n306 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXIV. \n\nTHE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. \n\nWhen Sabbath dawned upon us in Naples, the ques\xc2\xac \ntion arose, \xe2\x80\x9c What shall we do, and where shall we \ngo ? \xe2\x80\x9d and, after a consultation, we concluded to spend \nthe day in visiting the churches and cemeteries \xe2\x80\x94 about \nas good use as we could make of the Lord\xe2\x80\x99s day in \nsuch a city. The churches here are finer than those \nwe saw in Rome, with a few exceptions. They are \nspacious and splendid, filled with costly ornaments, and \nglittering with the wealth of ages. The effect, as we \nentered the Church of the Jesuits, was almost overpow\xc2\xac \nering. On an altar near the door was stretched a wax \nfigure, which was laid out in lifelike resemblance of \nthe Savior. The head was covered with thorns; the \nblood was oozing from the side; and around, above, \nand beneath flashed out a hundred lights upon the \ndim shadows of the church. The sacrament was being \nadministered by a priest who was arrayed in most \ncostly robes. Around the altar were about tw T o hun\xc2\xac \ndred persons, who were on their knees. A golden \nplate was handed to one, who held it under his chin \nwhile the wafer was laid upon his tongue. When he \nwas sure that the article was safe, the plate was handed \nto the next person, and so on. Crowds were coming \nand going all the time, and when one priest became \nweary, another took his place. All around the church \nwere confessionals, in which were kneeling penitents \n\n\nI \n\n\nTHE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. 307 \n\nengaged in devotional exercises. I noticed here that \nno woman came to the sacrament with her head \nuncovered. If she came in with uncovered head, as \nwas frequently the case, having on no bonnet, she \nthrew her scarf or handkerchief over her head while \nkneeling at the altar. Forty-six Jesuits are said to be \nin attendance upon this church all the time. Their \ncloisters are near at hand, and they live in idleness and \ncrime. \n\nThe next church 1 we visited \xe2\x80\x94 no matter for the \nname \xe2\x80\x94 was founded by Charles of Anjou, and is one \nof the finest I saw on the continent, and .is under the \ncare of the monks, who have a convent adjoining. The \neye could turn in no direction, from the pavement be\xc2\xac \nneath to the ceiling above, without resting on marble, \nsilver, or gold. Ten thousand men could move about \nwith ease beneath the bending arches and along the \nspacious nave. It contains two pillars, of white mar\xc2\xac \nble, brought from Jerusalem by the crusaders; splen\xc2\xac \ndid tombs, in which repose the ashes of several of the \nprinces of Arragon. Behind the great altar, separated \nby a door from the church, is the chapel of the con\xc2\xac \nvent. The door is iron trellised work; and we were \nallowed to gaze through upon the nuns, who were at \ntheir devotions. They were all clad in neat, Quakerish \ndresses, and looked modest and pious. They seemed \nto be of all ages, from the pale, delicate girl of sixteen, \nto the thin, wrinkled old lady of eighty years. The \nservices in this church were very captivating. Three \nmonks were singing ; and such power in music I never \nheard before. Awe seemed to pervade the heart, as the \nstreams came echoing back from the resounding aisles, \n\n\n1 Santa Chiara. \n\n\n308 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nlike the harmony of heaven. It is only when We follow \nthese monks into the sacristy, and see them there, that \nthe delusion dies away. \n\nLeaving this splendid edifice, we entered another \nnameless chapel, 1 where we found several works of art \nwhich draw much attention from strangers. Here we \nfound the \xe2\x80\x9c Dead Christ,\xe2\x80\x9d a statue of the Savior repos\xc2\xac \ning in death after his crucifixion. At his feet lie the \nspikes, the hammer, and the thorns. Over the form is \nthrown a delicate veil, so thin and gauzelike that we \ncan seem to see the perspiration upon the body. The \nillusion is complete, and the beholder instinctively \nreaches forward to remove the covering from the face. \nThis exquisite work is as large as life, and is carved \nfrom one piece of marble. The monk who opened the \ndoors told us a monkish story, something as follows: \nAn English noble wished to purchase this piece of \nstatuary, to remove to England, and offered for it its \nweight in gold and silver, in equal proportions, but \nwas refused. \n\nIn another part of this chapel, which was originally \ndedicated to Diana of the Ephesians, is a statue of \nVice, covered with a rope network, which he is endeav\xc2\xac \noring to tear off, in the doing of which he is assisted \nby an angel. As I approached the figure, the illusion \nwas so complete, that I seemed to be able to put my \nhand beneath the network, which appeared to be sep\xc2\xac \narate from the person. A globe and some books are \nbeside the statue, all of which are carved from one \npiece of marble. On the pages of the open book was \nthe following appropriate inscription \xe2\x80\x94 Nahum i. 13: \n\xe2\x80\x9c For now will I break his yoke from off thee, and \n\n\n1 Santa Severn. \n\n\nTHE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. \n\n\n309 \n\n\nwill burst thy bonds in sunder,\xe2\x80\x9d with others from the \nBible and from the Apocrypha. \n\nOpposite the figure of Vice stands Virtue, as deli\xc2\xac \ncately carved, but the design is not so clear and striking \nas its opposite. Behind the altar is a piece of statuary \nrepresenting Christ giving sight to the blind. It is of \none piece of marble, and is fifteen feet high and eight \nfeet wide, and is an object of study and admiration to \nthe Christian and artist. \n\nHurrying out of this chapel, we went into a church \nwhich had once been used as a pagan temple, and \naround which yet lingered the memorials of paganism. \nThe altar was covered with vases of silver flowers, six \nfeet high. Paintings and sculpture were displayed to \nadvantage. One fine painting represented the burial \nof the apostle Paul. He was dressed in ecclesiastical \nhabits, and several shaven-headed monks were putting \nhim into a splendid coffin. If Paul had known that \nhe would have fallen into the hands of monks after his \ndeath, I doubt whether he would have said, \xe2\x80\x9c To die \nis gain.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWe next came to an edifice which our guide called \nthe Church of the Black Prince; and, before I came \nout, I thought he was correct. A monk met us at the \ndoor, and took us around among the bowing worship\xc2\xac \ners, to show us the pictures and statues. He made \nmore noise and talked louder than his brother priest \nwho was at the altar. We followed him, clattering \nover the marble pavement, stepping over the legs of \nthe kneeling penitents, clearing as well as we could the \nrich dresses of the ladies, and behaving as well as we \ncould under the circumstances. We went into the \nsacristy, behind the altar, where is an ivory crucifix six \nfeet high and one foot wide, several fine paintings by \n\n\n310 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe old masters, and boxes and drawers for the robes of \nthe priests. As well prepared as I was for any display \nof duplicity on the part of the priests, I was surprised \nat the want of gravity and decorum of these men, \nwhen, as their work was done, they came into the sac\xc2\xac \nristy to exchange their gewgaw garments for the robes \nof the monks. The whole appearance of things in \nthis church was bad. Vice seemed to sit throned in \npriestly robes; the church was a playground; the \npriests actors and showmen. Pagan idolatry was out\xc2\xac \nshone by Papal pride. I saw an altar boy dipping his \nbread in a basin of consecrated water, and taking up \nthe sacred fluid, and drinking it from his hands. There \nwas not even the show of decency on the part of the \npriests, and a company of low actors in a theater dress- \nroom could not have exhibited less signs of piety. \n\nWe next went to the cathedral. This structure ap\xc2\xac \npears more modern than many others, in consequence \nof having been repaired. It was formerly a pagan \ntemple, and near the door at which we entered was an \nurn which once contained the blood shed in sacrifices. \nThis church is the center of Papal influence in Naples. \nThe principal object of interest is St. January\xe2\x80\x99s Chapel, \nwhich is a small room, separated from the nave by a \nbrass gate, which, we were told, required the labor of \ntwo men forty-five years to build it. The interior of \nthe chapel is very richly finished; the dome small, but \nvery superb. The altar is of gold and precious stones, \nand nothing but a fee will uncover it. In the sacristy \nare kept forty-six silver busts, as large as life, of St. \nAntonio, John the Baptist, and others. These busts \nbelong to other churches, and on the various feast days \nare carried out in procession. Behind a statue of St. \nJanuary is an oratory, where a golden bust of the saint \n\n\ni \n\n\nTHE CHURCHES OF NAPLES. \n\n\n311 \n\n\nand a bottle of his blood are kept. It was told us that, \nwhen St. January was killed for his love to Jesus, a wo\xc2\xac \nman caught his blood, and preserved it. A part of the \nblood was taken to Spain, and the remainder to Naples. \nThe portion brought to Naples was bottled, and, with \nthe golden bust which contains the skull of the saint, or \nsomebody else, is shut up in a silver tabernacle. The \nbust is separated from the blood; and it was told us \nthat, when the skull and the blood are brought into \ncontact, a miracle is produced. The coagulated blood \nliquefies as soon as it is brought to the bust. The \ndead skull owns the dry substance, and responds to its \nappeal. The miracle is performed three times every \nyear \xe2\x80\x94 the first eight days of May, the first eight days \nof September, and the 16th of December, which is the \nannual feast day of the saint. Our profane eyes were \nnot allowed, of course, to see this sacred blood, which \nis guarded with great care. There are two ponderous \nlocks to the tabernacle ; one key is kept by the bishop, \nand the other by the governor of Naples; and if one \nlock is picked, the other remains safe. The whole \nchapel is full of relics and statues of great worth, and \nmust have cost an immense sum of money. The gate \nalone cost about thirty thousand dollars, or thirty-two \nthousand ducats. The high altar, an immense block \nof porphyry, with cornices of silver inlaid with gold, \nand the paintings, many of which are by the famous \nDomenichino, must have been purchased at a vast \nexpense. \n\nI presume we might have seen other relics, and per\xc2\xac \nhaps witnessed some of the miracles, if we had been \nwilling to have paid the price. The Italian priests \nwill perform almost any miracle, if you will pay them \nenough to rig out the machinery. Money is the key \n\n\n312 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwhich unlocks the doors of churches, shows you the \nway into convents, makes you acquainted with priests, \nand takes you into every place of interest; and I doubt \nnot some of the monks would undertake to procure \nyou some of the veritable blood of our divine Savior \nfor a good round sum. \n\nIt is a wonder how so many men of apparent good\xc2\xac \nness and undoubted scholarship can be deceived by the \npriests and monks. Their tricks and artifices are so \nshallow, their miracles are so absurd, their pretensions \nare so preposterous, that we, who have been educated \nunder the influence of the Bible, fail to see how intelli\xc2\xac \ngent men can be so blinded. The delusion of the peo\xc2\xac \nple is a striking illustration of the influence of early \neducation and the force of long-standing usages and \nprecedents. Well, mind must wake up ere long. God \nspeed the day! \n\n\nCATACOMBS \xe2\x80\x94CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94TOMB OF VIRGIL. 313 \n\n\nXXV. \n\nCATACOMBS \xe2\x80\x94CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94TOMB OF VIRGIL. \n\nThe catacombs are the sepulchers of ages, and one \ntrembles as lie enters the dim and dark vestibule. \nThese catacombs are dug out under hills, through \nrocks and ledges, and extend into the country for \nmiles around. They are excavations, made at first, \nprobably, for the sand and stone which were taken \nout, and at length were converted into sepulchers, and \nfinally were the abodes of darkness to which the \nafflicted Christians fled in the times of bloody persecu\xc2\xac \ntions. The main entrance to the catacombs is reached \nby passing along through a pile of buildings used for \ncharitable purposes. On one side of the street or pas\xc2\xac \nsage is an institution for aged and indigent men, and \non the other a similar charity for orphan girls. These \nmen and girls are let out for service sometimes, but \nmore generally as mourners at funerals. They are em\xc2\xac \nployed in great numbers to weep, and wail, and groan, \nin which delightful work they succeed after a short \ncourse of instruction. On such occasions, the men are \ndressed in a peculiar uniform, consisting of a blue \ncloak and mourning hat. They carry a halberd and \na small banner, with the coat of arms or the name of \nthe deceased upon it. The girls are designed for nuns \non their becoming of sufficient age, but are often sold \nby the church to make wives for those who cannot \nsecure partners in any other way. A rich gentleman \n\n40 A A \n\n\n314 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsees and fancies one of these girls, and the church, ever \nready to line her coffers, consents to let her go for a \nconsideration, which varies according to the ability of \nthe person to pay. At the entrance of the catacombs \nis an arch, in which are ancient frescoes painted several \nhundred years ago, and representing scenes in the life \nof St. January. One of them represents his martyr\xc2\xac \ndom, and the Neapolitan woman is seen with a bowl \nin her hand, catching the blood as it falls from his \nwounds. \n\nThe catacombs are in three stories or stratums, hewn \nout of the rock, running under the whole city, and ex\xc2\xac \ntending as far as Pozzuoli. All along these arched \nsubterranean passages are niches cut in the walls, just \nlarge enough for the corpse, whether it be man or child. \nThe ceilings are adorned with mosaics and frescoes. \nSome of these are pagan and some are Christian, teach\xc2\xac \ning the lessons of several different ages. Little monu\xc2\xac \nments, with inscriptions, one to the god of gardens, are \nset up here, and they seem to speak and live as the red \nglare of the torch falls upon them. Joseph told us \nthat one of the passages had been explored twenty-nine \nmiles, which may possibly be true. These tombs, now \ndecaying, filled with bones and ashes, have melancholy \ntales to tell as the stranger goes down into them. They \nhave been used alike, in times past, for prison, sepul\xc2\xac \ncher, temple, and palace. Kings and slaves have fled \nto them; pagans and Christians, in turn, have sought \nthis refuge \xe2\x80\x94 a refuge which the boldest dare not in\xc2\xac \nvade. Here has been heard the groan of the murdered \nvictim, and anon has the song of Jehovah\xe2\x80\x99s children \nmade the very walls give back sweet music. Beneath \nthese dim arches men have bowed in hopeless despair, \nand here have they turned with love and reverence to \n\n\nCATACOMBS\xe2\x80\x94CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94TOMB OF VIRGIL. 315 \n\nthe mighty Maker of us all. It required no effort of \nimagination to bring hack old scenes; and while I stood \nin the flickering light of the torch, which, as the guide \nmoved on, now seemed to blaze out with supernatural \nbrightness, and anon to die away as if about to go out, \nI heard again the cry of the disciples as they came \nrushing on, followed by the hounds of Nero and his \nbloody minions. It became louder and more terrible as \nrank after rank of the followers of the Nazarene threw \nthemselves, covered with blood and dust, into the dens \nand caves of the earth. Down they rushed into deeper \ndarkness, where no sun could pierce the gloom. Then \nheard I, too, the wild psalm, chanted in an unknown \ntongue by those strange choristers, as they found them\xc2\xac \nselves in a place where none dare follow them. It \ncame in stronger, wilder, and more sublime strains, \nechoing along the avails, and breaking on the ears of \nthe pursuing soldiery, who thronged around the mouth \nof the passage. \n\nFrom these burial-places of the past, we pursued our \nway to the new cemetery of Naples, as near as I could \njudge in the north-east part of the city. Here a beau\xc2\xac \ntiful lot of land is laid out, with great neatness and \nregularity, for burial purposes. It is so unlike our \ncemeteries, that a description may not be uninteresting. \nIt was laid out several years ago, in the time of the \nplague, when burials in the churches and in church\xc2\xac \nyards were deemed dangerous. It is located on an \nelevation, from which is obtained a very fine view of \nVesuvius, the broad, beautiful Bay of Naples, and the \nsurrounding country. Each of the churches in the \ncity, or the most distinguished of them, has here a \nchapel designed for burials. Any person paying a \nyearly fee to the church can be buried in one of them \n\n\n316 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\nwhen he dies, and have a number of masses said for the \nrest of his soul. The chapels are small, say fifty feet \nsquare. In the center is a deep vault, and along the \nsides are burial-places. When a man dies, he is brought \nhere and buried, and a mark set up to designate his \ngrave. Men are allowed to sleep here fifteen months, \nand children seven months, when they are dug up to \nmake room for others, and their bodies cast headlong \ninto the vault beneath, where they are consumed by \nquicklime. In the walls of the chapels are a large \nnumber of niches. A wealthy person can purchase one \nof these niches, which is just large enough for the en\xc2\xac \ntrance of a coffin: this is put in, sealed up, and a mar\xc2\xac \nble slab placed over the spot, to tell whose bones are \nconcealed and plastered in there. These bodies are \nnever removed; but the exorbitant price demanded of \nthe purchaser prevents all but a limited number from \nenjoying the benefits of the place. The Catholic who \npays an annual sum to the church will also have his \nfuneral expenses borne, and forty or fifty hired mourn\xc2\xac \ners will howl around his grave, and hypocritical priests \nwill come and perform mass over him. \n\nThere are also deep vaults, capable of holding thou\xc2\xac \nsands of bodies, in which persons who do not fee the \nchurch are thrown, without burial service or priestly \nchant. The largest of these vaults has one hundred \nand eighty-three openings, and one of these is thrown \nup every two days, and all who are brought are cast \ndown, and lime thrown upon them, where they speedily \ndecompose. No mode of burial could be more terrible \nthan this. No hymn is sung, no prayer is offered, no \nservice is said; but, like a brute, the noble creation of \nGod is cast into a pit, which seems like the yawning \nmouth of hell, and there consumed. The progress of \n\n\nCATACOMBS \xe2\x80\x94 CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94 TOMB OF VIRGIL. 317 \n\ncivilization is always attended with care for the burial- \nfields of the dead; and the higher the refinement, the \nmore delicate and chaste will he the expressions of \ninterest in the remains of a perishing humanity. The \nbrutal habit of the Neapolitans, with ground enough \nto bury millions, seems to me to savor much of the \nbarbarism of the dark ages, and I turned from the pit \nwith horror. \n\nThe cemetery also contains garden lots, in which \nbodies can remain fifteen months, when they are dug \nup and thrown into the vaults. Thus multitudes in \nNaples know not where to find the bones of father or \nmother. In their grief they have no tomb over which \nto v r eep, but every idea of the dead must be terrible in \nthe extreme. The body is cast headlong into a pit, and \nis consumed by quicklime, while the soul is sent to a \npurgatory dependent upon the prayers of the priest and \nthe alms of surviving friends. I can see the Catholic \nreligion trifling with the living with some degree of \nallowance ; but the idea of such horrid mummeries over \nthe souls of the dead, w T ho are in God\xe2\x80\x99s hands, when \npenance and Popery, mass and monkery, are alike una\xc2\xac \nble to affect them, is one which is abhorrent to every \nprinciple of our nature. Twenty-five monks attend \nthis burial-place, keep it in order, and do as much work \nas one American could easily perform. They live in \nan adjoining monastery, and employ their time in say\xc2\xac \ning masses for the dead. \n\nIn another part of the city is the tomb of Virgil, \nwhich we visited one morning at sunrise. It stands \nover the entrance of the grotto of Posilippo, in a spot \nto which the ashes were removed by Augustus. We \npushed our way out of the city, up the hill, passing \nthrough an unpoetical old gate, into a garden fragrant \n\naa * \n\n\n318 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwith flowers, and shady with fig, chestnut, and palm \ntrees, to a little arch-like building about twenty feet \nlong and fifteen feet wide, over which the ilex tree, so \nloved by Virgil, casts its shadow. The garden in which \nthe tomb is w r as once a Protestant burial-field, and a \nfew of the broken tombs still remain. The ashes of \nVirgil have been removed. The urn which once stood \nin the center of this rude apartment is also gone, and \nthe old cave alone is seen, with a marble slab erect\xc2\xac \ned by a foreign prince, to tell where once the ashes \nof the poet reposed. The Catholic church can afford \nto decorate the tombs, and build marble monuments \nover the resting-places of monks and villains; but a \nname known to the world, associated with works read \nby every scholar in every land, is allowed to remain \nunhonored. And we thank them for it. A friar, with \nhis holy water and his wooden skull, at Virgil\xe2\x80\x99s tomb, \n\xe2\x80\xa2would excite the indignation of every one who had read \nthe works of Virgil. His writings are his sufficient \nmemorials, and he can afford to do without a splendid \nsarcophagus. \n\nTo life in Naples there is no harmony. The widest \nextremes meet, and wealth and poverty are strangely \nmixed together. The indolent, filthy habits of the peo\xc2\xac \nple, the wretched lazzaroni, the stupid monks, all ren\xc2\xac \nder the place disgusting and odious. That it is beauti\xc2\xac \nfully located, that it has fine palaces, that it is richly \nadorned by every work of art, all admit; but all these \nwill not counterbalance industry, temperance, frugality, \ndomestic government, cleanliness, and happiness. The \nsoft Italian skies, and the highly-finished Italian pal\xc2\xac \naces, are worth but little, under such a government, to \npeople with such habits. The cold, stormy climate of \nNew England, whose bleak hills are snow-covered and \n\n\nCATACOMBS \xe2\x80\x94 CEMETERY \xe2\x80\x94 TOMB OF VIRGIL. 319 \n\nnot vine-clad, is more inviting than the voluptuous ease \nand indolent refinement of Naples. To me there is but \nlittle poetry in temples dedicated to Mercury, Venus, \nand Bacchus, now broken down and filled with ser\xc2\xac \npents and reptiles; in palaces, at the doors of which \nwomen sit in filth and wretchedness, raking out the \nmatted and tangled hair which grows upon the sense\xc2\xac \nless pates of each other; in riding on the shoulders of \ngreasy, dirty men, into the caves which, if we may be\xc2\xac \nlieve the poets, the beautiful limbs of the sibyls were \nwont to repose; in nightly assassinations and daily \ndebauches ; in the dirty feet and shaven crowns of the \nfriars; in bright-eyed daughters of Italy who do not \nknow their own mother tongue; in the streets where \nflowers and filth, fruit and folly, are seen in delightful \nkindred, and where one third of the people we meet \nremind us of the plague in pantaloons, and the small\xc2\xac \npox in the unwashed chemise of the maiden. Poets \nmay breathe their tender lays, and with professional li\xc2\xac \ncense portray Naples as one of the outposts of paradise \nitself; but to me it will be associated with a fallen, de\xc2\xac \ngraded, dishonored, enslaved, and besotted people. \n\n\n320 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXVI. \n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\nI have wandered in melancholy spots, where tears \nwere man\xe2\x80\x99s most appropriate offerings; I have seen \nthe tombs of Columbia\xe2\x80\x99s most honored dead, shaded by \nevergreens, and mourned over by the drooping branches \nof the weeping willow; I have moved amid the char\xc2\xac \nnels of those whose names yet live in our most delight\xc2\xac \nful recollections; I have crossed the ocean, and stood \nin the old Abbey of Westminster, where, amid the faded \nwreaths of poetry, the scattered laurels of ambition, \nthe broken scepters of royalty, Death sits, a tyrant on \nthe throne of skulls, sporting with the plaything man ; \nhut nowhere have deeper streams of mournful thoughts \npoured into the mind, than when listening to the elo\xc2\xac \nquent teachings of the past in the deserted streets of \ndeath-smitten Pompeii. Here are a nation\xe2\x80\x99s sepulchers \n\xe2\x80\x94 the palaces of its senators and the hovels of its \nslaves, all buried in a single night, and forgotten for \ncenturies. \n\nPompeii lies north-east from Xaples, at a distance of \nabout twelve miles, and at the time of its destruction \nwas a considerable city. It was noted for the beauty \nof its dwellings and the intelligence of its people. To \nit philosophers resorted, and men of the schools made \nit their abode. It was a wealthy city, and in easy \nelegance lived its voluptuous inhabitants, the slaves of \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n321 \n\n\nsensualism and dissipation. Beyond general facts, but \nlittle of its history is known; and the remains which \nare now being exhumed are proving false many of the \nopinions of historians and antiquarians. \n\nThe city was partly shaken down by an earthquake, \nA. D. 63, but the enterprising inhabitants soon repaired \ntheir shattered tenements, and erected their theaters \nand halls of justice with more beauty and elegance \nthan before. But their work was vain. A few years \nrolled on, and a more general destruction occurred, and \nthe history of Pompeii came to a sudden and terrible \nend. A. D. 79, the surrounding hills gave evidence of \nconvulsions. The lakes and ponds in the neighborhood \nwere affected. They rose and fell; retreated from the \nshores, and anon dashed up again upon the banks. \nStrange, unearthly sounds, like the rumbling of a thou\xc2\xac \nsand chariots over hollow pavements, were heard. Now \nand then, an opening chasm, emitting sulphureous \nclouds, which hung like a sable pall over the doomed \ncity, would be seen; and at intervals a jet of flame, \nthrown into the air, would fall just without the walls, as \nif the mighty powers below were at play with the fears \nof men. The people, alarmed for the moment, soon re\xc2\xac \nturned to their pleasures. The theater was thronged, \nand the places of amusement found many attendants. \nThe busy crowd hurried to and fro, engaged in the \nvarious purposes of life. The priests of Isis and the \nfollowers of Jesus met each other in the street, and \nthe music of the temple was echoed back from the \nwalls of the theater and the gates of the forum. The \napproach of danger only sharpened the appetite and \nincreased the desire for enjoyment; and while the vol\xc2\xac \ncano was preparing to bring its artillery to bear upon \ntheir habitations, they were shouting over the wounded \n\n41 \n\n\n322 \n\n\nEUIIOPA. \n\n\ngladiator, and singing bacchanalian songs in the tem\xc2\xac \nples of their divinities. \n\nBut at length the hour came; and from the summit \nof the mountain flashed terrific lightnings, forked and \nfiery, and forth came a shower of ashes which darkened \nthe sun; a torrent of water came down boiling upon \nthe plains below, and a more fearful stream of molten \nmatter, which directed its course towards the villages \nand towns which yesterday resounded with shouts and \nsongs. The scene must have been one of indescribable \nand awful grandeur. That old mountain quaking and \ntrembling, and belching forth huge masses of rocks and \nscoria, which, dashing against each other in the air, \nscattered into fragments, and, falling upon the beauti\xc2\xac \nful villas in the neighborhood, set them on fire; the \nstreams of boiling water and sparkling cinders, min\xc2\xac \ngling and falling heavily upon the house tops and in the \nstreets; the changing character of the whole scene, \nfrom lurid brightness now to dense and dismal dark\xc2\xac \nness then; the long, hurried procession of slaves, with \ntorches and treasures, hastening with their masters down \nto the sea; houses reeling and falling, crushing to pieces \nthe fugitive in his wild flight; nobles and beggars alike \nasking for aid in vain; the wild outcries of the follow\xc2\xac \ners of Jesus, who imagined that the day of doom had \ncome, and were uttering notes of warning; the pillage \nof houses vacated by their owners, by men who were \n\n. \n\nunterrified by the convulsion of the world; and all the \nfearful phenomena of nature which that day were \nwitnessed by the flying sensualists of Pompeii, \xe2\x80\x94 must \nhave thrown over the whole an aspect of unutterable \nterror, equaled by nothing in the history of the world \nsince the flood and the conflagration of Sodom. \n\nA true and accurate narrative of the burial of the \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEH. \n\n\n323 \n\n\ntwo cities has been given by the younger Pliny, in a \nseries of letters to a friend. They were written in \nanswer to certain questions which were put to him in \nrelation to the death of his uncle, Pliny the elder, and \nportray the scene to our minds with great distinctness \nand probable truthfulness. In one of these letters, he \nsays, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n66 Your request that I would send you an account of \nmy uncle\xe2\x80\x99s death, in order to transmit a more exact \nrelation of it to posterity, deserves my acknowledg\xc2\xac \nments ; for, if this accident shall be celebrated by your \npen, the glory of it, I am well assured, will be rendered \nforever illustrious. And notwithstanding he perished \nh J a misfortune which, as it involved at the same time \na most beautiful country in ruins, and destroyed so \nmany populous cities, seems to promise him an ever\xc2\xac \nlasting remembrance, \xe2\x80\x94 notwithstanding he has him\xc2\xac \nself composed many and lasting works, \xe2\x80\x94 yet I am per\xc2\xac \nsuaded the mentioning of him in your immortal works \nwill greatly contribute to eternalize his name. Happy I \nesteem those to be whom Providence has distinguished \nwith the abilities either of doing such actions as are \nworthy of being related, or of relating them in a man\xc2\xac \nner worthy of being read; but doubly happy are they \nwho are blessed with both these uncommon talents, in \nthe number of which my uncle, as his own writings \nand your history will evidently prove, may justly be \nranked. It is with extreme willingness, therefore, I exe\xc2\xac \ncute your commands, and should, indeed, have claimed \nthe task if you had not enjoined it. He was, at that \ntime, with the fleet under his command, at Misenum. \nOn the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, \nmy mother desired him to observe a cloud, which \nappeared of a very unusual size and shape. He had \n\n\ni \n\n\n324 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\njust returned from taking the benefit of the sun, and, \nafter bathing himself in cold water, and taking a slight \nrepast, was retired to his study. He immediately arose, \nand went out upon an eminence, from whence he might \nmore distinctly view this very uncommon appearance. \nIt was not, at that distance, discernible from what \nmountain this cloud issued, but it was found afterwards \nto ascend from Mount Vesuvius. I cannot give a more \nexact description of its figure than by resembling it to \nthat of a pine tree; for it shot up to a great hight in \n\nr x* \n\nthe form of a trunk, which extended itself at the top \ninto a sort of branches, occasioned, I imagine, either \nby a sudden gust of air that impelled it, the force of \nwhich decreased as it advanced upwards, or the cloud \nitself, being pressed back again by its own weight, ex\xc2\xac \npanded in this manner. It appeared sometimes bright \nand sometimes dark and spotted, as it was more or less \nimpregnated with earth and cinders. This extraordi\xc2\xac \nnary phenomenon excited my uncle\xe2\x80\x99s philosophical cu\xc2\xac \nriosity to take a nearer view of it. He ordered a light \nvessel to be got ready, and gave me the liberty, if I \nthought proper, to attend him. I rather chose to con\xc2\xac \ntinue my studies; for, as it happened, he had given me \nan employment of that kind. As he was coming out \nof the house, he received a note from Bectina, the wife \nof Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the immi- \nment danger which threatened her; for, her villa being \nsituated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was no \nway to escape but by sea. She earnestly entreated him, \ntherefore, to come to her assistance. He accordingly \nchanged his first design, and what he began with a \nphilosophical he pursued with an heroieal turn of \nmind. He ordered the galleys to put to sea, and went \nhimself on board, with an intention of assisting not \n\n\n\\n\\ 1.11 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n325 \n\n\nonly Eectina, but several others; for the villas stand \nextremely thick upon that beautiful coast. When \nhastening to the place from whence others fled with \nthe utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the \npoint of danger, and with so much calmness and pres\xc2\xac \nence of mind, as to be able to make and dictate his \nobservations upon the motion and figure of that dread\xc2\xac \nful scene. He was now so nigh the mountain, that the \ncinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he \napproached, fell into the ships, together with pumice \nstones, and black pieces of burning rock. They were \nlikewise in danger not only of being aground by the \nsudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast frag\xc2\xac \nments which rolled down from the mountain, and ob\xc2\xac \nstructed all the shore. Here he stopped to consider \nwhether he should return again, to which the pilot \nadvising him, \xe2\x80\x98 Fortune,\xe2\x80\x99 said he, c befriends the brave ; \ncarry me to Pomponianus.\xe2\x80\x99 Pomponianus was then at \nStabice, separated by a gulf which the sea, after several \ninsensible windings, forms upon the shore. He had \nalready sent his baggage on board; for, though he was \nnot at that time in actual danger, yet, being within the \nview of it, and, indeed, extremely near if it should in \nthe least increase, he was determined to put to sea as \nsoon as the wind should change. It was favorable, \nhowever, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom \nhe found in the greatest consternation. He embraced \nhim with tenderness, encouraging and exhorting him \nto keep up his spirits; and, the more to dissipate his \nfears, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths \nto be got ready, when, after having bathed, he sat down \nto supper with great cheerfulness, or, at least, (what is \nequally heroic,) with all the appearance of it. In the \nmean while, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius flamed \n\nBB \n\n\n326 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\nout in several places with much violence, which the \ndarkness of the night contributed to render still more \nvisible and dreadful. But my uncle, in order to soothe \nthe apprehensions of his friend, assured him it was only \nthe burning of the villages which the country people \nhad abandoned to the flames. After this, he retired to \nrest; and it is most certain he was so little discomposed \nas to fall into a deep sleep; for, being pretty fat, and \nbreathing hard, those who attended without actually \nheard him snore. The court which led to his apart\xc2\xac \nment being now almost filled with stones and ashes, if \nhe had continued there any time longer it would have \nbeen impossible for him to have made his way out. It \nw r as thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got \nup, and went to Pomponianus and the rest of his com\xc2\xac \npany, who were not unconcerned enough to think of \ngoing to bed. They consulted together whether it \nwould be most prudent to trust to the houses, which \nnow shook from side to side with frequent and violent \nconcussions, or fly to the open fields, where the cal\xc2\xac \ncined stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell \nin large showers, and threatened destruction. In this \ndistress, they resolved for the fields, as the less danger\xc2\xac \nous situation of the two \xe2\x80\x94 a resolution which, while \nthe rest of the company were hurried into by their \nfears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate \nconsideration. They went out, then, having pillows \ntied upon their heads with napkins ; and this was their \nwhole defence against the storm of stones that fell \naround them. It was now day every where else; but \nthere a deeper darkness prevailed than in the most ob\xc2\xac \nscure night, which, however, was in some degree dissi\xc2\xac \npated by torches and other lights of various kinds. \nThey thought proper to go down farther upon the \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n327 \n\n\nshore, to observe if they might safely put out to sea; \nbut they found the waves still run extremely high and \nboisterous. There my uncle, having drank a draught \nor two of cold water, threw himself down upon a cloth \nwhich was laid for him, when immediately the flames, \nand a strong smell of sulphur, which was the forerunner \nof them, dispersed the rest of the company, and obliged \nhim to rise. He raised himself up, with the assistance \nof two of his servants, and instantly fell down dead \xe2\x80\x94 \nsuffocated, as I conjecture, by some gross and noxious \nvapor, having always had weak lungs, and being fre\xc2\xac \nquently subject to a difficulty of breathing. As soon \nas it was light again, which was not till the third day \nafter this melancholy accident, his body was found en\xc2\xac \ntire, and without any marks of violence upon it, exactly \nin the same posture that he fell, and looking more like \na man asleep than dead. During all this time, my \n\nmother and I, who were at Misenum- But as this \n\nhas no connection with your history, so your inquiry \nwent no farther than concerning my uncle\xe2\x80\x99s death: \nwith that, therefore, I will put an end to my letter. \nSuffer me only to add, that I have faithfully related to \nyou what I was either an eye-witness of myself, or \nreceived immediately after the accident happened, and \nbefore there was time to vary the truth. You will \nchoose out of this narrative such circumstances as shall \nbe most suitable to your purpose; for there is a great \ndifference between what is proper for a letter and a \nhistory, between writing to a friend and writing to the \npublic.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn answer to another letter from Tacitus, requesting \nstill further details of the terrible catastrophe which \ndestroyed so many human lives, and buried so many \ncities in the ruins, Pliny writes again, as follows: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n328 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The letter I wrote you concerning the death of my \nuncle has roused, it seems, your curiosity to know what \nterrors and dangers surrounded me during that dread\xc2\xac \nful scene. \n\n1 Though my shocked soul recoils, my tongue shall tell.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nMy uncle having left us, I pursued the studies which \nprevented my going with him until it was time to \nbathe; after which I went to supper, and from thence \nto bed. There had been, for many days before, some \nshocks of an earthquake, which the less surprised us \nas they are extremely frequent in Campania; but they \nwere so particularly violent that night, that they not \nonly shook every thing about us, but seemed, indeed, \nto threaten total destruction. My mother flew to my \nchamber, where she found me rising in order to awaken \nher. We went out into a small court, belonging to the \nhouse, which separated the sea from the buildings. As \nI was, at that time, but eighteen years of age, I knew \nnot whether I should call my behavior, in this danger\xc2\xac \nous juncture, rashness or courage; but I took up Livy, \nand amused myself with turning over that author. \nThough it was now morning, the light was exceedingly \nfaint and languid; the buildings all around us tot\xc2\xac \ntered ; and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as \nthe place was narrow and confined, there was no re\xc2\xac \nmaining there without great and certain danger. We \ntherefore resolved to move out of town. The people \nfollowed us in the utmost consternation, and as, to a \nmind distracted with terror, every suggestion seems \nmore prudent than its own, pressed in great crowds \naround us on our way out. Being got at a convenient \ndistance from, the houses, we stood still, in the midst \nof a most dangerous and dreadful scene. The chariots \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n329 \n\n\nwhich we had ordered to he drawn out were so agitated \nbackward and forward, though upon the most level \nground, that we could not keep them steady, even by \nsupporting them with large stones. The sea seemed to \nroll back upon itself, and to be driven from its banks \nby the convulsive motion of the earth. It is certain, \nat least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and \nseveral sea animals were left upon it. On the other \nside, a black and dreadful cloud, bursting with an ig\xc2\xac \nneous, serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, \nresembling flashes of lightning, but much larger. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c My mother strongly conjured me to make my es\xc2\xac \ncape at any rate, which, as I was young, I might easily \ndo. As for herself, she said, her age and corpulency \nrendered all attempts of that sort impossible. How\xc2\xac \never, she would willingly meet death if she could have \nthe satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion \nof mine. But I absolutely refused to leave her; and, \ntaking her by the hand, I led her on. She complied \nwith great reluctance, and not without many reproach\xc2\xac \nes to herself for retarding my flight. \xe2\x80\xa2 The ashes now \nbegan to fall upon us, though in no great quantities. \nI turned my head, and observed behind us a thick \nsmoke, which came rolling after us like a torrent. I \nproposed, while we yet had any light, to turn out of \nthe high road, lest we should be pressed to death in \nthe dark by the crowd that followed us. We had \nscarce stepped out of the path, when darkness over\xc2\xac \nspread us \xe2\x80\x94 not like that of a cloudy night, or when \nthere is no moon, but of a room when it is shut up, \nand all the lights extinct. Nothing there was to be \nheard but the shrieks of women, the screams of chil\xc2\xac \ndren, and the cries of men; some calling for their \nchildren, some for their parents, others for their hus- \n\n42 bb * \n\n\n330 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nhands, and only distinguishing each other by their \nvoices; one lamenting his own fate, another that of \nhis family; some wishing to die from the very fear of \ndying; some lifting their hands to the gods; but the \ngreater part imagining that the last and eternal night \nwas come, which was to destroy the gods and the world \ntogether. At length, a glimmering light appeared, \nwhich we imagined to be the forerunner of an unusual \nburst of flame, as in truth it was then the return of \nday. However, the fire fell at a distance from us. \nThen again we were enveloped in darkness, and a \n\xe2\x80\xa2heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which we were \nobliged, every now and then, to shake off; otherwise \nwe should have been crushed and buried in the heap. \nAt last, this dreadful darkness was dissipated by de\xc2\xac \ngrees, like a cloud of smoke; the real day returned, \nand even the sun appeared, though very faintly, and as \nwhen an eclipse is coming on. Every object which \npresented itself to our eyes seemed changed, being cov\xc2\xac \nered over with snow. We returned to Misenum, where \nwe refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed \nan anxious night, between hope and fear, though, in\xc2\xac \ndeed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the \nearthquake still continued; while several enthusiastic \npeople ran up and down, hightening the calamity by \nterrible predictions. However, my mother and I, not\xc2\xac \nwithstanding the danger we had passed, and which still \nthreatened us, had not thought of leaving the place till \nwe should receive some intelligence from my uncle.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe first traces of the buried cities were discovered \nin 1738, by Charles, King of Spain, who conquered \nNaples, and made Portici, a town which is built upon \nthe ruins of Herculaneum, his residence. In sinking a \nwell, three statues were found, which led to explorations, \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n331 \n\n\nand resulted in the discovery of the long-buried city. \nIn 1750, Pompeii was discovered, after having remained \nconcealed from view\xe2\x80\x99 nearly seventeen centuries. Her\xc2\xac \nculaneum was buried by the lava storm, which poured \nalong the streets, deluging the houses, consuming the \nverdure, and overwhelming every sign of life and \nbeauty. \' Owing to the fact that this city was destroyed \nby lava, but few excavations have been made. The \nwork is so slow and tedious, and requires so much la\xc2\xac \nbor and expense, that but little has yet been done. A \ngoodly town is also built upon the spot, and the habita\xc2\xac \ntions of the living rise upon the tombs of the dead. \n\nWith lighted torches, we went down the rocky path\xc2\xac \nway into an old theater, which has been partially ex\xc2\xac \nhumed, and which still shows us the magnificent pro\xc2\xac \nportions and splendid decorations of this temple of \npleasure. Beautiful houses have also been discovered, \nin which works of art in a state of wonderful preser\xc2\xac \nvation have been found, and brought forth from their \nrocky sepulchers to become the study of the antiqua\xc2\xac \nrian, and the object of curiosity and amusement to the \ntraveler. The most important discovery made in Her\xc2\xac \nculaneum was sixteen hundred and ninety-six papyrus \nrolls, which were brought to light about a century ago. \nThey are covered with inscriptions almost unintelligible \nas yet, but which may in future furnish important his\xc2\xac \ntorical information to the scholar. The rolls are so \ncharred, that thus far all attempts to unroll them have \nbeen nearly or quite in vain, only a small number of \nthem being legible after the process is completed. 1 Some \nof the most noted scholars of modern times have been \nemployed to interpret these literary remains, but with \n\n1 The authors of these works are Phanas, Colotes, Polystratus, and \nEpicurius, Philodemos, Demetrius, others. \n\n\n332 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nno success that corresponds with the time, labor, and \nexpense of the undertaking. All future excavations \nmade here will be slow and tedious, and meet with \nevery obstacle from the inhabitants of Portici, who are \nnaturally averse to having the town undermined, and \nits foundations hewn away. What lies beneath, none \ncan tell; what temples, what theaters, what \'exquisite \nworks of art, what noble designs, what buried treas\xc2\xac \nures, must long remain unknown. The work of de\xc2\xac \nstruction was not completed by one eruption. The \nstratified crustation shows that again and again the \nwaves of fire have rolled over that doomed city, and \nthe present quiet appearance of Vesuvius is no indica\xc2\xac \ntion that lightnings will not again burst forth from its \nfiery bosom. The excavations now made only need a \nnew earthquake to fill them up, and Portici only waits \na new eruption to sweep its palaces away. \n\nPompeii was buried by a shower of ashes, and the \nwork of exhuming it has been more speedy and suc\xc2\xac \ncessful. Thus far about forty acres have been dug \nover, and streets, dwellings, and public buildings are \nlaid open. These ashes fell so fast that many had no \nopportunity to escape, or were buried in the streets as \nthey were pursuing their way to the distant sea. Thus \nfar some three or four hundred skeletons have been \nfound, while countless others may yet be lying in those \nparts of the city which have not been disinterred. \n\nThe impression made upon my mind by a walk \nthrough the streets of Pompeii time can hardly efface. \nThe pavements, the houses, the columns, as they were \nwhen, eighteen centuries ago, the torrent fell upon \nthem, are on every side. The shops of the traders, \nwith the signs still up; the frescoes on the walls, as \nbright and lively as ever; the mosaics of stone and \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n333 \n\n\nshell, clear and distinct; the various evidences of ex\xc2\xac \nquisite taste and finish, \xe2\x80\x94 all seem like a dream, when \nwe are told that the hands that made them trembled in \ndeath before the crucifixion. The houses of Pompeii \nwere generally of one story, or if a second story was \nerected, it was used for storage, or for slaves. A large \nnumber of apartments, halls, and open courts were on \nthe ground floor, and frequently many of the rooms \nwere entirely uncovered, and designed entirely for \npleasant weather. The stranger, finding admittance \nthrough a spacious entry, ( vestibidum ,) would find him\xc2\xac \nself in an open area, paved with marble or w T rought \nin mosaics, from which, on all sides, are doors leading \nout into dining-room, ( triclinium ,) reading-room, ( tabli - \nnum ,) bed-chambers, and saloons for various purposes, \nin number and splendor corresponding with the taste \nand ability of the possessor. \n\nWe entered Pompeii by the famous Appian Way, and \npassed by the spot where the skeleton sentinel was \nfound in his armor, standing at his post, having scorned \nflight, choosing to die in discharge of duty rather than \nleave the city unguarded; and also, near by, where a \nmother and her three children were found, the position \nof the group being such as to show that the last act of \nmaternal love was an attempt to save the children at \nthe sacrifice of her own life. We were pointed first to \nthe house of Diomede, whose story poetry has woven \ninto its song, and on which fiction has founded many a \nthrilling tale. The remains of this rich man\xe2\x80\x99s resi\xc2\xac \ndence indicate that it was one of great splendor. In \nthe now deserted halls were once heard the pattering \nfeet of the dancers, and from the gay abode gleamed \nout at night the dazzling radiance of the festival. The \nhouse stands near the mountain, and was probably \n\n\n334 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nburied as soon as any other part of the city. When it \nwas disinterred, the remains gave vivid witness of the \nlast scene in the awful play. It is evident that the oc\xc2\xac \ncupants of the house, finding themselves cut off from \nflight, or supposing that the storm of fire and ashes \nwould soon abate, retired to the subterranean passages \nbelow, with lights, and food, and wine, and there per\xc2\xac \nished. Seventeen skeletons were found pent up in \nthese vaults, whither they had fled for safety and pro\xc2\xac \ntection \xe2\x80\x94 alas! their sepulchers. One of them was an \ninfant, whose little form still clung in death to the bony \nbosom of her who gave it birth. Another was the little \ndaughter of Diomede, the impression of whose rounded \nchest, made in the consolidated scoria, still is shown at \nNaples\xe2\x80\x94the flesh consumed, but the bust remains to \ntell even the texture of the dress, as well as the finished \nbeauty of the neck and arms. Two others were chil\xc2\xac \ndren, and when they were unburied, \xe2\x80\x9c some of their \nblond hair was still existent.\xe2\x80\x9d 1 In the common fear, \nthe usual distinctions of life were forgotten, and the \nmistress and her slaves were huddled together, distin\xc2\xac \nguished, seventeen centuries after, only by the jewelry \nwhich still hung upon the stiffened skeleton of the \nformer. \n\nDiomede himself evidently made an attempt to es\xc2\xac \ncape, but was not successful. He was found in his \ngarden with a bunch of keys in his hand, and near by \nhim a slave, with some silver vases and several gold and \nsilver coins. With what he could seize upon, the \nwealthy proprietor of the beautiful villa, attended by \nhis trusty slave, left his family, who dared not follow \nhim, and sought safety in flight, but only hastened his \nterrible end. His vast wealth, his humble slaves, his \n\n\n1 History of Pompeii. \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEH. \n\n\n335 \n\n\noffices and honors were not respected by the descend\xc2\xac \ning fragments of rock, some one of which probably \nstruck him to the ground, and terminated his earthly \nexistence. At a little distance from his terrified family \nhe gasped away his breath, denied the consolation of \nperishing in the arms of those who loved him. \n\nNear one of the gates in another part of the city, \ntwo men were found with their feet fast in the stocks. \nThey were condemned to sit there a few days, but an \nawful Providence turned the sentence into one far more \nterrible; and there, for seventeen centuries, they sat, ere \nfriendly hands came to undo the stocks and let them \nout. In that awful hour when the city was destroyed, \nno one remembered the imprisoned criminal. The \nburning cinders, the scorching ashes, and the boiling \nwater fell upon them, rising now above the stiffened \n\n9 \n\nlimbs, now to the armpits, now to the chin, now to the \nlips, until all was over, and their prison was their tomb. \nTheir calls for aid none would heed. Their compan\xc2\xac \nions in guilt, their jailers, their judges had alike fled \nfor safety, and none came to set them free. \n\nPassing up the street from the gate is the house of \nSallust, which was once a magnificent structure; and \nthe remains still bear many marks of beauty and finish. \nThe rich pilasters, the carved images, the pavements, \nand the walls still indicate the opulence of the former \nowner. The most remarkable thing about this and \nmany of the other houses of the city is the unusual \nrichness and freshness of the frescoes, some of which, \nthough buried many centuries, seem as distinct and \nclear as if painted yesterday. Some forgotten and lost \nart is buried here; for scarcely would a modern fresco \nlast so long under the most favorable circumstances ; \nbut these have resisted not only the streams of boiling \n\n\n336 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwater and the showers of ashes, but also the steady, \nonward march of ages, which with ceaseless tramp have \nbeen wandering over them. \n\nThe house of Pansa is traced out, well arranged, \nspacious, and splendid, even in its ruins. The door\xc2\xac \nway still remains, with its beautiful Corinthian pilas\xc2\xac \nters ; and the interior of the house, though broken and \ndefaced, has many marks of its former elegance. The \nmosaics which yet remain, when the dust is removed \nfrom them, are found to be very beautiful, and show a \ncarefulness of design and correctness of finish which \nwould do honor to the skill and taste of a later age. \n\nThe house of the tragic poet, so called, which was \nexhumed in 1824, is an object of great interest. The \nvarious apartments are full as the walls can hang with \nhistorical paintings. As the stranger crosses the mar\xc2\xac \nble threshhold and enters the hall, a chained fox dog, \nlooking fiercely and preparing to spring, causes him \nalmost to retreat in dismay. Farther on he sees various \npaintings, illustrating the customs and manners of the \nancient inhabitants. The walls seem to speak forth \neloquent words, and the longer one gazes, the more is \nhe surprised at the accuracy of the work before him, and \nits wonderful preservation amid the changes of the past. \nHere is Jupiter wedding the unwilling Thetis to a mor\xc2\xac \ntal ; the priests of Diana engaged in preparing for the \nhuman sacrifice; the great chariot race between the \ngods; the battle of the Amazons; and many others. \nMany of these paintings are being removed to Naples, \nwhere they are visited by thousands, who gaze upon \nthem with wonder. \n\nThe houses of the great and little fountains, so called \nbecause fountains are the most prominent things found \nin them, and many others of persons know r n to have \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n337 \n\n\nbeen residents at the time in Pompeii, are pointed \nout to the traveler as he pursues his way along the \ntomb-like streets. The identity of these houses may \nbe somewhat uncertain, and the paintings may not \nrepresent the scenes which they are now supposed to \ndelineate; but this does not detract from the interest, \nor lessen the melancholy pleasure we feel in every \nobject which engages the attention. \n\nThe shops are as interesting as the houses, and are \nmore definite in their character. There yet remain \nsome signs by which the different places of trade, and \nthe various warehouses, are distinguished. Statues and \npaintings, illustrative of the different articles used, \nmanufactured, or sold, and the different modes of op\xc2\xac \neration, tell you where to find the shop of the baker \nand the house of the butcher. Three bakers\xe2\x80\x99 shops \nhave been uncovered, in which are the ovens ready for \nuse, the mills in which the grain was broken, the knead\xc2\xac \ning troughs, the variqus articles used in the making of \nbread, and the bread itself, well done since it has been \nbaking so long over the fires of the volcano. The \nbread, of course, and the baker\xe2\x80\x99s articles, have been \nremoved to Naples, and are on exhibition there. The \nloaves are flat, baked in moulds, and some of them are \nstamped with the name of the maker. They vary in \nsize, from six inches to twelve inches in diameter. The \nashes in which they were burnt baked them to a crisp \nfirst, and then preserved them. \n\nThe shop of the apothecary, with all his implements, \nhas been found in a tolerable state of preservation; and \nvarious other evidences of the trade of the city were \nfound remaining when the excavations were made. \nThese all show that the arts were more perfect in Italy, \nunder the reign of pagan emperors, than under the \n\n43 cc \n\n\n338 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\noppressive enactments of the pope. The course of the \npeople has been downward for centuries. The public \nmind has been enslaved, the public conscience has been \nseared, and the public hand has been palsied. The \nsweet voice of music, and the more rude sound of the \nhammer, have alike been hushed, and the noble facul\xc2\xac \nties of the artisan have been turned to the construction \nof infernal machines, to rack humanity out of the \nchildren of God. \n\nThus far I have spoken only of private residences \nand places of trade; but these are not of most interest. \nThe public offices of Pompeii, which have already been \nuncovered, enable one to form the most correct esti\xc2\xac \nmate of the splendor of the city. The Temple of Isis, \neighty-four feet long and seventy-five feet broad, must \nhave been a structure of great magnificence. It is so \nperfect that the arrangement and construction of the \nbuilding can be discovered with ease. The private \nstaircases and the secret tabernacles, the vestures and \nthe sacred vessels, have been found. The altars on \nwhich the human sacrifice was burnt, and the oratory \nin which his bones and ashes were put, have come \ndown to our times. The Doric columns which once \nformed and supported the portico, the broken statue of \nthe divinity, and the various adornments of the temple, \nhave been examined and identified. Near the door of \nthe temple was found a skeleton of one of the priests, \ndrawn into the temple, perhaps for plunder, and perhaps \nfor devotion, at the awful hour when the city was being \noverwhelmed; the ashes, pressing against the door \nwithout, rendered escape impossible. What were his \nfeelings none can tell; but the position of the form \nshows that he struggled terribly for life. A hatchet \nwas in his hand, and on the walls, one of which he \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 339 \n\nhad beaten through, were marks where he had been \nendeavoring to cut his way out of prison, but in vain. \nThe thick wall resisted all his efforts; the ashen rain \nfell faster; and the noxious gases, sifting into his nar\xc2\xac \nrow sepulcher, soon destroyed his life. \n\nIn another place, a priest was found sitting at the \ntable eating. The remains of his dinner were before \nhim. The remnant of an egg and the limb of a fowl 1 \ntell us on what he was making his repast. Driven in \nfrom more public duties, he sat down to eat, thinking \nthe storm would soon cease. Now and then, as he \nhummed a low tune, or breathed a superstitious prayer, \nhe looked out upon the mountain that thundered, light\xc2\xac \nened, bellowed, and blazed full before him, and won\xc2\xac \ndered what new display the gods were about to make. \nAnd there he sat, the room insensibly filling up with \nthe vapor, which soon destroyed respiration; and, bow\xc2\xac \ning his head upon his hand, he fell asleep, to wake no \nmore. The temple was soon covered with the ashes, \nwhich, forcing their way into the room, made a wind\xc2\xac \ning-sheet for the victim. \n\nIn another room, a priest was found with a handful \nof coin, which he had probably stolen in the hour \nwhen fear prevailed in every breast. Stopping to count \nhis treasure, or to look for more, he stopped too long ; \nand, with the spoils in his hand, he died. Other priests \nwere found, enabling us to conjecture, from the posi\xc2\xac \ntions in which they were, that death came very unex\xc2\xac \npectedly, while they were attending to ordinary duties. \nWho they were, and how they felt, none can tell; but \nwhen ages had rolled away, they were found in the \ntemple of their idolatry, victims at an altar where they \nhad often caused human blood to flow in torrents. \n\n\n1 Cleaveland\xe2\x80\x99s Visit to Pompeii. \n\n\n340 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe stranger visits in succession the Theater, the \nPantheon, the Forum, the Senate House, the Temple \nof Justice, all of which are so far perfect, that the \npurpose for which they were used cannot be mistaken. \nThey are generally built of brick, and covered with \nmarble and stucco, and, in their day, must have been \nbeautiful in the extreme. \n\nThe Amphitheater is a vast stone building, four hun\xc2\xac \ndred and thirty feet long and three hundred and thirty- \nfive feet wide, oval in form, and used for gladiatorial \nshows. In the vaults below were kept the beasts and \nthe unfortunate men who were compelled to meet them \nin deadly combat. A skeleton found near the Amphi-. \ntheater is supposed to have been a gladiator who was \nin the arena at the time, or who was waiting for the \nstorm to subside, in order that the assembly might con\xc2\xac \nvene. But he encountered a more terrible foe than the \nlion chafed and wounded. Heath met him, and the \ngladiator fell in such a contest as he had never engaged \nin before. His weapons were powerless, his strength \nuseless ; and he lay down to die, with scarcely an \neffort to withstand the giant against whom he was \ncontending. \n\nThe streets of Pompeii are generally narrow, some \nof them having raised footwalks. They are commonly \npaved with lava, and are well worn. It seems as if \nages had roamed over them before they were buried \nup. A r ou walk them, looking up now to stores, and \nthen upon public buildings, remembering that here was \nfound a skeleton crushed under a falling column, and \nthere, under the ashes, were found a mother and her \nbabe. The appearance of the city is much as one of \nour most beautiful modern cities would be, if, on some \nterrible night, it should be covered up by a shower of \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n341 \n\n\nashes, stones, and lava, and, after a while, should be \ndug out and uncovered, and should be found with the \nroofs all broken in, the windows and doors gone or \nshattered, and the walls standing, with the stone fronts \nand fine columns, in many cases, uninjured. Some\xc2\xac \nthing as one feels when he walks though a street the \nhouses on both sides of which have been shaken down \nby a tornado, or swept by an extensive conflagration, \nleaving nothing but rocks and ruins, tenantless walls \nand crumbling remains, does he feel when pursuing \nhis way through the streets of Pompeii. He does not \nwish to. speak; the spirits of the past seem to be \naround him; he converses with forgotten ages, and \nleaves the spot saying, \xe2\x80\x9c I have seen a vision.\xe2\x80\x9d Again \nand again does he turn back, gazing first on the de\xc2\xac \nstroyer, and then on the destroyed. Fancy again re\xc2\xac \nbuilds the city, makes it active with life, and vocal with \npleasure and industry. The Temple of Isis, of Jupi\xc2\xac \nter, of Venus, the Forum, the Amphitheater, the houses \nof the noble citizens, are all as they were ere the terri\xc2\xac \nble overthrow. He looks upon the mountain, which, \nwhile he gazes, becomes agitated and troubled. Down \nits sides flow torrents of lava; from its summit, around \nwhich shadows and specters dance, pour the shower \nof ashes and the tides of boiling water which fall on \nthe city below. Consternation seizes the people. One \nloud, mighty cry \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c To the sea ! to the sea ! \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 arises \nfrom priest and poet, gladiator and senator; and out \nthey sweep, masters and slaves, leaving behind them \nhouses and lands, and, in many cases, sick and aged \nfriends. Still he gazes; but the people are gone, the \nmountain is quiet, and nought remains of Pompeii but \nforty acres of ruins, and a vast pile of sepulchers, \nwhich are covered with the dust of eighteen centuries. \n\n\n342 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe articles of household furniture, and such like, \nare deposited in the Museum at Naples, and are rich in \ntheir variety. The building itself is a magnificent \none, and its contents are all interesting as antiquities. \nWe passed through some fifteen or twenty rooms and \ngalleries, each one devoted to some particular collection \nof relics. Here are the rooms for mosaics and fres\xc2\xac \ncoes, filled with well-preserved paintings of men, birds, \nbeasts, reptiles, graces, sibyls, angels, and devils which \nhave been found in the exhumed houses; the statuary \nrooms, eloquent with the stately forms of kings, war\xc2\xac \nriors, priests, and senators; the Egyptian rooms, with \nmany a curious thing from the land of the Pharaohs, \nsuch as mummies, male and female, in the different \nstages of unrollment; the jewelry rooms, where are \nrings, pins, cameos, of all sizes, and of immense value, \ntaken from the limbs of the skeletons found in the cities \nwhich Vesuvius destroyed ; the room for cooking uten\xc2\xac \nsils, of all kinds, from a tin pot to a cook stove; and \nso on, to the end of the catalogue. Time would fail to \ndescribe the objects of interest which, after the burial \nof centuries, are here classified and arranged, to the \namazement of all who visit the place. Here is the \npetrified body of Diomede; a statue found in the Tem\xc2\xac \nple of Isis ; an alabaster jar of fragrant balsam, nearly \ntwo thousand years old, in a tolerable state of preserva\xc2\xac \ntion, as it was taken from an apothecary shop; chan\xc2\xac \ndeliers from the house of Diomede; the ancient stocks \nin which the two skeletons were found made fast; the \nskull of the sentinel, in his rusty armor, as he was \nfound at the gate, on duty still in death. Besides \nthese, we saw eggs, meat, soup, bread, fruit of various \nkinds, so wonderfully preserved, that none could mis\xc2\xac \ntake them. \n\n\nHERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. \n\n\n343 \n\n\nWhat new wonders will be discovered, what other \nskeletons will yet be found, what new revelations will \nyet be made, none can tell; but doubtless, as street \nafter street and building after building are uncovered, \nnew developments will be made, and new light thrown \nupon the dark history of the past. The articles al\xc2\xac \nready disinterred teach us the perfection to which the \narts were carried by the ancients, and show us a re\xc2\xac \nmarkable similarity in many of the household utensils \nof the past and the present times. I regard the day \nspent in visiting Pompeii, and the night previous, which \nwas employed in climbing the sides of Vesuvius, as the \nmost remarkable of my whole tour. The scenes wit\xc2\xac \nnessed are the greenest and freshest in my remembrance, \nand doubtless will be the last which will be obliterated \nfrom my memory. I seem still to walk the streets of \nPompeii, and gaze upon the relics of the past. \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n344 \n\n\nXXVII. \n\nVESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. \n\nThis mountain is thirty-six hundred and eighty feet \nhigh, and for ages has been the scene of violent convul\xc2\xac \nsions, which have increased in frequency with the lapse \nof time. The first of which we have any authentic \naccount is that which buried Herculaneum and Pom\xc2\xac \npeii. This was followed by other and less destructive \neruptions in 203, 472, 512, 685, 993, 1036, 1306, \n1631, 1730, 1766, 1779, 1794, and more frequently \nduring the present century. Some of these have been \nvery violent and destructive, and have carried terror \nthrough all the towns and cities which lie scattered \naround its base. That of 1794 shook down and over\xc2\xac \nwhelmed the houses of Torre del Greco, a town of \n\nsome twenty thousand inhabitants; that of 1822 sent \n\n% \n\nforth such showers of ashes, that they w T ere flying for \nmore than a hundred miles, and the sun was darkened \nat noonday the region round about. Almost every \nyear, the mountain shows some fearful signs and utters \nits terrific anathemas. \n\nWe set off to visit it, one night, about midnight. \nAs we took our places in the carriage, a fine balloon, \nsplendidly illuminated, ascended from a distant part of \nthe city, like a globe of fire burning over our heads \na while, and was finally lost in the clouds. It was \n\nt \n\nsent up in honor of some saint; but we enjoyed it \nas much, as we rode along, as if it were a tribute of \n\n\nVESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. 345 \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nrespect to our worthy selves. We drove as far as Por- \ntici, where we exchanged our carriage for horses. I \nhad never rode horseback an hour in my life; and the \nidea of climbing up the side of the mountain in this \nway did not please me. However, the gentle horse was \ngiven to me, and I mounted with some forebodings. \nNeither of us could boast of horses; for five such \nlooking creatures are seldom brought together ; but as \nthey were the best we could get, we started in sing^^r \nfile, Joseph leading off. We had driven out about a \nquarter of a mile, when the animal I rode, without \ncause or provocation, in as fine a street as ever was, \nplunged headlong upon the pavements, sending me \nsprawling upon the stones, to the great amusement of \nmy companions. I succeeded in getting up myself, \nwith a bruised knee and an aching head; but my \nhorse, gentle creature, waited to be helped up. We \nfinally got him upon his feet, when I persisted in ex\xc2\xac \nchanging with the guide, who was riding a nice little \ncreature, and which, after a deal of scolding, he gave \nup. I mounted, and found my condition vastly im\xc2\xac \nproved ; and we again set forth. For some time, the \nascent was gradual, the road winding and wide, passing \nalong by cultivated fields and rich orchards ; but as we \napproached the mountain, these evidences of fertility \nwere exchanged for a state of indescribable barrenness. \nThe beds and fields of lava, now spread out as if lev\xc2\xac \neled by the hand of man, and anon rising in dark red \nwalls on every side, cast a dreary gloom over the whole \nprospect; and we were glad to stop, now and then, to \ngaze down upon the beautiful spectacle below, which \nstretched itself from the foot of the mountain to the \nshores of the Bay of Naples. Still on we went, by the \nHermitage and the Observatory, up into more desolate \n\n44 \n\n\n346 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfields, where not a green spot nor a single vine appears \nto relieve the eye or detract from the desolate scene. \nThere are some places, however, on the sides of the \nmountain, where grows a vine of the grape of which a \nwine is made called Lackryma Christie or the \xe2\x80\x9c Tears of \nChrist,\xe2\x80\x9d which is said to be very delicious, and which is \nsold at a very high price. Up higher we ascended ; our \npoor beasts picked out their way amid the fallen blocks \nof lava, now leaping across ravines, and then rubbing \ntheir sides against the tom and ragged masses, until \nthe bridle became useless, and we gave ourselves up to \nthe instincts of the animals on which we rode. About \nthree hours after starting from Naples, we arrived at \nthe base of the cone, and fastened our horses in the \ncrater of an extinct volcano, or rather an old crater of \nthe still trembling and fiery Vesuvius. And now com\xc2\xac \nmenced our toils. The cone is desperately steep, and \nwe were obliged to clamber up over rough, rolling \npieces of lava, which are set in motion as the foot \ntreads upon them, and frequently three steps are taken \nbackward where one is set forward. For a while, we \ntoiled up the steep without assistance; but, at length, \nw^e called to several men trained to the work, who \nstarted with us from the base of the cone, who handed \nus leather thongs, one end of which was fastened to \ntheir own shoulders. Accustomed to climbing, they \nmoved on rapidly, and gave us much assistance. The \ntedious work lasted an hour, when we found ourselves \nat the summit, and standing on the verge of the terri\xc2\xac \nble crater, just as the sun arose in all its beauty, and \npoured a flood of golden light over the mountain and \nthe surrounding scenery. \n\nAt a distance, Vesuvius looks like a sugar loaf, with \na small flat surface at the summit, from which a cloud \n\n\nVESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. \n\n\n347 \n\n\nof smoke is continually ascending. On reaching the \napex, we find that what appears to be a level plain is a \ntunnel-shaped crater, with its yawning mouth about \none third of a mile across, and verging to a conical \npoint in the center. The morning was a very fine one \nfor our view, as we stood on the east side, and looked \nacross the crater towards the west, which was consider\xc2\xac \nably higher. The ground under our feet was hot, and \nlittle crevices were emitting steam and smoke. The \nbeds of sulphur, spread out all around, look pleasingly \nfearful; and the idea of the thin crust giving way, and \nletting the traveler down into the ever-churning vortex \nbelow, will enter the mind, and haunt it with forebod\xc2\xac \nings of no very agreeable character. As we stood there \non the verge of the crater, the deep below sent up its \nclouds of mist and steam, which now ascended towards \nheaven, and now, hovering over the mountain, complete\xc2\xac \nly enveloped us in the sulphureous gases. We gazed \ndown into the awful cavern from which have poured \nforth, in days agone, the desolating stream which has \ncarried terror to defenceless homes and stricken hearts. \nThe appearance of Vesuvius now is different from \nwhat it was when by it Pompeii was destroyed. It \nchanges its form with every passing age, and spreads \nwider the barren covering upon the surrounding coun\xc2\xac \ntry. Strabo, in his time, speaks of the volcano as ris\xc2\xac \ning behind the beautiful cities on the shores of the sea, \n\xe2\x80\x9c well cultivated, and inhabited all around except its \ntop, which was, for the most part, level, and entirely \nbarren, ashy to the view, displaying cavernous hollows \nin eineritious rocks, which look as if they had been \neaten in the fire, so that we may suppose this spot to \nhave been a volcano formerly, with burning craters, but \nextinguished for want of fuel.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n348 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nBut now, instead of being cultivated and fertile, {he \nsides of Vesuvius are desolate, and the red masses of \nlava have a cheerless appearance. Far down the moun\xc2\xac \ntain, these fields of rough, uncomely pieces of lava, \nlying as they fell when the mountain was convulsed, \nare absolutely forbidding and painful. Previous to the \ndestruction of Pompeii, that city stretched nearly up to \nthe summit of the volcanic mountain. Beautiful villas \nwere seen far up the wooded sides, looking down with \nsmiles upon the habitations below. But now the villas \nand towns seem to be retreating as far as possible from \nthe destroyer, and shrinking away from the base of the \nterrible engine of destruction. As we stood upon the \nverge, or walked around the crater, we cast stones into \nthe abyss, which, rolling down the sides, gathered great \nvelocity as they went, and tumbled into the cavern be\xc2\xac \nlow. From the time they disappeared until we ceased \nto hear them strike, and rattle, and rebound, with a \nsound as of breaking glass, we counted eighty seconds. \n\nWe took our breakfast on the summit of the moun\xc2\xac \ntain. Our guide had brought with him some eggs and \nother articles of food, which we devoured with an ex\xc2\xac \ncellent appetite. Our eggs we cooked in one of the \nlittle veins beneath our feet. With a cane, the soil \nwas opened, and the eggs put in and covered up, and, \nin a few minutes, were taken out well roasted, and \nready for our rocky table. While we were taking our \nsingular meal, our guide related to us an account of a \nvisit made by him to Vesuvius, some years since, when \nit was in a convulsed state. He acted as guide to a \nparty of scientific gentlemen, who were engaged in \nphilosophical investigations. When they arrived near \nthe crater, they found several parties who had repaired \nto the spot for the same purpose. For some days, the \n\n\nVESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. \n\n\n349 \n\n\nsigns of an eruption had been visible; and, as they \ndrew near the summit, the very earth seemed ready to \nopen and let them fall into its bowels. For a while, \nthey enjoyed the spectacle with no apprehension of \ndanger, though the experienced guide urged them to \ndescend. At length, a few puffs of smoke, as black as \nmidnight, followed by a stream of fire, with the sound \nas of breaking thunder, issued from the mountain, and \nthe lava, scoria, and ashes fell all around them. Three \nwere smitten down at once, one having the flesh stripped \nfrom one side of his body almost entirely. Then began \na disordered retreat, in which eleven persons were \nkilled. They commenced the descent upon the broken, \nrolling pieces of lava, and soon falling headlong, and \ntumbling over and over, were found below, mangled and \ndead. This tale added, if possible, to the awful emo\xc2\xac \ntions with which we gazed down into that lake of \nliquid fire, which had burnt there for ages in its ex\xc2\xac \nhaustless dominion; and as we turned our eyes down\xc2\xac \nward towards the fearful cavern, on the rim of which \nwe sat, we almost expected to see it send forth its tide \nof burning ruin upon our own heads. \n\nA traveler visiting Vesuvius when it was more agi\xc2\xac \ntated than when we saw it, says, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xc2\xabIt was a marvelous scene, that vast black valley, \nwith its lake of fire at the bottom, its cone of fire on \nthe top. The discharges were constant, and had some\xc2\xac \nthing appalling in their sound. We were almost too \nmuch excited for observation. Now we looked at the \ncone of green and gold that sank and rose, faded and \nbrightened, smoked or flamed; then at the seething \nlake; then at the strange mountain of lava; then at \nthe burning fissures that yawned around. There were \nyet some remnants of day; a gloomy twilight, at least, \n\nDD \n\n\n350 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nrevealed the jagged rim of the valley. Down we went, \ndown, down, to the very edge of the boiling caldron \nof melted lava, that rolled its huge waves towards the \nblack shore, waves whose foam and spray were fire and \nflame! An eruption evidently was preparing, and soon \nindeed took place. We missed the sight; but what \nwe saw was grand enough. A troop of heavy black \nclouds was hurrying athwart the sky, showing the stars \never and anon between, \xe2\x80\x98 like a swarm of golden bees.\xe2\x80\x99 \nThe wind roared and bellowed among the lava gullies, \nwhile the cone discharged its blocks of burning lava or \nits showers of red sparks, with a boom like that of a \nbark of artillery.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnother, giving a description of the mountain when \nin a more terrible state of convulsion, writes, \xe2\x80\x9c I was \nwatching the motions of the mountain from the mole \nof Naples, which has a full view of the volcano, and \nhad been a witness to several picturesque effects pro\xc2\xac \nduced by the reflection of the deep red fire which \nissued from the crater and mounted up in the midst of \nthe clouds, when a summer storm, called here a tropia , \ncame on suddenly, and blended its heavy watery clouds \nwith the sulphureous and mineral ones, which were \nalready, like so many other mountains, piled over the \nsummit of the volcano. At this moment, a fountain of \nfire shot up to an indescribable hight, casting so bright \na light that the smallest object could clearly be dis\xc2\xac \ncerned at any place within six miles or more of Vesu\xc2\xac \nvius. The black, stormy clouds passing over, and at \ntimes covering the whole or a part of the bright col\xc2\xac \numn of fire, at other times clearing away and giving a \nfull view of it, with the various tints produced by the \nreverberated light on the white clouds above, in con\xc2\xac \ntrast with the pale flashes of forked lightnings that \n\n\nVESUVIUS, THE DESTROYER. \n\n\n351 \n\n\nattended the tropia, formed such a scene as no power \nof art can describe.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHaving viewed this grand work of nature, we de\xc2\xac \nscended from the fiery mount. The same distance \nwhich required the laborious climbing of an hour, we \naccomplished in less than seven minutes. We went \nup over rough, rolling stones; we came down in a vein \nof ashes. Convulsed with laughter and shouting to \neach other, we descended nearly ten feet at a leap, \nsinking in the soft, flowing ashes as if it were light, \ndrifting snow, raising a cloud of dust, and setting the \nyielding body in motion all around. \n\nThe traveler looks back to the toilsome journey up \nthe sides of that quaking mountain with real delight. \nIt forms an epoch in his life, to which he looks back \nas he grows old. The view which he obtains, whether \nthe furnace is sending out its tides of lava, or whether \nit is in a quiescent state, gathering by a momentary \nslumber fearful powers for a new outbreak, he can \nnever forget. It is so unlike any other object on \nwhich he can gaze, and withal so terrible, that he \ncarries to the grave with him the acquaintance which \nhe has formed with the rumbling, churning, smoking, \nstorming pit, down into which no traveler has de\xc2\xac \nscended and returned again to tell the story of its \nfiery mines, which age after age burn on, supplied \nwith fuel from the hand of God, and fanned by revolv\xc2\xac \ning systems. \n\nAnd there they will continue to burn as age after \nage rolls away, and from time to time will flow forth \nthe tide of fire, which will pour itself down upon the \nbeautiful plains below, causing the inhabitants to fly in \nterror from the homes which they have decorated, and \n\n\n352 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe graves over which they have wept, to find shelter \nand repose in villages beyond the reach of Vesuvius \nand its waves of ruin. \n\nHow poor, weak, and mean do the noblest works of \nart appear, in contrast with the magnificent works \nof God! The glory of Westminster Abbey and St. \nPeter\xe2\x80\x99s dwindles away when compared with the ever- \nchurning volcano, and the snow-covered ridges of \nmountains. Man is dumb, art is speechless, when from \nthe open lips of nature God utters his voice. The \ncreature is lost \xe2\x80\x94 he forgets himself; while high as \nthe heavens, and broad as the universe, is God, tower\xc2\xac \ning over humanity, yet reaching down to it; above all \nart, yet encouraging it; superior to all science, yet the \nAuthor of it. Such is nature! such is God ! \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE CA3SARS. \n\n\n353 \n\n\nXXVIII. \n\nTHE ROME OF THE CiESARS. \n\nThere is yet a magic in the name of Rome, though \nits ancient glory has departed. Around that word \nclusters all that is noble and generous in republican \ngovernment, all that is illustrious in wealth and power, \nall that is captivating in human greatness, all that is \ndegrading in cruel persecutions, all that is dishonorable \nin treachery and usurpation, all that is base in duplicity \nand crime, all that is contemptible in wretchedness \nand ignorance, and all that is devilish in pagan idola\xc2\xac \ntry and Papal superstition. Pure Christianity, military \ngreatness, imperial despotism, and Popish absurdity \nhave in turn swept across the seven hills, and chased \neach other along the banks of the yellow Tiber. From \nthe death of Romulus, its founder, to this hour, Rome \nhas been the center of the world \xe2\x80\x94 the object of in\xc2\xac \nterest and expectation, and in turn alike the friend and \nfoe of man. \n\nWe arrived at Rome, on our way from Naples, just \nat nightfall \xe2\x80\x94 fit time to.enter a city whose sun is well \nnigh set. Long before we arrived, the dome of St. \nPeter\xe2\x80\x99s was seen looming up before us, like a vast bank \nresting against the sky; and as we thundered along \nthe road towards it in a lumbering diligence, conversa\xc2\xac \ntion was suspended, and each one of our company, busy \nwith his own thoughts, strained his eager eyes to dis\xc2\xac \ntinguish in the distance the Eternal City. \n\n45 dd * \n\n\n354 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Ah, little thought I, when in school I sat, \n\nA schoolboy on his bench, in early dawn, \n\nGlowing with Roman story, I should live \nTo tread the Appian .... \n\n.... or climb the Palatine, \n\nLong while the seat of Rome! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWe arrived at length, and after being defrauded by \ncustom-house officials, passed through the Porta Caval- \nleggieri, \xe2\x80\x94 where the French suffered so dreadfully in \ntheir attack on the city a few years ago, and at which \nthey entered with the most terrible loss, \xe2\x80\x94 leaving St. \nPeter\xe2\x80\x99s to the left, rolling down the hill, across the \nPons tEHus, under the very shadow of the castle of \nSt. Angelo, over which the Roman flag was flying, but \nbeneath which French soldiers were leaning on their \narms, the masters of the city, and the rulers of the \npope himself. We found lodgings on favorable terms \nat a hotel in Via della Croce, and in a few hours were \ncomfortably at home, engaged in making our plans for \na general survey of the city. \n\nRome is located in the midst of the great Roman \nCampagna, on seven hills. The Tiber divides it, and \nflows in its sluggish course through its very midst. \n\'The best view is obtained from the tower of the Capi\xc2\xac \ntol, on the Capitoline hill, from which the other six, \nthe Quirinal, the Viminal, the Palatine, the Aventine, \nthe Esquiline, and the Caelian are all in view. The \nCapitol seems to divide what are called the old and the \nnew cities. We look out from the elevation in one \ndirection, and at our feet is the old Roman Forum, \nstretching away from the slope of the hill to the Pala\xc2\xac \ntine; conspicuously in front are the ruins of the old \nTemple of Saturn and the House of Concord; the Arch \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE C^SARS. \n\n\n355 \n\n\nof Septimius Severus, in a good state of preservation, \nand covered with bass-reliefs ; \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The nameless column, with a buried base \n\nthe pillars of the Temples of Minerva and Romulus; \nthe winding Via Sacra, the favorite walk of Horace, \nthe world-renowned Way, trod by emperors, warriors, \nand priests ; the old Coliseum, looking like some gigan\xc2\xac \ntic citadel, covered with the moss of ages, and gazing \ndown with frowns upon the surrounding city; the Arch \nof Titus, with bass-reliefs representing the conqueror\xe2\x80\x99s \nreturn from Jerusalem, bringing with him the conse\xc2\xac \ncrated vessels of the Jewish temple; and numberless \nother relics of the dead and buried past. \n\nOn the other side, the new city lies spread out before \nthe eye. The Corso, black with the passing multi\xc2\xac \ntudes ; the Tiber, winding its way upon its noiseless \ncourse; the domes of churches and the roofs of con\xc2\xac \nvents ; and, back of all, the form of St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, rising \nin its vast proportions and beautiful architecture, while \nall around is stretched the desolate Campagna, like a \nplain of death, thick with malaria and contagion. Far \noff in one direction are the mountains, whose sides \nare adorned with villas, vineyards, and tombs ; away in \nanother direction rolls the blue sea, whose melancholy \nmoan seems to come borne upon every breeze, as if \nsighing the fall of mighty Rome. My object now is to \ndescribe briefly some of the ruins in the old city \xe2\x80\x94 the \nRome of the past. \n\nI begin with the Coliseum, the grandest monument \nof ancient Rome, which was built in the first century, \nfor gladiatorial purposes. At its dedication by Titus, \nthousands of beasts were sacrificed, and for ages the \narena streamed with human blood. Like other amphi- \n\n\n356 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ntheaters, it is oval in form, surrounded by walls, four \nstories high, supported by huge columns, and forming \nsplendid chambers and galleries, which have now fallen \ninto decay. The whole structure covers six acres of \nground, and the outer walls rise to the hight of one \nhundred and fifty-eight feet, and would contain nearly \nninety thousand persons as spectators, leaving an im\xc2\xac \nmense arena for the cruel combat. A part of the walls \nhave been thrown down, and the building has been \nrobbed of its decorations, to increase the glory of the \nnew city. Though crumbling to pieces, it speaks of its \nformer beauty and grandeur, and tells its horrid tales \nof assassination, cruelty, and blood from every fallen \npillar and every broken arch. As I stood in the center \nof the arena, beside a rude wooden cross, which has \nbeen erected by Papal priests, and which if any one \nshall kiss, an indulgence of two hundred days is grant\xc2\xac \ned to him, I seemed to see the flitting shadows of the \nearly Christians who wrestled here with wild beasts, \nand fell martyrs to the rage of pagan idolatry. Here \nsuffered, in this way, the illustrious Ignatius, the ven\xc2\xac \nerable Bishop of Antioch, who loved, and was familiar \nwith, the apostles. Hated for his sublime faith, he was \ntorn from his faithful church, and escorted to Pome. \nTo his brethren he sent, from the very jaws of death, \na comforting message. 44 Let fire and the cross,\xe2\x80\x9d he \nwrote, 44 let companies of wild beasts, let breaking of \nbones and tearing of members, let the shattering in \npieces of the whole body, and all the wicked torments \nof the devil come upon me, only let me enjoy Jesus \nChrist. All the ends of the world, and the kingdoms \nof it, will profit me nothing. I would rather die for \nJesus Christ than rule to the utmost ends of the earth. \nHim I seek who died for us. This is the gain that is \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE O^SARS. \n\n\n357 \n\n\nlaid up for us. My love is crucified.\xe2\x80\x9d He was con\xc2\xac \ndemned to die by the beasts, and, calm and saintlike, \nwas led into the arena. He looked upon the gathered \nthousands without resentment, and upon the ferocious \nbeasts without fear. With an eye upturned to heaven, \nhe advanced towards the lion, who sprang upon him; \nand soon his course was ended. Two of his deacons, \nwho had followed him with tears from Antioch to \nRome, gathered up his bones, and carried them away, \nand laid them down at the feet of the saints. Other \nnoble and devoted men have suffered in this broad \narena, and here sealed their devotion to Christ with \ntheir own blood; and now it stands crumbling to \npieces, the wonder of the world. As you enter it, and \nstand amid its broken ruins, the oft-repeated prophecy \nwill be remembered,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; \n\nWhen falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; \n\nAnd when Rome falls, the world.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis vast pile, in its decaying grandeur, is an illustra\xc2\xac \ntion of the present condition of Rome; and one half \nof the prediction has been more than verified, and the \ndecay of Rome has more than kept pace with the \ndemolition of the Coliseum. The old gladiators are \ngone, and this, their battle field, still remains in the \nhands of Papal priests, one of whom preaches every \nFriday on the spot where once his brethren were \nthrown to the devouring beasts. His rude pulpit \nstands, and around it, once a week, the people gather \nto hear the word of God where once howled and raged \nthe inhuman conflict. I wished to visit the Coliseum \nin the night, but did not. The words of Byron haunt\xc2\xac \ned me; and oft repeating them, I longed to obtain the \nsame view which enabled him to give, it is said by \n\n\n358 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsome, the most correct and just description of this \nancient pile ever written. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c I do remember me that, in my youth, \n\nWhen I was wandering, upon such a night, \n\nI stood within the Coliseum\xe2\x80\x99s wall, \n\n\xe2\x80\x99Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome. \n\nThe trees which grew along the broken arches \nWaved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars \nShone through the rents of ruin; from afar \nThe watch dog bayed beyond the Tiber, and, \n\nMore near, from out the Caesars\xe2\x80\x99 palace came \nThe owl\xe2\x80\x99s long cry, and, interruptedly, \n\nOf distant sentinels the fitful song \nBegan and died upon the gentle wind. \n\nSome cypresses beyond the time-worn breach \nAppeared to skirt the horizon ; yet they stood \nWithin a bow shot where the Caesars dwelt; \n\nAnd dwell the tuneless birds of night amidst \nA grove which springs through leveled battlements, \n\nAnd twines its roots with the imperial hearths. \n\nIvy usurps the laurel\xe2\x80\x99s place of growth; \n\nBut the gladiator\xe2\x80\x99s bloody circus stands, \n\nA noble wreck in ruinous perfection ; \n\nWhile Caesar\xe2\x80\x99s chambers and the Augustan halls \nGrovel on earth, in indistinct decay. \n\nAnd thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon \nAll this, and cast a wide and tender light, \n\nWhich softened down the hoar austerity \nOf rugged desolation, and filled up, \n\nAs \xe2\x80\x99twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; \n\nLeaving that beautiful which still was so, \n\nAnd making that which was not, till the place \nBecame religion, and the heart ran o\xe2\x80\x99er \nWith silent worship of the great of old \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe dead, but sceptered sovereigns, who still rule \nOur spirits from their urns.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nFrom the Coliseum we turn to the Circus ruins, of \nwhich there are several, still showing that performances \nwere held in them which had a charm for the people \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE CiESARS. \n\n\n359 \n\n\nof Rome. They are now divested of all their elegance, \nand some of them are only rude mounds, where the \ndust of ages has been collecting. The Circus Maxi\xc2\xac \nmus, which lies in a hollow between two of the hills \non which Rome was built, was of extraordinary beauty \nand elegance, twenty-one hundred and eighty-seven feet \nlong, nine hundred and sixty feet broad, and capable of \nseating two hundred thousand persons. It was used \nfor chariot races, and the various other performances of \nthe Circus. The immense assemblies which gathered \nhere and in similar places, rising rank above rank, gave \nPaul the idea which led him to exclaim, \xe2\x80\x9cWe are com\xc2\xac \npassed about with a great cloud of witnesses! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Circus of Maxentius, more perfect than the one \njust referred to, was also a noble structure, and its \nruins are the study of the present age. There still \nremain the entrances, the apartments for the chariots, \nthe seats for the nobility, and even the balcony of the \nemperor. Near by is the Temple of Romulus, the \nwhole group forming a most interesting object of study \nand contemplation. There are also other structures of \nthe same kind, more or less decayed, showing that the \nRomans, in their palmy days, were fond of feats of \nagility and strength; and well if, in our age, the circus \nwas confined to these healthy and reasonable amuse\xc2\xac \nments. They could be encouraged and patronized \nwithout danger. But whoever seeks this kind of di\xc2\xac \nversion now, instead of witnessing the manly and hon\xc2\xac \norable competition of the charioteers or flying horse\xc2\xac \nmen, accompanied with patriotic speeches and songs, \nwill have his eyes saluted with disgusting sights, and \nhis ears poisoned with low and disgusting sounds, from \nwhich a Roman would have turned away with a blush \nof shame. The Circus of the first century was more \n\n\n360 \n\n\nEUllOPA. \n\n\nreasonable and virtuous than its filthy namesake of our \nown age. \n\nThe old Palace of the Caesars is on the Palatine Hill \n\xe2\x80\x94 a monstrous mass of ruins, through which, as one \nwalks, he sees the lizard creeping across the pavement \nwhere once Augustus, Tiberius, Nero, and Titus trod, \nand where, for centuries, imperial power held its sway \nand kept its throne. These ruins seem only to tell of \npast greatness and perished glory. Enlarged and beau\xc2\xac \ntified by numerous emperors, it became one of the \nlargest palaces in the world, stretching off in one direc\xc2\xac \ntion towards the Capitol, and in another towards the \nColiseum, until its ruins show that a small city could \nhave been built within its walls. Gardens and vine\xc2\xac \nyards flourish over the broken piles and the ruins of \nfallen arches, and the feet of strangers wander where \nonce royalty lived and flourished. The outlines of this \novergrown structure are now very indistinct, and can \nhardly be traced out. The hand of Time is rapidly \neffacing them, and the bounds set by Nero and Caligula \nto their royal residences soon no traveler will be able \nto find. \n\nThe Golden House of Nero still lingers to tell of \nthe extravagance and ambition of its founder, and a \nvisit to it furnishes a good lesson to any one who is \nwilling to learn. In these halls, now lonely and desert\xc2\xac \ned, the monster lived and reveled in his iniquity; and \nthe very walls seem to cry out against his crimes. His \nname is associated with all that is brutal and depraved \nin man. At the early age of seventeen, he poisoned \nhis friend, 1 and then, to accomplish his ambitious pur\xc2\xac \npose, murdered his mother. 2 His instructors 3 he also \n\n\n1 Britannicus. \n\n\n* Agrippina. \n\n\n3 Seneca and Lucan. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE CASSARS. \n\n\n361 \n\n\nbarbarously murdered, to gratify his revengeful spirit. \nHis wife 1 was divorced by him for natural causes, in \nwhich she was entirely guiltless, and shut up on the \nIsland of Pandaleria, where he visited her, and com\xc2\xac \npelled her to open her veins and let out her blood. \nAnother of his wives 9 he also killed, to rid himself of \nher reproofs, given fearlessly, on account of his many \nbarbarities. To gratify a wanton caprice, he set fire to \nhis own capital, and laid the blame at the door of per\xc2\xac \nsecuted Christians, and caused them to be slain by \nthousands. Conceited as he was cruel, he went to the \nstage as an actor, made some attempts at the composi\xc2\xac \ntion of music, and died, the object of contempt and \nabhorrence, a self-murderer, he having committed sui\xc2\xac \ncide, to escape the vengeance of his indignant people. \nAnd here stands his Golden House, shorn of its beauty, \nbut not of its impressive eloquence, and its lofty power \nto curse the memory of its insatiate founder. \n\nOut a little distance from Rome, on the Appian \nWay, is the Grotto of Egeria, to which the emperors \nand senators of Rome, weary with the cares of state, \nloved to resort, to drink the waters of the celebrated \nfountain, and enjoy the society of wanton women. \n\n\xc2\xbbHere, says tradition, came Numa to consult the \nnymphs, and here he paid his devotion to the God \nof Water, whose recumbent form, broken and wasted, \nstill remains. The grotto is a rude room in the side of \nthe rock. The walls were once frescoed, and give some \nevidences of former beauty. Moss and evergreen cover \nthe marble pavements and hang from the ceiling. The \nfountain, God\xe2\x80\x99s work, still gushes up as bright and \nsparkling as ever, while man\xe2\x80\x99s work has gone to ruin \nand decay. \n\n1 Octavia. 2 Poppcea Sabina. \n\n46 \n\n\n362 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nNear by is the Temple of Bacchus. Converted from \nits pagan use, it is adorned with the fixtures of a Cath\xc2\xac \nolic church. There still remain about it the evidences \nof its former devotion to debauchery and crime. Retired \nfrom the highway, the old pleasure seekers came hither \nto enjoy a season of dissipation in the temple of the \ndivinity who was supposed to look with pleasure upon \ntheir excesses. The building is rectangular, surrounded \nby marble columns ; and Pope Urban, who converted it \ninto a Catholic temple, spoiled half its beauty when he \ngave it to a religion as senseless and abhorrent as pa\xc2\xac \nganism itself. All around Rome are the temples of the \nold heathen worshipers, dedicated to the various gods \nof mythology. On the \xe2\x80\x9c Ship of the Tiber,\xe2\x80\x9d an island \nin the river which derives its name from its form, JEs- \nculapius has his altar, around which tradition has hung \na hundred fancies; the Temple of Nerva, between the \nRoman Forum and Trajan\xe2\x80\x99s Place, has left its ruins; \ntemples to Venus and Vesta, Jupiter and Saturn, Remus \nand Romulus, the sun and the moon \xe2\x80\x94 some in a toler\xc2\xac \nable state of preservation, and some leaving scarcely a \ntrace behind ; some standing alone, isolated and dismal, \nothers crowded in between modern structures, overbuilt, \nand fitted for the Papal worship, \xe2\x80\x94 meet the stranger \non every hand, and speak to him of the buried genera\xc2\xac \ntions who erected, embellished, and enjoyed them. \n\nSeveral noble arches still stand, forming gateways \nfor the city, or commemorating some splendid victories \nachieved by heroes long ago. They were the pride of \nancient Rome, and draw to modern Rome a multitude \nof strangers. The Arch of Drusus, out on the Appian \nWay, was first erected, and has stood so long, that the \ninscriptions which once the Romans read upon it old \nfather Time has obliterated. The Arch of Constantine, \n\n\nTHE HOME OF THE CLESARS. \n\n\n363 \n\n\nbuilt by Trajan, and recast by him whose name it now \nbears, is covered with elegant sculpture, representing \nscenes in the history of the empire, and must have \nbeen erected at an immense expense. The Arch of \nSeptimius Severus, erected by bankers and brokers to \nperpetuate the memory of one who in the councils of \ntheir nation befriended their interests, a structure mas\xc2\xac \nsive in its appearance and bold in its design, stands in \nthe Yelabrum. The Arch of Titus, commemorating the \ndestruction of Jerusalem by the emperor, and erected \nby the senate as a token of their respect to his bravery, \nis covered with bass-reliefs representing the overthrow \nof the holy city, and the return of Titus laden with \nthe spoils of conquest. Of all the triumphal arches \nthis is the most magnificent, and appeals most directly \nto the heart of the Christian, as it furnishes him with \nan eloquent witness to the truth of prophecy. Other \narches rise in beautiful order, as the still standing mon\xc2\xac \numents of the greatness of the now dead and perished \nemperors. \n\nThe baths of Home furnish an idea of the immense \nwealth and prodigality of the old Homan monarchs. \nThose of Caracalla cover an area of a mile in circuit, \nand the ruins which remain are still grand and beauti\xc2\xac \nful. The fine mosaic floors, on which are piled the \nfallen pillars; the exquisite carvings, broken pieces of \nwhich are scattered about, speak volumes as to the \nformer glory of the place. Any description of the \nruins would not equal the reality, or give an idea of \ntheir vastness and beauty ; and as we stand beneath the \narches, or tread the marble pavements, we can hardly \nresist the conviction that these immense w\'alls and \ntowers were erected by a race having greater resources \nthan our own. \n\n\n364 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe baths of Diocletian, of Agrippa, of Constantine, \nof Titus, are but little inferior to those of Caracalla. \nAfter the lapse of centuries, they attest the glory of the \nrace of sovereigns by whom they were built, and are \ngrand and glorious even in their decay. \n\nThe best preserved building which may be said to \nbelong to the Rome of the past is the Pantheon, which \nwas erected twenty-six years before Christ, by Agrippa. \nIt is situated in the herb market, and is one of the \nfinest proportioned and most elegant buildings, as far as \narchitectural taste extends, in the world. The orna\xc2\xac \nments and statues which are found in St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s are \nnot here, but a grand design and a noble execution \nspeak out from these walls, which have stood the shock \nof centuries unmoved. It was originally a pagan tem\xc2\xac \nple, as some suppose, and was dedicated to Christian \nworship by Pope Boniface IV. When we entered it, \none afternoon, a service was in progress. Thirty-four \npriests, gorgeously dressed, were making the walls echo \nwith their chants and songs. One miserable-looking \nwoman was kneeling in the center of the building, \nwith a child crawling at her feet, and about a dozen \nother filthy-looking Italians were scattered in various \nparts of the room, on little benches which were set \nagainst the walls. The woman clapped her hands and \nresponded ; the priests sung and prayed as valiantly as \nif fifty thousand were present, while the rest looked on \nwith the most perfect indifference. The Pantheon is a \nrotunda, with a fine dome, having a portico, said to be \nthe most perfect ever known. The building was origb \nnally profusely ornamented, but the adornments have \nbeen removed to decorate the tombs of apostles and \npopes, and to beautify the palaces of the present de\xc2\xac \ngenerate race of Romans. \n\n\nTHE HOME OF THE CiESARS. \n\n\n365 \n\n\nWhat most interested me here was the tomb of \nRaphael, the celebrated painter. His bones slumber \nbeneath a dome which his genius assisted to decorate, \nand every man of science who enters the edifice will \ninquire for the spot where they repose, guarded by \nmonks, but inherited by decay. Around him slumber \nmany of his fellow-artists, who have acted their part, \nand sought the oblivion of the grave. \n\nThe famous Mamertine prisons are objects of great \ninterest. They are beneath the surface of the earth, \ndirectly under the Church of St. Giuseppe, and consist \nof two large chambers, one directly under the other. \nA flight of some thirty steps leads us to the first cham\xc2\xac \nber, which is about thirty feet square. The chamber \nbelow is somewhat smaller. Into this lower room the \nprisoners were formerly lowered through a hall in the \nceiling, and allowed to perish most miserably. The \nlight of the sun never penetrates that dark abode ; the \nwalls drop filth, and the floor is thick with a black, \ndirty mud. In this awful prison Jugurtha was starved \nto death, living six days without food. A base usurper \nand a bloody tyrant, he expiated his many crimes in \nthis place, his army of ninety thousand men having \nbeen slaughtered around him by the Romans. Here, \ntoo, Sejanus, the follower and friend of Tiberius, was \nexecuted. Crafty and ambitious, he used every means \nto remove all obstacles to his progress in the favor of \nhis royal master. He even imprisoned the son and \nmany of the nearest relations of the emperor, who \nfinally became suspicious of him, and brought him \nbefore the senate, which convicted him. He was hur\xc2\xac \nried away to the Mamertine prisons, and strangled \nwithout mercy. Here, also, we were told by our valet \nthat Peter was confined by order of Nero. In the \n\nEE * \n\n\n366 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npassage leading down is an indentation in the wall, \nresembling one side of a human head and face. This, \nwe were informed, was an indentation made by the head \nof Peter as he went down into the dungeon, being \npushed violently by the jailers. In the middle of the \nlower chamber is a pillar, to which the apostle is said \nto have been chained; and also a fountain of cold, \ndelicious water, which is said to have been produced \nby miracle. The story is, that Martinian and Processus \nwere led by the correctness of Peters life, and the ear\xc2\xac \nnestness of his exhortations, to believe on Jesus. They \nbecame disciples of the Nazarene, and yielded their \nhearts to the new faith. One day, being in the dun\xc2\xac \ngeon conversing with the prisoner, whom they dared \nnot release, they requested baptism at his hands. \n\xe2\x80\x9c There is no water,\xe2\x80\x9d he replied ; 44 and how can I do it \nwithout water \\ \xe2\x80\x9d 44 You can pray for it, and God will \n\nsend it to you,\xe2\x80\x9d they answered. The apostle fell on \nhis knees, commended the converts to the grace of God, \nand prayed that he would furnish water for the baptis\xc2\xac \nmal service. When he arose, a fountain sweet and \npure gushed up from the very spot which had been \npressed by his knees, and they received the initiatory \nrite into the Christian church. This may all have \nbeen so, but we took the liberty to doubt it, admitting \nat the same time that the water was the best we ever \ntasted. \n\nFrom these prisons, a passage leads into the dark \ncatacombs of Pome. I wished to enter, and having \ndone so, my friends closed the door; and though I \nknew I should soon be liberated, there came over my \nmind the most mournful feeling which I had experi\xc2\xac \nenced for years. A damp, cold chill sent a shiver \nthrough my frame, and as I groped about a moment \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE CJESARS. \n\n\n367 \n\n\nin the dismal darkness, a crowd of thoughts rushed \nupon me, such as I have seldom known. I seemed to \nhave stepped down into the vestibule of death, and lost \nmy connection with living men, and the mind rushed \nalong the dark passage; and when the door opened, \nand I stepped out again into the prison and the torch\xc2\xac \nlight, my spirit seemed to have lingered with the bones \nof martyrs in the mighty catacombs. Leaving the \ndungeon, we noticed a bass-relief representing Peter \npouring water upon the head of the jailers, as they \nkneel before him. But, however much we may believe \nof these traditions, we know that Peter and Paul too \nwere confined in these prisons \xe2\x80\x94 the former for the \nspace of nine months, after which time he was taken \nout and crucified with his head downward. The spot \non which the Vatican now* stands is supposed to have \nbeen the scene of his awful martyrdom. \n\nNot far from these prisons is the \xe2\x80\x9c Tarpeian Pock,\xe2\x80\x9d \nor \xe2\x80\x9c Traitor\xe2\x80\x99s Leap,\xe2\x80\x9d down which those persons con\xc2\xac \ndemned for treason were obliged to cast themselves. \nThis rock derives its name from Tarpeia, the daughter \nof a Poman magistrate, who betrayed Pome, and, for \ngold, opened the gates of the city to the Sabines. \nThey entered, and, instead of redeeming their pledges, \nthey cast their shields upon her in derision, until she \ndied beneath the weight. She was buried near the \nplace, and the rock took her name. It is nothing more \nnor less than a high, rough, abrupt precipice, on the \nsouthern side of the Capitoline Hill, some seventy or \neighty feet in hight. Condemned criminals were \nbrought here, and cast down upon the rocks below ; \nand, though this custom has expired, the \xe2\x80\x9c Traitor\xe2\x80\x99s \nLeap \xe2\x80\x9d is pointed out as one of the spots known and \nfamiliarized by its connection with the death of many \na convicted felon. \n\n\n368 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nI would not close this brief and imperfect account of \nthe ruins of ancient Rome without a reference to the \ntombs of the now perished nobility of other days. And \nfirst we went to the tomb of the Scipios, out on the Ap- \npian Way\xe2\x80\x94 several subterranean chambers, over wdiich \nwaves a solitary cypress tree. We knocked loudly at \na rough gate, which was opened by a gypsy girl, with \na straw hat and a loose dress, none too long, \xe2\x80\x94 a per\xc2\xac \nfect Bloomer, \xe2\x80\x94 who threw back the tresses of her \nflowing hair, which fell loosely upon her shoulders, and \ngave us candles, and ran singing along before us into \nthe tomb of perished greatness. We groped our way \nalong the hollow chambers, deciphering, as best we \ncould, the inscriptions which identify the place, to the \nvery spot where once the ashes of Scipio Barbatus, \nnow scattered and lost, reposed in death. The very \ngraves of the illustrious family have been robbed by \nthe popes, to fill up the Vatican, and a gypsy woman \nand her daughter occupy the tomb itself. Time, the \nleveler of all things, the destroyer of man and his work, \nhas been here, and with his breath scattered the dust \nof men who once lived in honor, but whose names are \nnow almost unknown, and over whose sepulchers not a \ntear is shed by sage or poet. \n\nThe tomb of Caius Cestius, remarkable as being a \npyramid, was to me an object of some interest. As the \nonly pyramid I had ever seen, it claimed my attention, \nand was, perhaps, more observed on this account than \nfrom the fact that it towers over the remains of a trib\xc2\xac \nune of the Roman people. It is built of tufa and \nbrick, and is covered with marble slabs or blocks. It \nis one hundred and thirty feet high, and at the base is \none hundred feet square. It contains but little room \nwithin, the walls being nearly twenty-five feet thick. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE CiESARS. \n\n\n369 \n\n\nAnd yet I presume the dead care not what tomb en\xc2\xac \ncloses, or what monument rises over them. I presume \nthat death is not sweetened by the reflection that a \nmarble pyramid will rise over the stricken body, and \nages will come to weep beside it. Here is a point at \nwhich ambition, pride, and honor die, and man is in all \nhis weakness and his want. \n\nI might take you to the tomb of Augustus, which \nhas been used as a fortress, a theater, a temple, and a \ntower; to that of Bibulus, which, for nearly two thou\xc2\xac \nsand years, has been adorned and assailed in turn; \nto the Columbarium, where the dust of freemen and \nslaves mingles in a common urn, and the ashes of the \nhumble and the proud alike await the shock of the last \ngreat day. \n\nWhile viewing the remains of ancient Rome, the \nmind is irresistibly carried back to the times of the \nCaesars, when the city was in its glory and prime, and \nwhen these ruins were fair and elegant buildings, excit\xc2\xac \ning the envy and admiration of all nations. One can\xc2\xac \nnot help contrasting the Rome of the past and the \npresent; and as a view of the ancient magnificence of \nthe empire rises before him, he feels a greater contempt \nfor the weak and inefficient rule which has destroyed \nthe beauty and corrupted the purity of the capital of \nthe world. His soul rises against the prince who wears \nupon his head a triple crown, but whose heart beats not \nin sympathy with man. \n\nBut you have heard enough of this \xe2\x80\x94 enough of \ncircus, forum, column, and temple; and we turn from \nthem to another view of Rome, which we shall find \nmore amusing, if not more interesting. \n\n47 \n\n\n370 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXIX. \n\nANTIQUITIES \xe2\x80\x94 RELICS. \n\nThere is a class of objects which I scarcely know \nwhether to call antiquities or not. They claim an age \nwhich carries them back to the time of Christ, but have \nan appearance suspiciously modern ; hence I give them \na place by themselves, between the Rome of the Caesars \nand the Rome of the popes. Rome abounds with relics; \nand some of them are so curious, that a description of \nthem may not be uninteresting. Connected with St. \nJohn Lateran, a church which will be referred to here\xc2\xac \nafter, is the famous Scala Santa , or Holy Staircase, said \nto be the identical stairs over which Christ descended \ninto the judgment hall of Pilate. Whether the iden\xc2\xac \ntity of this relic can be proved is a question. Proof \ndoes exist to show that the house was taken down and \nremoved to Rojne, and this spacious staircase would \ncompare very well with what we may suppose Pilate\xe2\x80\x99s \nhall to have been in other respects. But, while the \nidentity of the stairs is very apocryphal, the use to \nwhich they are put is very plain. These stairs now \nlead to a little Gothic chapel at the top, while another \nparallel staircase, separated by a wall, runs up on each \nside. There are twenty-eight of the holy steps, and \npilgrims ascend them on their knees. The number \nwho make the ascent is so great, that, a few years ago, \nit was found necessary to cover them with plank, lest \nthe marble should be entirely worn away. One of our \n\n\nANTIQUITIES \xe2\x80\x94 RELICS. \n\n\n371 \n\n\ncompany, for some reason, wished to climb up, pilgrim \nfashion, upon his knees; and at it he went. The day \nwas warm, and our friend was corpulent; but he went \nat it like a martyr doing penance, nor did he pause \nuntil he was half way up, and only then to examine \nthe stains said to be the blood of our Savior, which fell \nfrom his head when he was stopped by the mob. The \nrest of us went up one of the parallel staircases, and, \narriving at the top, saw our devotional friend coming \nup upon his knees. We received him with shouts of \nsacrilegious laughter, when he, having purchased an \nindulgence for forty days, began wiping the perspiration \nfrom his forehead, and brushing his knees, as if anxious \nto shake the holy dust from his garments. \n\nIt was while ascending on his knees this holy stair\xc2\xac \ncase that Luther received a deep impression as to the \ncorruption of the church of Rome. Desirous of ob\xc2\xac \ntaining the precious blessing promised to those who \nshould make the ascent, he commences. One, two, \nthree, four steps he has gained, when the word of God \ncame thundering in his ears \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c The just shall live by \nfaith.\xe2\x80\x9d He pauses, thinks, resolves, and, rising proudly \nfrom his knees, stalks down upon his feet, and rushes \naway. The work is done. The tie which bound Lu\xc2\xac \nther to Rome is broken ; he is free ; and the poor \nSaxon monk becomes the disturber of the world. \n\nAt the head of this staircase is a door, on the side of \nwhich is an indentation similar to that in the Mamen- \ntine prisons. We asked what it meant, and were \ninformed that it was the door through which Christ \npassed, and that the indentation was made by his being \nviolently crowded against the stone. We said that, if \nour heads should be knocked against such a door post, \nthe indentation would be in the heads, and not on the \nstones. \n\n\n372 \n\n\nEUROrA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Yes,\xe2\x80\x9d was the reply; u but your heads are not like \nthat of Christ; \xe2\x80\x9d to which, of course, we assented. \n\nWe asked, \xe2\x80\x9c Where did you get the fact that the \nindentation was thus formed 1 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n66 From history.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c What history ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The Bible.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis was conclusive, and we let it pass without ask\xc2\xac \ning in what part of the Bible the statement might be \nfound, concluding that, if it was in the good book any \nwhere, it must be true. \n\nAt this very same place, we were shown many very \nwonderful things, such as the table on which was eaten \nthe \xe2\x80\x9c last supper.\xe2\x80\x9d It was of coarse wood, about three \nfeet square; and, from the nail holes in it, I should \njudge it to have once been covered with cloth. There, \ntoo, is the mouth of the well at which Jesus sat with \nthe woman of Samaria ; the column of the temple \nwhich was split asunder when the veil was rent; the \nmarble slab on which the soldiers cast lots for the \ngarments of Christ; and various other objects of su\xc2\xac \nperstitious interest and regard. \n\nIn some of the churches, we were shown pictures \npainted by Luke, and others of ,the apostles ; and from \none end of the city to the other some relic is preserved \nto draw attention, and, what is of more importance, \nmoney \xe2\x80\x94 the cradle in which the Savior was rocked by \nhis virgin mother; a remarkable stone, on which are \nthe impressions of two human feet, said to be those of \nChrist, the stone being one on which he stood when he \nmet Peter once in Pome, and said to him, \xe2\x80\x9c Thou art \nPeter, and on this rock I will build my church; \xe2\x80\x9d a \nwooden figure of the infant Savior, 1 carved by a friar. \n\n\n1 Called the Santissimo Bambino, or Most Holy Baby. \n\n\nANTIQUITIES \xe2\x80\x94 RELICS. \n\n\n373 \n\n\nwho, having finished it, lay down to sleep. While \ndreaming of paradise, St. Luke came and painted his \nlittle image, which was made out of the wood of a tree \nfound growing on the Mount of Olives. Henceforth \nthe figure became possessed of miraculous powers to \nheal diseases; and such is its reputation in Rome, that \nit is said to draw a larger revenue to the church than \nis received from the contribution of the people. These, \nand many others as absurd and improbable, are pre\xc2\xac \nsented to the traveler as the veritable relics. Most of \nthem wear the marks of absurdity on the face of them. \nThe prints of the Savior\xe2\x80\x99s feet on the stone are large \nenough for the feet of a giant, and the cradle in which \nChrist was rocked shows unequivocal marks of a late \ndate. And yet the blinded and degraded people do not \nsee them as they are. The priests tell them that this \nbox was the cradle of Christ, that that picture was \npainted by Luke, that yonder image has the miraculous \npower of healing the sick, and they believe it all with\xc2\xac \nout hesitation. They do not allow reason to utter her \nvoice; they stop not to inquire as to the probability or \npossibility of the thing, but rest their souls upon the \nmere tradition, which the priest, as ignorant as them\xc2\xac \nselves, utters in their hearing. \n\nAnd then, if the people had their eyes open, they \ncould see that they are duped, even admitting that the \nrelics are genuine. The use which is made of them \nis so absurd, the homage which is paid them is so \nridiculous, that no reasonable man could endure it a \nsingle hour. All these relics are contrived as means to \nget at the pockets of the poor, and support a church in \nw r ealth and honor, while masses are starving. If the \ncardinals had human hearts, if they had not dehuman\xc2\xac \nized themselves by their vows and vices, they would be \n\nFF \n\n\n374 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nashamed of themselves. They would refuse to spend \nmillions in the adornment of the churches, while the \nbodies of men, the temples of Deity, are pale and thin \nfrom hunger and fasting. They cannot fail to see the \nuniversal misery and degradation of the people, as they \nride out in their splendid coaches and enter their im\xc2\xac \nmense cathedrals. The voice of distress and the sound \nof anguish come home upon every blast, but they shut \ntheir eyes and refuse to see; they close their ears and \nrefuse to hear. \n\nBut the hour of disinthrallment is not far distant. \nThe tide is rising higher and higher, and the waves of \npopular clamor are beginning to dash around the \nthrones on which these tyrants sit, and they will fall. \nThe day cannot be far distant. The knell of Borne is \nnow being tolled by the great bell on St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, and \npresent appearances indicate that Pius IX. may he the \nlast pope who shall walk the chambers of the Vatican; \nor if not the last, one of the last. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n375 \n\n\nXXX. \n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\nWhat is denominated the new city bears faint com\xc2\xac \nparison with ancient Rome for extent, magnificence, \nand wealth. The number of inhabitants at the present \ntime is only one hundred and fifty thousand, or less \nthan five times as large as our own little city. Of this \nlimited number, some fifty or sixty are cardinals, twenty- \nthree are bishops, sixteen hundred and thirty-nine are \npriests, twenty-six hundred and twelve are monks, \nfifteen hundred and fifty are nuns, and eight thousand \nare Jews, who live in a quarter of the city appropriated \nto themselves. The government is a delightfully formed \nmedley of religion and politics, the pope being alike at \nthe head of church and state. A bench of bishops sit \nwhere once the senators and tribunes delivered their \nopinions and promulgated their laws, and every where, \nfrom the door of St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s out to the Campagna, are \nseen the consequences of ignorance, misrule, and super\xc2\xac \nstition. \n\nThe streets are generally narrow, filthy, and unpleas\xc2\xac \nant, and the people bear no marks of their former \nglory. No one would pay a large sum now, or risk his \nlife, to be called a Roman; for on the countenances of \nthe poor, degraded masses there appears nothing but \nblind devotion to oppression. The spirits of the people \nhave been crushed, the manhood of Rome has been \ndestroyed, and we look in vain for the fine traits of \n\n\n376 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ncharacter which once distinguished that noble race. \nHad an American city the wealth of Rome, \xe2\x80\x94 her \nnoble buildings, her rare collections of antiquities, her \nworks of art, her classic ruins, and her rich store of \nmemories, \xe2\x80\x94 it would become a very paradise, under \nthe free and enlightening influences of our institutions. \nBut a pall is over Rome; the frown of Heaven rests \non the city of blood, and all her ancient grandeur and \npresent wealth cannot raise her above the curse. Not \nmuch can be expected of a city, however wealthy, \nwhere newspapers are suppressed, and the press is under \nthe ban of an unbounded censorship; from which not \na single railroad goes out, north, south, east, or west; \nwhere freedom of commerce is not enjoyed, and man is \nan ignorant and besotted slave to a tyranny such as is \nknown nowhere else in all the world. Not much can \nbe expected of a people who give the children\xe2\x80\x99s bread \nto support an indolent and licentious priesthood; who \nrob themselves and defraud nature to decorate the \ntombs of dead ecclesiastics; who bow obsequiously at \nthe foot of a throne which they know is red with blood \nand black with crime. St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s Cathedral loses its \ngrandeur when I see it filled with a starved and impov\xc2\xac \nerished people, who rise from their knees and leave \ntheir devotions to beg a penny of the traveler who \nwanders up the sounding aisle. The Vatican has no \npower to charm, when from its windows I look out \nupon a swelling, heaving, surging sea of wretchedness, \nwhich the streets of Rome ever present. \n\nBut we will forget this a while, and wander about \namong the objects of interest which here abound. The \ngreat central object of attraction is the Cathedral of \nSt. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, which is supposed to be upon or near the \nspot where the apostle for whom it is named was buried. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n377 \n\n\nIt was at first an insignificant little chapel, which had \nmore the appearance of a tomb than a temple. In the \ntime of Constantine, this little structure was removed, \nand a fine church built on the spot, which in its turn \ngave place to the magnificent Cathedral. Any descrip\xc2\xac \ntion of this immense building would fall so far below \nthe reality, that I will not attempt it. It required more \nthan three centuries to complete it; forty-three popes \ngave it their time and attention, and when finished, \nseventy millions of dollars had been expended upon it. \nIt covers between five and six acres, (about two hundred \nand forty thousand square feet,) and is kept in repair at \nan expense of about thirty thousand dollars annually. \nThe best idea of the building will be obtained if you \nimagine an immense circular area enclosed with the \nfinest colonnade in the world, the front open, and the \nrear filled up by the Cathedral. In this area two fine \nfountains are ever playing, and between them a column, \nsurmounted by a cross, rises to the hight of a hundred \nfeet. The colonnades are formed by two hundred and \neighty-four columns, sixty feet high, covered with spa\xc2\xac \ncious galleries. These form a magnificent entrance to \nthe church, bending around the visitor as he advances, \nimpressing him with an idea of strength and dignity. \nThe front of the church is somewhat marred by a \nfa<jade, which hides the proportions of the building, \nand but poorly compares with the architectural design \nof the monstrous dome. Passing between marble fig\xc2\xac \nures of Peter and Paul, we enter the church, and pause, \nalmost overpowered with the effect produced. The \ncolossal statues, the vaulted roof, the spacious aisles, \nthe hurrying priests, and the wonderful dome, all pro\xc2\xac \nduce in the mind a feeling of awful sublimity. The best \nidea I can give of the immense size will be conveyed \n\n48 FF * \n\n\n378 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nto you by the simple statement that twenty such \nchurches as our own could be placed, steeples and all, \nwithin the walls of St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, and the area would not \nbe full. Beneath the dome the monument on Bunker \nHill could be placed, and a steeple tall as ours added to \nthat, and then they would not reach the dizzy hight. \nThe hosts of Rome cannot fill the church; when all \nturn out and flock by thousands, priests, soldiers, and \npeople, and all enter the temple, thousands more might \ngather there with ease. The form of the structure is \nthat of a Latin cross, and in the center stands the high \naltar, beneath the dome, and over the ashes of St. Peter. \nThe immense size of the church does not appear at the \nfirst; it requires time to recover from the surprise, and \nyou must survey with a leisure eye the wonderful pro\xc2\xac \nportions. One becomes almost angry to see such a \nhollow performance in this cathedral. He is vexed at \nthe improbable stories which are told him. He feels \nthat they are out of place in the magnificent work of \nart, and has no patience with the guide who relates \nthem as Scripture facts. Here, in an oratory, is kept a \nnapkin, with which a weeping woman wiped the tearful, \nbloody face of Christ, when he was going to the cross. \nOn this piece of cloth are still seen the stains of blood. \nDuring the holy week this sudarium is shown to the \ngaping people, by men who must know the imposition \nthey are practicing. In another oratory is kept a piece \nof the true cross. A wonderful thing that \xe2\x80\x9c true \ncross \xe2\x80\x9d must have been; for the true church, the infal\xc2\xac \nlible church, have pieces enough of it laid up to build \na ship; and what is somewhat curious, it is one kind \nof wood in one place, and another sort in another \nplace; showing, if all these be veritable pieces of it, \nit must have been composed of some dozen trees. But \n\n\nI \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. 379 \n\nthe people never think of these things. The priest or \nthe pope tells them so, and they ask no questions, cher\xc2\xac \nish no doubt, express no unbelief. In another place is \nthe head of St. Andrew, or a skull which is said to be \nhis. Some few years ago, this relic was stolen, and the \npope went into mourning on its account. He offered a \nlarge reward for its recovery. When stolen, it was \ncovered up with jewelry of great value. The thief \ntook off the jewels, and threw the worthless skull \naway. He was a wiser and a better man, perhaps, than \nthe pope, who valued the skull more than its adorn\xc2\xac \nments. It was found, and great joy manifested at its \nrecovery. Bells were rung; the monks of the neigh\xc2\xac \nboring convents turned out in solemn procession; the \ncannon of old St. Angelo thundered over the Tiber; \nand the pope gave to the people an extra benediction. \n\nHere, too, is the old bronze statue of Jupiter, which \nhas been christened by one of the popes 1 as St. Peter. \nHe is sitting in a chair, with one of his feet extended, \nthe toe of which has been completely kissed away by \nthe multitudes who visit the place. One of our little \ncompany, anxious 44 to do as the Homans do,\xe2\x80\x9d as far as \npossible, performed the voluntary service with the ut\xc2\xac \nmost gravity, while another, who seemed to have less \nreverence for the heathen god, looked at the feet with \nthe comical query, 44 1 wonder if St. Peter had corns.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe most noble conception of the Cathedral is ob\xc2\xac \ntained by ascending the dome. A broad, paved, spiral \nstaircase leads up so gradually, that most of the dis\xc2\xac \ntance could be accomplished on the back of a donkey. \nThe summit is obtained at the expense of weary limbs. \nWe reach the galleries within the dome, and look down \n\n\n1 St. Leo. \n\n\n380 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nupon the priests and worshipers below, who all seem \nlike children. Still higher, it becomes difficult to dis\xc2\xac \ntinguish them as human beings. From the outer gal\xc2\xac \nlery, beneath the cross, a noble view is gained of Rome, \nthe old ruins of the past, and the broad Campagna, \nstretching away in the clear distance. Looking down \nin front of the church appear the piazza, the fountains, \nand the obelisk; on the left stand the Vatican and the \npope\xe2\x80\x99s palace ; on the right, the famous Inquisition \nhouse; before you rises old St. Angelo; along flows \nthe Tiber, on its banks churches, temples, and ruins. \nWe entered the ball, where we might have stowed away \na dozen of us without much inconvenience. \n\nWe were there upon the 20th of June, which is cele\xc2\xac \nbrated as the anniversary of the pope\xe2\x80\x99s coronation. On \nthis day, he gives to all poor persons who come to the \nVatican a half Paul (about four cents) each, for the \nrelief of their wants. Thousands come from the region \nround about, traveling for miles to gain from his holi\xc2\xac \nness this pittance. As ^ve looked down from the dome, \nw r e saw the poor wretches \xe2\x80\x94 men, women, and children \n\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\x94crowding into the Vatican by regiments. We in\xc2\xac \nquired if the pope gave the money with his own hands, \nthinking, if he did, we would call and claim his charity, \nthat we might bring home the piece as a memento of \nthe old man. We were, however, informed that Pius \nIX. never did such dirty work as giving money to the \npoor with his own hands. We were, however, disposed \nto thank him for giving it at all. This little piece of \nmoney is given for every child or member of the fam\xc2\xac \nily ; and many mothers we saw with one, two, three, or \nfour babies, often borrowed for the occasion \xe2\x80\x94 good \nCatholics, indeed, but ready to cheat the very vicegerent \nof God himself. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n381 \n\n\nDuring the annual religious festivals, the Cathedral \nis illuminated in a most splendid manner. The whole \nstructure is so lighted at night as to show the propor\xc2\xac \ntions of the building, with each pillar and projection, \nso that the whole appears to be one mass of fire, blaz\xc2\xac \ning out, hour after hour, with great architectural pre\xc2\xac \ncision, a palace of flame, the admiration of thousands \nwho have traveled far to gaze upon it. This grand ex\xc2\xac \nhibition is commenced at dusk, by the lighting of about \nsix thousand lanterns, formed of white paper, so as to \ngive the effect of a white light. This is called the Sil\xc2\xac \nver Illumination; and while it continues, the building \nseems to he one sheet of silver, glistening in some su\xc2\xac \npernatural light, and shining on, hour after hour, with \na subduing aspect. At nine, the Golden Illumination \ncommences, when about one thousand more lights, \nmade of tar and other inflammable materials, are made \nto flash out at once, changing the whole appearance of \nthe scene. In the midst of this flood of light, the \nCathedral stands, one mass of fire, yet unconsumed. \nThe bright light reveals every column, crevice, window, \nand door, and the church stands like a mountain of \nfire, surmounted by a cross which now seems lost in \nthe clouds, and anon stands out with great distinctness. \nAll night it burns and blazes there, while none in \nRome thinks of sleep. The scene is too exciting ; and, \ntill the last light goes out, in the dim gray of the \nmorning, the Pincian Hill is covered with a dense \nmass of spectators. More than three hundred lower \nthemselves upon that mighty dome, and hang there \namid the fire, periling their lives for the generous com\xc2\xac \npensation which they receive. This grand illumination \nwe were not fortunate enough to see; but, from the \ndescription of it given by Romans, it was easy to im\xc2\xac \nagine its grandeur. \n\n\n382 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nFrom St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, we pass to a rapid description of a \nfew of the other most important churches, among which \nis St. John Lateran, which is famous as being the first \nChristian church in Pome, the edifice having been built \nin the fourth century, by Constantine, who assisted in \nlaying the comer stone with his own hands, day after \nday performing, as a religious duty, work which usually \ndevolves upon the servant and the slave. Here the \npope is always crowned immediately after his election. \nHere, too, have been held five general councils \xe2\x80\x94 the \nfirst summoned by Calixtus II., who presided in per\xc2\xac \nson. Three hundred bishops sat in solemn debate; \nand one\\of the results was the celibacy of the clergy. \nThis couficil convened in 1123. The second was in \n1139, and was presided over by Innocent II., and re\xc2\xac \nsulted in the condemnation of various heresies. The \nthird was in 1179, and Pope Alexander presided. This \ncouncil opened the floodgates of persecution upon the \npious Waldenses, and let loose upon that unoffending \npeople the hounds of death. The next, in 1215, was \ncalled by Innocent III., and contemplated the crusade \nupon the Holy Land. The last was in 1512, called \nby Julius II., to settle schism and agitation, which \nbroke out in the church, and threatened the quiet and \nsecurity of the pontiff himself. \n\nI here attended a service one Sunday afternoon \xe2\x80\x94 I \nbelieve the celebration of high mass. It was expected \nthat the pope would be here in person; but illness pre\xc2\xac \nvented, and the service was performed, I was told, by \nthe celebrated Cardinal Mezzofanti, who is said to be \nthe best linguist in the world. The whole scene was a \nmost ridiculous one. A procession was formed, com\xc2\xac \nposed of soldiers with glistening arms, monks with \nlighted tapers, and a dense crowd of people of all ranks \n\n\nTHE ROME OE THE POPES. \n\n\n383 \n\n\nand conditions. The cardinals, most of them venerable- \nlooking men, who should have despised such folly, were \npresent, dressed in their blood-red habits; the bishops, \nless gay and gaudy, and the priests, in solemn black, \nmade up a very imposing spectacle. The service at the \nchurch consisted in getting up and sitting down, chant\xc2\xac \ning and praying, bowing and kneeling. The common \npeople appeared to he quite interested in it; but it seemed \nto me that the better portion looked on with contempt. \nI noticed an aged cardinal, whose name I could not \nlearn, who sat with his stern eye wandering first on the \necclesiastics, and then on the people. There was a con\xc2\xac \ntemptuous smile which seemed to speak volumes; and \nthe longer I gazed upon him the more did I feel that \nhe regarded the whole display as an imposition, permit\xc2\xac \nted for a selfish purpose \xe2\x80\x94 perhaps, in his estimation, a \nnecessary purpose ; and how this well-educated class of \nmen can feel any thing but contempt for a large part \nof their foolish rites none can tell. Were they igno\xc2\xac \nrant, as are many of the nuns and friars, they might be \nduped and blinded; but they are men of science and \ncultivation, and must know the fraud which is being \npracticed upon the people. \n\nConnected with St. John Lateran is a noble baptistery \nwhich was built in the time of Constantine. A basaltic \nvase shows that it must have been used for immersions ; \nand it is asserted by the church that in it Constantine \nhimself received the holy rite, which may possibly be \ntrue. This is the basin in which Rienzi, in a moment \nof sacrilegious fury, immersed himself, to show his con\xc2\xac \ntempt for sacred things. The priests tell us that his \nsubsequent misfortunes were sent as a punishment for \nhis unholy conduct. \n\nAlmost all the churches of Rome have about them \n\n\n384 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsomething interesting and superstitious. The Church \nof the Capuchins 1 has deep vaults which are filled up \nas a burial ground. The earth in it was brought \'from \nJerusalem, and is held sacred by the monks. The \nvaults consist of an aisle and six little chapels, or \nniches, about ten feet wide, eight feet high, and six \nfeet deep. These niches are arched, and resemble \nniches in a wall. When a monk dies, he is buried \nhere, and is allowed to rest beneath the ground a while, \nwhen he is unburied, clad in the very same habit which \nhe wore in life, and laid out in state a while, when the \nbones are taken to pieces and scraped. They are then \npiled up in fantastic order. These vaults, on entering \nthem, give a most singular effect. The arches are all \nlined with bones; skulls are laid up in piles; while \nthe small bones are formed into crosses on the walls, \nand even the chandeliers in which hang the lamps \nwhich illuminate the aisle are of these parts of the \nhuman body, tastefully framed together. Skeletons sit \nastride piles of skulls, or hang suspended from the \nwall, while hands and feet, long and bony, seem to \nreach out in every direction. The monk who went \ndown with us into this place of skulls \xe2\x80\x94 this Roman \nCatholic Golgotha \xe2\x80\x94 seemed to take great pleasure in \nthe idea that he should, at one day, slumber in these \n\xe2\x80\xa2vaults, and be used up in this singular manner. \n\nRack of the church are the cloisters of the friars, \ninto which we entered. The cells are about six feet \nsquare. The monk sleeps on a hard board; no bed, \nno ) mattress; a single woolen covering only keeping \nthe rough wood from a contact with the body of the \nsleeper. A rough table, a bench, or chair compose the \nfurniture of the room. On the table, in one case, we \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 % r * \n\n\n1 S. Maria della Concezione. \n\n\n\n\\ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTIIE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n385 \n\n\nsaw a loaf of bread, some burnt coffee, and, on a little \nshelf, a few books. The friars of this order wear a \nwoolen habit, no stockings, vest, nor underclothing of \nany description. They eat little meat, and live by \ncharity, and their reputation for sanctity is very high. \nThey are of all ages, from the young man just entering \nlife, to the old man in his dotage. Our guide said that, \nbut for his wife, he should enter this monastery, and \navowed his determination to do so when his wife should \ndie. He seemed to have a most profound respect for \nthese men; and when we left, he humbly turned and \nkissed the hand of the dirty, ignorant fellow who had \nled us about. \n\nMany of these monks take ecclesiastical vows from \nindolence. Being unwilling to work, they enter some \nmonastery, and spend their lives in begging. Indo\xc2\xac \nlence is written on their faces, and ignorance stares out \nin an idiotic look. Others enter in times of deep af\xc2\xac \nfliction, when the ties which bind them to earth are \nsevered. They feel that earth has few joys for them ; \nand, as their graves are not ready for them, they enter \ninto these living tombs, and abjure society, and all that \nmakes up honest social life. Others are forced here by \ncrime or want, and by the various sins and miseries \nof life. \n\nWe found the churches of Rome full of images, \nstatues, and paintings, some of them of very great \nyalue. Immense sums of money have been spent by \nsuccessive popes upon religious edifices. We rode out, \none day, to San Paolo. The ancient church was built \nmany centuries ago, over the spot where St. Paul was \nsupposed to have been buried, and had scarcely a supe\xc2\xac \nrior in the world. In 1824, it was consumed, during \nsome repairs which were being made upon it. The \n\n49 gg \n\n\n386 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwork of rebuilding was immediately commenced, and for \nyears has been in progress, requiring millions of money. \nWhen this church is completed, it will be a most mag\xc2\xac \nnificent structure. Along the nave rise forty pillars of \ngray granite, while waiting to decorate the altar are two \nEgyptian alabaster pillars, of colossal size and extraor\xc2\xac \ndinary beauty. In the walls are to be set two hundred \nand fifty-eight portraits of the popes, from Peter down\xc2\xac \nward. They are transferred from canvas to mosaic, and \nare about six feet in diameter. Though years have \nalready been consumed upon this building, years more \nmust elapse before it will be complete. Millions have \nbeen spent here, and millions must be lavished ere the \ndedication can take place. \n\nAnd what renders this waste more censurable is the \nfact that the church is out some distance from the city, \non the Campagna, where even the monks cannot live \nbut a part of the year, and where the edifice can be of \nno benefit to the suffering people. On our return, our \nguide stopped and said, pointing to a tree by the way- \nside, \xe2\x80\x9c Under that tree, Peter and Paul parted a while \nbefore the latter was put to death. 4 Go,\xe2\x80\x99 said Paul, \n4 to Rome \xe2\x80\x94 go, founder of the church and friend of \nGod! \xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFrom the Church of St. Sebastian, a passage way \nleads down into the catacombs of Rome. They are \nirregular, unlighted, winding passages, extending far \nunder the houses and churches of the city. They yet \ncontain the bones of the dead, and were doubtless the \nabodes of Christians during the times of cruel perse\xc2\xac \ncutions. \n\nHour after hour, day after day, and indeed month \nafter month, may the stranger wander about among the \nchurches of Rome, finding some new object of interest \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n387 \n\n\nand study wherever he goes. Beautiful statuary, finely \nfinished paintings, and other evidences of taste and art, \ndraw more admiration than the hypocritical service \nwhich is chanted at the altar. \n\nFrom the churches we proceed to the Vatican, the \nresidence of the pope, where is treasured up the lore \nof centuries, and which is the most wonderful palace in \nthe world. It stands in a fine position on the left of \nSt. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, and communicates with the Castle of St. \nAngelo by a covered gallery. It has eight grand stair\xc2\xac \ncases ; two hundred of less size and elegance; twenty \ncourts, and four thousand four hundred and twenty-two \nfine apartments. These apartments are filled with every \nthing valuable in the fine arts, and every thing beauti\xc2\xac \nful in works of taste. Here the galleries extend for \nmiles, the building itself being one thousand one hun\xc2\xac \ndred and fifty-one feet long, and seven hundred and \nsixty-seven feet wide. Here dead marble speaks with \na living voice, and silent painting and lifeless canvas \nteach eloquent lessons. It would be useless to enter \ninto any detail of the works of art which are stored in \nthis noble edifice. Here, among the paintings, is the \ngreat masterpiece of Raphael, the Transfiguration, \nwhich has formed an object of just admiration from the \nday of its execution, and which, after his decease, was \nhung over his corpse, and worshiped by bowing, su\xc2\xac \nperstitious throngs. Other works by the same hand \nattest the perfection of his art. The Conversion of \nSt. Jerome, by the talented Domenichino, like a living \nscene looks down from the wall, and whoever gazes \nupon it breaks out in admiration. The Crucifixion \nof St. Peter, by Guido, is so true to nature and so just \nto art that tears of sympathy steal unbidden down the \ncheek, while you almost believe that the dead canvas \n\n\n388 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfeels the dreadful pain. Hundreds of others, challen\xc2\xac \nging your warmest approbation, before which crowds \ngather, and which inferior artists are endeavoring to \ncopy, assure you that months could be spent here in \nmost interesting pursuits. \n\nOther doors open, and you stand before the famous \nLaocoon, copies of which are found all over the world; \nthe world-renowned Apollo Belvedere; the Sleeping \nCleopatra; the Belvedere Antonius, before which stood \none of the greatest artists 1 of the world, declaring that \nhe derived from it all the conceptions of the beautiful \nwhich he ever had ; the Torso Belvedere, the work of a \nnoble Athenian, 2 and admired by artists and emperors; \nand all the endless display of statuary, wrought by men \nof all climes and ages, from a broken figure to a perfect \nform. You pass from gallery to gallery, now amid the \nproductions of the sea, and then amid the trophies \ngathered from the air; now wandering amid the relics \nof Egypt, and anon admiring the classic representations \nof Greece. \n\nThese public apartments of the pope\xe2\x80\x99s palace are \nshown, without a fee, to all who choose to examine \nthem. The library is not large, but well selected, and \nunlike any public library I ever saw, the books being \nconcealed from the gaze of the passer by by wooden \ndoors, profusely ornamented. There are some choice \nvolumes here, and many manuscripts of great value. \n\nThe pope has his private apartments, and on the day \nof our visit he had held a consultation with the cardi\xc2\xac \nnals, whom we saw driving away in great state, gazed \nafter and admired by the people, ay, and hated too. \n\nHere at the Vatican is also the Sistine Chapel, or \n\n\n1 Domenichino. \n\n\n2 Apollonius. \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n389 \n\n\nthe private sanctuary of the pope. It is a dingy hall, \nand celebrated mostly for the great painting of the \nLast Judgment, by Michael Angelo. The painting, \nwhich is a noble conception and a glorious execution, \nis much defaced by time and the smoke of candles. It \nis sixty feet long and thirty broad. The dead are seen \nrising from their graves \xe2\x80\x94 the good and bad; the \nangels winging their way from the hights above, and \nsweeping to the depths beneath; the anguish of some \nand the joy of others; all stand out with striking \neffect. The great artist has borrowed his idea from \nthe Scripture representations of the last day, and has \nmade a picture worthy of his immortal genius. \n\nThe pope\xe2\x80\x99s chair of state is a plain affair, on a semi\xc2\xac \ncircular elevation, and we sat down in it without deriv\xc2\xac \ning any pontifical virtue from the act. In this chapel \nPius IX. says mass for the living and vespers for the \ndead; here he blesses plumes and belts, hats and swords, \nand does a hundred other silly things \n\n\nu Which children love and fools admire.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe Capitol, on the Capitoline Hill, is visited not \nonly for the view from the tower, of which I have spo\xc2\xac \nken, but for its galleries of painting and sculpture. \nThe visitor passes up the hill by the old milestone of \nVespasian, the bronze horse, \xe2\x80\x94 from which, on festive \noccasions long agone, water ran from one nostril and \nwine from the other, \xe2\x80\x94 and various other statues of \nmerit and celebrity. The Capitol consists of three large \nbuildings, forming a square open on the front, and \nfilled with works of art and offices for men of honor \nand labor. As the stranger wanders through these \n\nhalls, he will note the Bronze Wolf, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\ngg * \n\n\n390 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The thunder-stricken nurse of Rome,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\nwhich Cicero has rendered immortal as his own name \nand works, and which suckled the founder of the great \nand glorious empire; the Dying Gladiator, as \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c He leans upon his hand \xe2\x80\x94 his manly brow \nConsents to death, but conquers agony, \n\nAnd his drooped head sinks gradually low; \n\nAnd through his side the last drops, ebbing slow \nFrom the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, \n\nLike the first of a thunder shower; \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nthe Venus of the Capitol, none too well veiled for \ncommon gaze; and many a form of beauty, which the \nartist\xe2\x80\x99s eyes never tire in beholding. \n\nThe old hoary Inquisition Palace is on the left of \nSt. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s. What is in that terrible edifice can be \nbetter told by the miserable creatures who have escaped \nfrom its portals. What ingenious machines devised to \ntorture man; what engines of horrid cruelty; what \ncells and dungeons; what living and dead skeletons; \nwhat chained wretches ; what imprisoned priests,\xe2\x80\x94none \ncan tell, except it be those who are more conversant \nwith that place of blood than any traveler is likely to \nbe, unless he is found reading his Bible, or speaking of \nJesus to a perishing sinner, or, like Daniel, praying \nwith his windows open towards Jerusalem. \n\nThere are many other private and public places in \nPome upon which I would be glad to dwell, did time \npermit. The old cloister of Tasso, with his papers and \ninkstand still remaining as he left them; (the old oak \nunder which he sat has unfortunately been broken \ndown;) the grave in which his ashes rest, and other \nscenes connected with his memory; the house of \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n391 \n\n\nRienzi, the last of the tribunes, near the banks of \nthe Tiber; the home of Raphael, where he dreamed \nof glory and success; and many others of great his\xc2\xac \ntoric interest, \xe2\x80\x94 are all here, parts of mighty Rome, \nidentified with its past and present history. \n\nOne spot I ought not to omit in this enumeration. \nIt is the English burying ground, near the tomb of \nCaius Cestius. That sacred spot is unhonored by the \nRomans, for buried there are many Protestants, who \nhave gone to the grave without any of the foolish rites \nof the Papal church, and of course under the curse of \nbigoted monks. But to the stranger, who knows not \nbut that cemetery will be his own resting-place, the \nspot has a melancholy interest, and he lingers long \namid the graves of heretics. There sleeps Shelley, the \npoet, whose heart would not consume, and on whose \nmarble are words of truth and beauty. Another poet \nis here, who went to his grave young in life, and who, \ndisappointed with this world, asked to have written on \nhis gravestone, \xe2\x80\x9c Here lies one whose name was writ in \nwater.\xe2\x80\x9d It is John Keats of the broken spirit. Rich\xc2\xac \nard Wyatt, whose skillful chisel on many a marble form \ntraced lines of beauty, has a grave, shaded by flowers \nand the box tree; and all around, on tombs and urns, \nare English names, which, amid the uncouth appella\xc2\xac \ntions of the Italians,. sound familiar, pleasant, and \nhomelike. \n\nWe turn now from churches and palaces, prisons and \ntombs, to look at the people of Rome \xe2\x80\x94 from things to \nmen. We know what the Romans were in other days, \nwhen no honor was greater, or sought more eagerly, \nthan that of being a citizen of Rome. We know what \nthey were when the eagle hovered over the imperial \nthrone, and banners waved over conquering armies. \n\n\n392 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nBut how sadly does the present contrast with the past, \nand how few evidences of the former glory of Borne \nremain! No one would ever cross the ocean to see \nthe Borne of the present; the dead past, lingering in. \ncrumbling ruins, is all that draws the traveler to that \nfallen city. Without the walls, misery, which knows \nno abatement, reigns. Wherever on the Campagna a \nhovel stands, it is seen to be tenantless, or inhabited \nby a most wretched inmate. In the villages through \nwhich you pass on your way to or from Borne, in either \ndirection, you gaze out of the window of the diligence \nupon a set of barbarians, who no sooner see your head \nthan they set up a clamor for money, from which you \ntake refuge in some stable or dwelling, to the door of \nwhich you will be followed by a group of men, women, \nand children, whining piteously enough to move the \nheart of even the pope himself. When you enter the \ncity, you find more culture and refinement indeed, but \nyou do not lose sight of misery and degradation. They \nevery where appear; and at every gate, alike of the \nVatican and the Capitol, the Forum and the Coliseum, \nthey stare you in the face and demand your commisera\xc2\xac \ntion. There seems to be little industry and life. The \nclasses that draw most attention are the barefooted beg\xc2\xac \ngars, the bareheaded friars, and the barefaced soldiers. \nThese are met in every street, in every church, and are \nas thick as the frogs and lice in ancient Egypt, and \nabout as repulsive and disagreeable. Amid the schools \nand colleges of the Propaganda, the people are left in \ngross ignorance. The means of divine illumination are \ntaken away, and the voice of conscience is completely \nhushed. \n\nThere are certain portions of the year when Borne \nmay be said to be a gay city. This is during the \n\n\nTHE HOME OF THE POPES. 393 \n\nreligious festivals, which continue a few months, and \nare conducted with great enthusiasm. The carnival, \nwhich continues eight days, and consists of a succession \nof masquerades, races, balls, and frolicks, is gay, mag\xc2\xac \nnificent, and foolish beyond description. The last two \ndays bring out all the people of Rome, and thousands \nof strangers, w T ho resort to the city for the purpose of \nseeing the famous sports. Three days are spent in a \ngay frolick between men, women, and children, in which \nthey pelt each other with flowers, sugar plums, and \nother confectionery, until the Corso becomes a vast \ntrough of roses and sugar, in which the people wallow, \nto their great delight. The Corso is the broad way, \nthe great thoroughfare of Rome; and it is here that \npleasure appears in its most attractive forms. Families \nlay aside their aristocratic pride, and ride out in their \ncarriages; strangers hire less imposing vehicles; poorer \nclasses on foot crowd the streets, while the windows, \nverandas, porticoes, and balconies are filled with the \ndelighted spectators. The route of the procession is \ndesignated, and no tide rolls in an opposite direction. \nEspecially in the Corso is the greatest care used to \nprevent tumult and accident. The carriages are filled \nwith men and women, young and old, gay and grave, \nwho are armed with baskets of flowers and piles of \nconfectionery, which they throw at others whom they \nmay meet in the street, in other carriages, on the side\xc2\xac \nwalks, and at the windows. The faces of the actors \nin this scene are generally masked, and grotesquely \ndressed, and present a singular appearance. As I did \nnot witness this gay parade, the carnival having closed \nbefore my arrival in Rome, I will give an account of \nthis scene in the words of Dickens, who, in a little \n\n50 \n\n\n394 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwork 1 of his, has an amusing and laughable account \nof these eight festive days, in which he participated a \nfew years since. He brings us into the Corso just as \nthe sport is commencing, and we will follow his ac\xc2\xac \ncount of it. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c From all the innumerable balconies \xe2\x80\x94 from the \nremotest and highest, no less than from the lowest and \nnearest \xe2\x80\x94 hangings of bright red, bright green, bright \nblue, white, and gold were fluttering in the brilliant \nsunlight. From windows, and from parapets, and tops \nof houses, streamers of the richest colors and draperies \nof the gaudiest and most sparkling hues were floating \nout upon the street. The buildings seemed to have \nbeen literally turned inside out, and to have all their \ngayety towards the highway. Shop fronts were taken \ndown, and the windows filled with company, like boxes \nat a shilling theater; doors were carried off their hinges, \nand long tapestried groves, hung with garlands of flow\xc2\xac \ners and evergreens, displayed within ; builders\xe2\x80\x99 scaffold\xc2\xac \nings were gorgeous temples, radiant in silver, gold, and \ncrimson; and in every nook and corner, from the pave\xc2\xac \nment to the chimney tops, where women\xe2\x80\x99s eyes could \nglisten, there they danced, and laughed, and sparkled \nlike the light in water. Every sort of bewitching mad\xc2\xac \nness of dress was there. Little preposterous scarlet \njackets; quaint old stomachers, more wicked than the \nsmartest bodices ; Polish pelisses, strained and tight \nas ripe gooseberries; tiny Greek caps, all awry, and \nclinging to the dark hair, Heaven knows how; every \nwild, quaint, bold, shy, pettish, madcap fancy had its \nillustration in a dress, and every fancy was as dead for\xc2\xac \ngotten by its owner, in the tumult of merriment, as if \n\n\n1 Pictures from Italy. \n\n\nt \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n395 \n\n\nthe three old aqueducts that still remain entire had \nbrought Lethe into Rome upon their sturdy arches that \nmorning. The carriages were now three abreast; in \nbroader places, four; often stationary for a long time \ntogether; always one close mass of variegated bright\xc2\xac \nness, showing the whole street full, through the storm \nof flowers, like flowers of a larger growth themselves. \nIn some, the horses were richly caparisoned in magnifi\xc2\xac \ncent trappings ; in others, they were decked, from head \nto tail, with flowing ribins. Some were driven by \ncoachmen with enormous double faces, one face leer\xc2\xac \ning at the horses, the other cocking its extraordinary \neyes into the carriage, and both rattling again under \nthe hail of sugar plums. Other drivers were attired \nas women, wearing long ringlets and no bonnets, and \nlooking more ridiculous, in any real difficulty with the \nhorses, than tongue can tell or pen describe. Instead \nof sitting in the carriages, upon the seats, the hand\xc2\xac \nsome Roman w^omen, to see and be seen the better, sit \nin the heads of the barouches, at this time of general \nlicense, with their feet upon the cushions \xe2\x80\x94 and O, the \nflowing skirts and dainty waists, the blessed shapes and \nlaughing faces, the free, good-humored, gallant figures \nthat they make! There were great vans, too, full of \nhandsome girls\xe2\x80\x94thirty or more together, perhaps; and \nthe broadsides that were poured into and poured out \nof these fairy fire-ships\' splashed the air with flowers \nand bonbons for ten minutes at a time. Carriages, \ndelayed long in one place, would begin a deliberate \nengagement with other carriages, or with people at the \nlower windows; and the spectators at some upper bal\xc2\xac \ncony or window, joining in the fray, and attacking both \nparties, would empty down great bags of confetti , that \ndescended like a cloud, and in an instant made them as \n\n\n396 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwhite as millers. Still carriages on carriages, dresses \non dresses, colors on colors, crowds on crowds, with\xc2\xac \nout end. Men and boys clinging to the wheels of \ncoaches, and holding on behind, and following in their \nwake, and diving in among the horses\xe2\x80\x99 feet, to pick up \nscattered flowers to sell again; maskers on foot, in \nfantastic exaggeration of court dresses, surveying the \nthrong through enormous eye-glasses, and always trans\xc2\xac \nported with an ecstasy of love on the discovery of any \nparticular old lady at a window ; long strings of \npolicinelli , laying about them with blown bladders at \nthe ends of sticks ; a wagon full of madmen, screaming \nand tearing to the life; a coach full of grave Mame\xc2\xac \nlukes, with their horse-tail standard set up in the \nmidst; a party of gypsy women, engaged in terrific \nconflict with a ship full of sailors ; a man-monkey on a \npole, surrounded by strange animals with pigs\xe2\x80\x99 faces \nand lions\xe2\x80\x99 tails, carried under their arms, or worn \ngracefully over their shoulders; carriages on carriages, \ndresses on dresses, colors on colors, crowds on crowds, \nwithout end. Not many actual characters sustained or \nrepresented, perhaps, considering the number dressed, \nbut the main pleasure of the scene consisting in its \nperfect good temper, in its bright, and infinite, and \nflashing variety, and in its entire abandonment, so per\xc2\xac \nfect, so contagious, so irresistible, that the steadiest for\xc2\xac \neigner fights up to his middle in flowers and sugar \nplums like the wildest Roman of them all, and thinks \nof nothing else until night, when he is reminded that \nthis is not the whole business of his existence.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt nightfall, the military clear the streets, and a race \ncommences. Several horses, painted, numbered, and \ngayly adorned, but without riders, are let loose in the \nCorso, and dash along beneath the people, who gaze \n\n\nTHE ROME OF THE POPES. \n\n\n397 \n\n\ndown from every window and roof top with shouts and \nmirth. This senseless race is soon over ; the horses \nplunge through the silk which is hung across the street \nto show where terminates the course; and a new scene \ncommences. Carriages again fill the Corso, crowded \nwith beauty and life. Each person has a lamp, and the \nfrolic consists in blowing out each one the lamp of his \nneighbor, and keeping his own burning. The Corso \nbecomes a cloud of fire, which shines out from many a \ntorch and lantern. Red, green, blue, and many a gay \ncolor flashes on the sight, until the whole scene be\xc2\xac \ncomes one of bewildering beauty. We will trust to \nthe same pen for a description of this brilliant scene. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The spectacle at this time is one of the most ex\xc2\xac \ntraordinary that can be imagined. Carriages coming \nslowly by, with every body standing on the seat or on \nthe box, holding up their lights at arm\xe2\x80\x99s length, for \ngreater safety; some in paper shades ; some with a \nbunch of undefended little tapers, kindled together; \nsome with blazing torches ; some with feeble little can\xc2\xac \ndles ; men on foot, creeping along among the wheels, \nwatching their opportunity to make a spring at some \nparticular light, and dash it out; other people climb\xc2\xac \ning up into carriages, to get hold of them by main \nforce; others chasing some unlucky wanderer round \nand round his own coach, to blow out the light he has \nbegged or stolen somewhere, before he can ascend to \nhis own company; others, with their hats off at a car\xc2\xac \nriage door, humbly beseeching some kind lady to oblige \nthem with a light for a cigar, and, when she is in the \nfullness of doubt whether to comply or not, blowing \nout the candle she is guarding so tenderly with her \nlittle hand; other people, at windows, fishing for can\xc2\xac \ndles with lines and hooks, or letting down long willow \n\nHH \n\n\n398 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwands, with handkerchiefs at the end, and flapping \nthem out when the bearer is at the hight of his tri\xc2\xac \numph; others hiding all their time in comers, with \nimmense extinguishers, like halberds, and suddenly \ncoming down upon glorious torches; others gathering \nround one coach, and sticking to it; others raining \noranges and nosegays at an obdurate little lantern, or \nregularly storming a pyramid of men, holding up one \nman among them, who carries one feeble little wick \nabove his head, with which he defies them all; beauti\xc2\xac \nful women, standing up in coaches, pointing in derision \nat extinguished lights, and clapping their hands as \nthey pass on; low balconies full of lovely faces and \ngay dresses, struggling with assailants in the street, \nsome repressing them as they climb up, some bending \ndown, some leaning over, some shrinking back; delicate \narms and bosoms, graceful figures, gleaming lights, flut\xc2\xac \ntering dresses; when, in the enthusiasm of the scene, \nand the fullest ecstasy of the sport, the Ave Maria \nrings from the church steeples, and the carnival is over \nin an instant \xe2\x80\x94 put out like a taper with a breath.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe carnival closes, and Rome settles down into a \nquiet state, and, instead of the Corso filled with a glad \ncrowd of beautiful women and cheerful men, beggars, \nby legions, roam along the same way, cursing their \nvery existence, and denouncing the cardinals as the \nauthors of their misery. During the carnival, Rome is \na sort of paradise \xe2\x80\x94 a heaven of gay pleasures; but \nwhen the carnival closes, hell begins, and the poor \nstricken objects of want and commiseration groan over \ntheir sufferings, and wring their hands in anguish. \nThese festivals are held to cover up the wretchedness \nof the masses; but they cannot do it. They are the \ngossamer robes of pleasure, beneath which vick, crime, \nand wo appear uncovered and undisguised. \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHUHCH. \n\n\n399 \n\n\nXXXI. \n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\nOn the morning of the 1st of June, 1846, an old \nman died in the Quirinal palace. As soon as the event \nwas known, one of the cardinals, Camerlinque, repaired \nto the palace, and went through the usual formality of \nstriking three blows on the forehead of the dead man, \nand announcing officially to the people of Rome that \n44 papa was surely dead.\xe2\x80\x9d That old man was Mauri \nCapellari, on whose head the triple crown had been \nplaced, and who had adopted the title of Gregory XVI. \nHis death was not regarded as a great calamity. The \ncharacter of the pope was such, that there was more \njoy than sorrow in Rome, when the tidings of his death \nwere published around. His habits were loose in the \nextreme; and the well-known fact that on his elevation \nto the throne he fitted up splendid apartments in the \nVatican for Cajetanina, the wife of an obscure barber, \nand her family, drew upon him the contempt of all \ndecent people in the city. This barber and wife \nacquired so much influence over the old man, that they \nbecame the head of the state, and ruled the empire. \nThat he was a man of notoriously intemperate habits \nwas known in his lifetime to all Rome, and when he \ndied few tears were shed for him, except by the wife of \n\nhis friend the barber. So little was he respected, that \n\n\xe2\x9c\x93 \n\nere his clay was cold, or the worms had time to per\xc2\xac \nform their work, the people set themselves to getting up \n\n\n400 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ncaricatures of the man, setting off his well-known \nvices, and his incorrigible hatred to progress, and hold\xc2\xac \ning him up to the ridicule of his subjects and followers. \nTwo 1 of these are amusing enough for us to mention. \nThe first represents the deceased pope knocking for \nadmittance at the gates of Paradise. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Who wishes to enter 1 \xe2\x80\x9d asks St. Peter. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Gregory, your successor at Pome.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c But,\xe2\x80\x9d replies St. Peter, \xe2\x80\x9c Gregory the Great died \nand came here a long time ago. Who are you that \nhave taken his name 1 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWhy, they called me at Pome Gregory Bevone,\xe2\x80\x9d \n(Gregory the Tippler.) \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c O, I have heard of you; come in.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe second is designed to take off the pope\xe2\x80\x99s objec\xc2\xac \ntions to railroads and other improvements, and repre\xc2\xac \nsents Gregory and St. Peter going together to Paradise. \n\nThe journey being hard and tedious for an aged \nman, he complains to St. Peter thus: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cHow is it, St. Peter, that our journey is so long 7 ? \nI did not know that Paradise was so far from the \nVatican.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSt. Peter replies, \xe2\x80\x9c If you had allowed the construc\xc2\xac \ntion of railways and steamers in your states, we should \nhave arrived long ago; but now you must stop for a \nwhile in Purgatory.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAfter remaining some months in Purgatory, where, \n* (as the story goes,) he met his friend Daniel O\xe2\x80\x99Connell, \nGregory set out with St. Peter again on his eternal \njourney. Coming in view of Paradise, the pope asks \nSt. Peter, \xe2\x80\x9c why the angels, and his last predecessors in \nthe papal chair, did not come out to meet him.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n1 These pasquinades are given on the authority of Rev. John Dowling, \nD. D., History of Romanism, p. 653. \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 401 \n\ntc Dear Gregory,\xe2\x80\x9d replies St. Peter, \xe2\x80\x9c as for the popes, \nthere are few of them in heaven, and the news of your \ndeath has not reached there, as it would have done had \nyou established telegraphs, and granted the freedom of \nthe press.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWhen the saint and the pope arrive at the gates of \nParadise, St. Peter asks Gregory for his key, which \nafter some time the pope finds and hands to him, but it \nproves to be the key of his wine cellar. \n\nPresently St. Peter is admitted within the gates, but \nGregory somehow is lost in the fog. \n\nLeaving the dead pope, we turn to the living one, \nwhose name is Giovanni Maria Mastai Feretti, who is \nof noble birth, being the seventh son of an aristocratic \nand titled gentleman, who had more dignity of rank \nthan length of purse. The younger son, therefore, was \nobliged to enter the army or the church; and as the \nlatter has less work and more pay, Mastai became an \necclesiastic. He passed through the various stages of \npreferment; was made an archbishop in 1829, and a \ncardinal in 1840. When Gregory died, the cardinals, \naccording to the usual custom, shut themselves up, and \nproceeded to the election of his successor. Five days \nwere spent in an ineffectual attempt to elect some one \nto lead the hosts of Pome; but on the sixth it was \nannounced that Cardinal Feretti was pope, under the \ntitle of Pius IX. For a while the new pope, after his \nelection, pursued a generous and liberal policy, which \ngave great satisfaction to the people, who illuminated \nthe city, flocked around the palace, and shouted their \npraises to their, new master; and when he rode out, \nthey, in their enthusiasm, unharnessed the horses of \nhis carriage, and, with glad songs, drew him themselves \nthrough the city. He dismissed from office the prime \n\n51 hh* \n\n\n402 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nminister of the dead pope, Cardinal Lambruschini, as \nbase a tyrant as ever lived, and who was justly hated \nby the people; gave encouragement to several minor \nreforms; disbanded a foreign guard which had attended \nthe court; uttered sentiments friendly to the freedom \nof the press; and, contrary to all precedents, preached \nin public after his august coronation. The Romans \nimagined that the hour of their freedom had come. \nThey looked to the pope as their savior, and blessed \nthe hand which had removed from the pontificate \nGregory XVI., and placed Pius IX. upon the episco\xc2\xac \npal throne. But they were destined to a sad disap\xc2\xac \npointment; and events were to prove that they had \nonly exchanged one tyrant for another. The pope\xe2\x80\x99s \nreform measures did not meet with the approval of the \nchurch. The cardinals and priests began to whine and \nrebel; the Austrian government sent over its protest, \nand Prince Metternich, who is called by the patriots of \nGermany \xe2\x80\x9c Prince Midnight,\xe2\x80\x9d commanded the Austrian \nambassador to resist every innovation which the pope \nmight make on long-established usages; a Capuchin \nmonk made an attempt upon the life of Pius; two or \nthree orders conspired against him; a deep plan was \nlaid to slaughter all the liberals in Rome, and carry the \npope to Naples; arms were found, and money was \npledged to carry out the plot; and to crown the whole, \nthe Austrian army began its march upon the city, and \nPio Nono was driven to concessions which a pope \nnever made before. These demonstrations forced back\xc2\xac \nward the wave of reformation, and stayed the progress \nof liberalism, which were becoming so\xe2\x80\x98prevalent. The \npope, alarmed for his head or mitre, soon began to re\xc2\xac \ntrace his steps, and it was not long ere he had undone \nall the good, and plunged into gross errors, which \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\n\n403 \n\n\narmed against him the opposition of his subjects. \nThey had tasted liberty; they had seen the dawn of a \nbetter day, and ardently desired to be completely free; \nand when the pope began to draw the reins, and issue \nhis oppressive enactments, they rose up against him, \nuntil, on the 24th of November, 1848, the supreme \ntyrant fled from Rome in the jacket of a Bavarian \nslave, and found shelter from his loving subjects in \nthe arms of Ferdinand of Naples, at Gaeta. \n\nTime rolled on, and the legions of France thundered \nat the gates of Rome, broke down the walls, restored \nthe pope, and to-day he keeps his seat through the \ninfluence of two hostile armies, whose cannon point \ntowards the Vatican. \n\nI was fortunate enough to see his holiness under \nvery favorable circumstances; and though my admira\xc2\xac \ntion of the poor, foolish old man did not increase by \nthe public exhibition which he made of himself, yet I \nwas glad to be in Rome at the time. It was at the \ngreat festival of Corpus Domini, which is celebrated \nwith great enthusiasm in all Papal countries. The \norigin of this festival is something like this: A nun, \nin the twelfth century, while gazing from the little \nwindow of her cloister upon the full moon, which was \nriding in the heavens above, saw in that luminary a gap \nor crevice. While she wondered what this could mean, \na soft, mysterious influence stole over her senses, and a \ndivine form appeared, and she was informed that the \nmoon represented the church, and the gap was illustrat\xc2\xac \ning the want of some religious festival. She inquired \nwhat it was, and was informed that it was the adoration \nof the consecrated wafer. She was commissioned to \nannounce this to the world, and to commence the cele\xc2\xac \nbration of Corpus Domini, or Corpus Christi , as it is \n\n\n404 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nsometimes called. Pope Urban IV. set apart the Thurs- \nday following, Trinity Sunday, for the celebration, and \ndown to this day it has been observed. Many curious \nmiracles have been performed on that day, and in con\xc2\xac \nnection with the festival. One of these was some six \ncenturies ago. A priest in Bolsena, who was somewhat \nsceptical in relation to the vision of the nun, was one \nday engaged in preaching his scepticism from the steps \nof the altar, when drops of blood fell upon his surplice, \nand stained it in a most peculiar manner. He tried to \nconceal the blood, but it would appear on the outside, \nhowever he might fold his robes. In wild affright, he \nfell down and confessed his sin, and threw off the fear\xc2\xac \nful vesture. The robe is kept at Civita Vecchia, that \nmiserable, dirty little town on the coast, and is shown \nat the annual festival with much carefulness. \n\nWell, the morning of Corpus Christi day came, \nbright and beautiful, the Italian sky bending its soft \narch above our heads as we went out to see the show. \nThe streets were thronged with gay and animated \ncrowds of people. French soldiers, in shining uni\xc2\xac \nforms, were moving up and down the Corso ; monks \nand nuns, friars and priests, wending their way towards \nthe venerable and sacred edifice. Falling into the line \nof carriages, we crossed the bridge, by St. Angelo, and \nsoon found ourselves in front of St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s. We were \nfortunate enough to secure good seats under the colon\xc2\xac \nnade, through which the procession was to pass. At \neight o\xe2\x80\x99clock precisely the stir began, the first rank \nemerging from the door of the Vatican just as the hour- \narrived. Down by us came a large number of French \nsoldiers, with stern countenances, and looks as grave as \nif they were marching to the field of death; next, a \ncompany of the famous gens d\'armes , with their long \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 405 \n\nswords clanking by their sides, and their iron heels \nechoing on the pavements; next, several hundreds of \nboys, who are being educated in the various Catholic \nschools and monasteries, wearing white robes, and carry\xc2\xac \ning burning candles, and, as they moved on, sending \nout strains ot music from their young lips, deliciously \nwild and discordant; next followed the friars, white, \ngray, and black, of all the different orders, with large \nwax candles burning in their hands. The appearance \nof these monks was any thing but pleasing. Were all \nour prisons raked over, or the ragged school of London \nsearched, no company of men could be gathered who \nwould exceed these in base looks and sinister expres\xc2\xac \nsions. There were but a few good-looking men among \nthem. The w T ild eye of vice or the dull look of indo\xc2\xac \nlence characterized them all. Their heads were shaven, \ntheir beards long and dirty, their feet bare, and their \nrobes ragged and filthy. As they moved on by hun\xc2\xac \ndreds, they made the colonnades ring with their sacred \nsongs, which came pealing amid the majestic columns \nin a chorus wild and grand. All the time the bells in \nthe city were ringing in many a chime, the cannon of \nSt. Angelo were thundering over the Tiber, and mili\xc2\xac \ntary bands were sending their strains over the gay and \nbrilliant city. Still on the procession came, each order \nof monks known by the different flags and devices \nwhich they carried. The order of San Francisco were \nthe most miserable set of human beings I ever saw in \necclesiastical habits. Should they march up to the door \nof any one of our poorhouses, the first work of the \nkeeper would be to souse them into water, and wash \naway their filth. The Augustine friars looked very well. \nThey were clean and tidy, and appeared as if they were \nwell fed. Many of them seemed to be fine singers, and \n\n\n406 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\ndiscoursed sweet music. Behind the friars followed the \ncurates and priests of the churches in and around the \ncity. These were better looking men, well dressed in \nblack robes, and withal somewhat portly. Next, a \nhigher grade of the clergy; then the senator of Borne, \npoor representative of departed glory, and with him the \nofficers of state. These all passed along, with crosses, \nbells, banners, and all kinds of trinkets, and a louder \nblast of trumpets caused us to stretch our necks and \nstrain our eyes for the next scene in the play, when, lo! \na sort of baby training-cap, on a velvet cushion, made \nits appearance. It looked like the plaything which \nwas put on Victoria\xe2\x80\x99s head in Westminster, years ago, \na very pretty ornament for a gay, unmarried girl. Then \nfollowed another hat, still more gorgeous, and then a \nthird, each of which is worn by the pope on certain \noccasions. The people reached up, gaped, stared, \nand looked wondrous wise, as these toys were lost in \nthe distance. An hour was thus occupied, when the \nbell of the Cathedral announced that the pope was \nleaving the Vatican. He came on, preceded by his body \nguard of soldiers, dressed in a singular uniform, which \ngave them a most grotesque appearance. They wear \nsteel helmets, with flowing plumes; frocks of blue, \ngreen, white, and yellow stripes; loose, flowing Bloomer \ntrowsers, similarly striped; stockings striped likewise. \nThey carry halberds, and are very dashy in their ap\xc2\xac \npearance, as you may imagine. Around the pope were \ngathered the cardinals, with blood-red robes, the most \nappropriate color they could wear. But the object of \nall interest was the pontiff himself, who was borne upon \nthe shoulders of ecclesiastics of high rank. He rode \nin a car trimmed with gold, and decorated with span\xc2\xac \ngles. Over his head was a canopy of gilt and crimson. \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 407 \n\nAs this pretended successor of St. Peter rode along, \nwith his head bowed over a golden crucifix, and his \nperson covered almost entirely with drapery, the undu\xc2\xac \nlating motion reminded me of the awkward figure one \nmakes when riding on the back of an unwieldy ele\xc2\xac \nphant. His holiness is a good-looking man, in the \nsixtieth year of his age, having been born in 1792. \nHis countenance is mild, and has a benevolent expres\xc2\xac \nsion. There appears, however, a want of life and char\xc2\xac \nacter, and no one would mark him as a man of much \nability and energy. In size, rotundity, cast of features, \nand general appearance, the pope resembles Dr. M. \n(though without the vivacity of countenance which \ndistinguishes my traveling associate) more than any \nman I ever saw; and did not the pontiff have that dull, \nleaden look, and stooping carriage, which are not at all \ncharacteristic of my friend, one might be taken for the \nother. The Homans were often struck with the resem\xc2\xac \nblance, and with a good-natured smile would look into \nthe doctor\xe2\x80\x99s face, and twitter an unintelligible sen\xc2\xac \ntence, the only word of which we could understand \nwas \xe2\x80\x9cpapa.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut to return from our digression. The procession \nof boys and men, monks and priests, bishops and cardi\xc2\xac \nnals, singing and praying, groaning and shouting, \nmoved out into the street, and up through the piazza, \nin front of the church, and into the sacred edifice, \nopening to the right and left, forming lines, through \nwhich the pope was to pass. Soon he came ambling \nalong on his human horses, who were sweating beneath \nthe burden. At the foot of the grand altar he dis\xc2\xac \nmounted, very much as a person pretty well frightened \nwould clamber down from the back of an elephant. \nWhat took place at the altar I do not know r . The pope \n\n\ni \n\n\n408 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nmuttered; the people fell on their faces; the military \nmen threw their arms down with a clash upon the pave\xc2\xac \nments ; the pope spread his hands, and gave a fatherly \nbenediction; and men, women, boys, girls, priests, \nmonks, cardinals, beggars, thieves, Italians, Germans, \nFrench, all began to rush out of the cathedral pell- \nmell, crowding, pushing, running, stopping, swearing, \npraying, all in one delightful jumble, the like of which \nI never saw before. Seeing his holiness making his \nway towards where we stood, we put ourselves in a \nposition to secure a most favorable view of his counte\xc2\xac \nnance. When he arrived at the spot where we were, \nhe was seized with a sudden spasm of affection; and \nturning square round, he spread his holy hands, and \nuttered an extra blessing on us poor heretics. I was \ngrateful, not so much for the benediction as for the fine \nview of his sacred person. \n\nWith the crowd we rushed out of the church, and at \nthe door met and shook hands with Rev. Mr. Barry, \nwho had recently arrived from the Holy Land. The \nsight of a familiar face amid those strange scenes was \ntruly refreshing; and though our interview lasted but \na few minutes, it forms a little green spot amid the \ndashing waves of that tumultuous day. \n\nIn Rome, the Catholic religion is seen in all its \npower and glory, ay, and in all its weakness and shame \ntoo. There is no government here to interfere with the \nexercise of its functions; there are no heretical sects to \ndeform its proportions, and hinder its advance. Here \nare its throne, its palace and its prison, its temple and \nits tower. Italy is a very paradise for monks, and if \nshe is not cursed, it is not their fault. They swarm \nlike locusts, eat bread which they do not earn, live in \nhouses which they have not erected. \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\n\n409 \n\n\nOne of the most striking characteristics of Roman\xc2\xac \nism, as it is seen in Italy, is its unblushing absurdities. \nWherever you go, you meet with some marvelous story \nwhich bears upon its face every sign of falsehood. The \nreligious observances are mixed up with the most dis\xc2\xac \ngusting nonsense, of which a reasonable man would tire \nin a single season; and these stories are told, and these \nservices are performed, by men who know their perfect \nfolly. The scene which I have described is one which \ncannot be reviewed without awakening in the mind a \nfeeling of horror and contempt towards its principal \nactor. An old man bedecks himself in tinsel and "old. \n\nO \' \n\nand rides abroad upon the shoulders of men, the repre\xc2\xac \nsentative of one wdio had not where to lay his head. \nThe deluded people see him come, and fall upon their \nknees. The great God is forgotten; a mortal sits in \nhis place. To man the prayer is offered; from man the \nblessing is expected; and the infidelity which wrapped \nthe sun of France in clouds is not more blinded than \nthe superstition of the worshipers of Antichrist. \n\nThe holy week is full of scenes which one knows \nnot whether to consider most pitiable or ludicrous. \nWith all gravity, ceremonies are performed in which \nthe great and learned engage with apparent delight and \ndevotion. One of these ceremonies is that in which \nthe pope washes the feet of thirteen men, who repre\xc2\xac \nsent the twelve apostles and the base betrayer. Thir\xc2\xac \nteen men are chosen who will best represent the char\xc2\xac \nacters. Peter is personified by a severe, impulsive, \nenergetic old man, with long, flowing beard; John, \nby a young, boyish-looking man, on whose fair face sit \ngentle benignity and grace; Luke, by a fine, intel\xc2\xac \nlectual, noble-appearing citizen; Judas, by a dark, sin\xc2\xac \nister, malignant, scowling creature, who looks the very \n\n52 ii \n\n\n410 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npicture of hate and revenge. Some of the thirteen look \nas if they were just from the fishers\xe2\x80\x99 nets, and some of \nthem from the seats of the publicans. \n\nWith a little scented water, the pope goes through \nthe form of washing their feet, and they all sit down to \na table spread with food, and this false Christ attends \nthem, and hands them the dishes with ineffable grace. \nThis mock service is performed sometimes in the Sis- \ntine Chapel, and immense crowds assemble to witness it. \nThe pope publicly assumes the character of an impostor, \nand the whole ceremony is well calculated to impress \nthe mind with the utter absurdity and the unspeakable \nmeanness of a church which will, in the midst of the \nlight of our day, practice such a rite. \n\nThe empty form of climbing the Seal a Santa , which \nis done by thousands of poor, wretched pilgrims, on \ntheir blistered knees, with the vain hope that it will \nease the guilty conscience, and give peace to the trou\xc2\xac \nbled bosom, is also ridiculous. It is so unlike any \nthing which Christ ever enjoined upon his disciples, and \nso unlike any thing which he ever practiced himself, and \nis so senseless withal, that no one can see the devotees \ntoiling up the steps without smiles at their folly. \n\nWhoever lives in Rome a year will witness a round \nof folly which Boodhism never equaled. He will see \nthe Agnus Dei borne from house to house, with the vain \nhope that it will save the sick and dying; he will attend \nthe feast of the Annunciation, and hear the cry of the \nangels, \xe2\x80\x9cPeace on earth, good will to men;\xe2\x80\x9d he will \nhear and see the celebration of Christi Missa , or the \nmass which commemorates Immanuel\xe2\x80\x99s birth; he will \ngo to the Sistine Chapel, and hear the wailings of the \n\xe2\x80\xa2 Miserere , as the thirteen emblematic candles are put out; \nhe will hear all the bells in the city ringing, and the \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\n\n411 \n\n\ncannon of St. Angelo thundering over the Savior\xe2\x80\x99s \nresurrection; and will be called each day to celebrate \nthe festival of some saint, to rejoice over the perform\xc2\xac \nance of some miracle, and exult in the triumph of some \nnew superstition. \n\nThe absurdities of Romanism are seen also in the \nrelics which abound in Italy, and the blasphemous use \nwhich is made of them in this and all other countries. \nOne traveler, while going down into Italy, found, in \nthe cave of some of the monks, an outline of the foot \nof the Virgin Mary, which was accompanied by the fol\xc2\xac \nlowing curious document, which he translated for the \nbenefit of heretics : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c All hail, Mary, Most Sacred Virgin Mother of God. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Correct measure of the foot of the most blessed \nVirgin Mother of God, cast from her own shoe, which \nis preserved with great devotion in the monastery \nof Spain. Pope John XXII. granted three hundred \nyears of indulgence to whomsoever should kiss three \ntimes this measure, and recite the 4 Ave Maria,\' which \nwas also confirmed by Pope Clement VIII., in the year \nof our Redemption 1603. This indulgence not being \nlimited, one can obtain, as often as he wishes, the aid \nof the Most Sacred Virgin. It can also be applied to \nspirits in purgatory; and, for the greater glory of the \nQueen of Heaven, it is permitted to take from this meas\xc2\xac \nure other similar measures, all of which shall bestow \nthe same indulgence. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nFive or six years ago, in Treves, a German city, the \nRomish cause getting low, Arnold, the bishop, got an \nold piece of cloth, which he called the seamless coat of \nJesus, and on various occasions multitudes came from \nall parts of the German states to see and worship this \n\n\n412 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\ninteresting relic. The bishop held it up, the choir \nchanted melancholy lays. The whole throng fell down \non their faces, and cried, \xe2\x80\x9c Holy coat, pray for us! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c Holy coat, we worship thee! \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c Holy coat, thou art \nlife! \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c Holy coat, our hope, our hope! \xe2\x80\x9d The descrip\xc2\xac \ntion given of this relic, by Catholics, is quite amusing. \n\nOne says, \xe2\x80\x9cIts thread is so fine, and so strongly \nblended, that the eye cannot see whether it is woven or \nwrought with the needle.\xe2\x80\x9d Another says, \xe2\x80\x9cThe eye can \nscarcely recognize the color; sometimes it is purple red, \nsometimes a beautiful blue; at other times it has the \ncolor of the yellow lily. An extraordinary emotion \nseizes those who look at it; sometimes they contemplate \nit with love; sometimes they suddenly look abashed, \nseized with fear and respect. It seems that a divine \nvirtue dwells in this robe.\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c Masenius gives the exact \nmeasurement. It is lm. 76 in length, lm. 16 in breadth. \nOn the top there is an opening to admit the head.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe history of this relic, as given by Romanists, is as \ncurious as the description. It is like this: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c At the crucifixion, the coat fell to the lot of a Ro\xc2\xac \nman soldier, who sold it to John and the women who \nwere at the cross. It was thus concealed in the holy \nfamily and their descendants during the whole period \nof the persecutions, until its very existence became a \nsecret. It remained hid for nearly three hundred years, \nuntil the ascendency of Constantine, when the Empress \nHelena visited Palestine in 326, searching for relics, to \nquicken the faith of proselytes at home. Among other \ndiscoveries, she brought from its concealment the holy \nrobe without seam, the mystic symbol of the indivisi\xc2\xac \nbility of the church; and, on her return, is said to have \ndeposited it in the church of Treves. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cTo this period succeeds a chasm of eight hundred \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 413 \n\nyears, during which the tunic was hidden from view. \nWhat became of it none can tell. It was not till the \nyear 1196 that it w r as again discovered and exposed. It \nthen remained hidden again until 1512, when it was \nexhibited at the request of the Emperor Maximilian. \nSince then it has been displayed nine times; the last \ntime in 1810, for nineteen days, when two hundred and \ntwenty-seven thousand strangers visited it. At each \nof these exhibitions, the most astonishing miracles, to \nwhich all the wonders of sacred story bear no compar\xc2\xac \nison, were performed by the coat, all of which are ex- \nultingly recorded, and form a gross and revolting history \nof imposture and superstition. At times the robe has \nhad great popularity as a relic: Pope Leo X. granted a \nplenary indulgence \xe2\x80\x94 that is, license to commit any sin \nthey please \xe2\x80\x94 to all who should adore it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe miracles performed by this coat, recorded by \nCatholic historians, are as follows: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The Countess Jane Drost Vischering had a painful \ncontraction of the left leg, rendering the use of crutches \nnecessary, which had existed for many years in spite of \nthe best medical aid. She visited the cathedral, knelt \nbefore the tunic, touched it, and rose and walked off \nwithout her crutches, entirely free from her disease! \nHer crutches still hang in the cathedral as a testimony \nof her miraculous cure, and of the wonderful efficacy \nof the tunic ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Matthew Weiler, a peasant, had been sick for two \nyears, experiencing the most excruciating pains in the \nwhole length of his left leg, which was in consequence \ncontracted double. He was carried to the cathedral, \nand, while worshiping the tunic, felt a change in his \nlimb, and immediately straightened it, and walked off \nlike a grenadier ! About the same time, a daughter of \n\nii * \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n414 \n\nJohn Schell, a child of twelve years of age, who also \nhad a contraction of her limbs, came near the relic, and \nfelt instantly her leg stretch out; and she walked away \nwithout her crutches or any support! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Widow Catharine Petsch had a cerebral affection, \nwhich deprived her of the use of speech, and of the \nlimbs of her right side, so that all sensibility was de\xc2\xac \nstroyed. This continued for five months. She also was \ncarried in a state of insensibility to the tunic, and in\xc2\xac \nstantly, on reaching it, cried, 4 O God ! O Savior! \xe2\x80\x99 rose, \ncompletely cured, and left the cathedral without any \nsupport! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cAnna Josephine Wagner was cured of epilepsy by \none single touch. Catharine Drolait, aged twenty-four, \nwas cured of the palsy. She was carried to the tunic ; \nand, according to the certified account, when she \ntouched it, she cried out, with a loud voice, 4 Good \nGod! how that cracks in my knee!\xe2\x80\x99 and fell in a \nswoon, from which she awoke perfectly cured ! Apol- \nlonia Porn, aged nine years, was cured of rickets on \nthe 21st of September! A child, who had been blind \nof an eye by falling on a sickle, suddenly recovered the \nsight of the eye which was lost! Susannah Muller was \ncured of articular gout, which, for six months, had not \npermitted her to be an hour out of bed! Pegina Mor- \nscheidt was cured of aphonia. James Heing, who had \nbeen made dumb by a fever, was restored.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIt was the blind idolatry of the people who wor\xc2\xac \nshiped this old coat, which Arnold had stolen from the \nscanty wardrobe of some poor pauper, which stirred the \nheart of John Konge, one of his priests, who^ like \nLuther, rose up in indignation, and branded the church \nas an impostor, and Arnold as the priest of imposition. \n\nWere these relics reverenced by the poor, degraded \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 415 \n\nmonks alone, we should not charge the church with \nabsurdity on their account. But the seamless coat and \nthe V irgin\xe2\x80\x99s slipper are shown by the bishops, and the \nexhibition is sanctioned by the authorities at Borne. \nAt the very word of the pope himself, thousands fall \ndown before the napkin, the cross, and the spear, which \nare preserved in St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, and the whole Papal hier\xc2\xac \narchy say \xe2\x80\x9cAmen.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOne who was on the ground when the holy coat was \nworshiped, and who was acquainted with all the cir\xc2\xac \ncumstances, gives a description of the interest taken in \nthis imposition: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c On the 18th of August, the Bishop of Treves per\xc2\xac \nformed mass in his pontifical robes, and afterwards \nexhibited the seamless coat. All the parishes in the \ncity made a pompous procession. The civil and mili\xc2\xac \ntary authorities, the students of college, the school \nchildren, the mechanics, the tradesmen, all attended. \nIn the evening the houses were illuminated. The sol\xc2\xac \ndiers were led by their officers before the relic, with \ntheir colors lowered. Three hundred prisoners asked \nleave to visit the holy garment, and they came with \ngreat gravity and compunction. During the whole \nexhibition, the cathedral was open from five o\xe2\x80\x99clock in \nthe morning till eight o\xe2\x80\x99clock at night, and it was con\xc2\xac \nstantly filled with an immense crowd. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Pilgrims came from all countries, chiefly from Ger\xc2\xac \nmany and the eastern frontiers of France. They were \nfor the most part peasants, who, with their vicar at \ntheir head, flocked to this pagan spectacle. The city \nof Treves presented during the exhibition a lively \nscene. In all the streets and public places, processions \nwere continually passing. Ordinarily, the pilgrims \nmarched two and two, and chanted a monotonous lit- \n\n\n416 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nany. All the hotels were crowded. Extensive wooden \nbarracks were erected at the gates of the city, and \nthere, for a penny or two a head, the pilgrims found a \nlittle straw to lie upon. At two o\xe2\x80\x99clock in the morning, \nthe noise began again, and continued till a very ad\xc2\xac \nvanced hour of the night. Playactors of all sorts \nestablished themselves at Treves; every day several \ntheaters were opened to amuse the strangers. There \nwere panoramas, dioramas, menageries, puppet shows \xe2\x80\x94 \nall the diversions which are found in France at fairs. \nEvery where mirth and revelry abounded, wholly un\xc2\xac \nlike the composed and pious feelings inspired by the \nperformance of a religious duty. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Let us now accompany the pilgrims to the cathedral. \nAt the bottom of the nave, on an altar brilliantly light\xc2\xac \ned, is the relic, in a golden box. Steps placed at each \nside lead to it. The pilgrims approach, mount the \nsteps, and pass their hand through an oval aperture in \nthe box, to touch the coat of the Lord. Two priests, \nseated near the relic, receive the chaplets, medals, hoods, \nand other articles of the faithful, and put them in con\xc2\xac \ntact with the marvelous coat, because mere contact is a \nmeans of blessing. Objects which have thus touched \nthe relic are consecrated, sanctified; they then become \nholy chaplets, holy medals, &c.; and after this ceremony \nthe pilgrims go away rejoicing, thinking they have ac\xc2\xac \nquired the remission of all their sins. It is needless to \nsay that this exhibition was distinguished by numerous \nmiracles. Has not Rome miracles always at her ser\xc2\xac \nvice] Is not her whole history filled with striking \nprodigies ] \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c This exhibition, of course, brought a great deal of \nmoney to the priests. This is the true explanation of \nthe riddle. It is estimated that the offerings of the \n\n\n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 417 \n\nfaithful amounted to five hundred thousand francs (one \nhundred thousand dollars) in the space of six weeks, \nwithout reckoning the eighty thousand medals of the \nVirgin, which were sold, and the profits from the sale \nof chaplets and other objects of devotion. Even now, \nin all the towns of France, the priests employ persons, \nparticularly women, to sell at an exorbitant price a \nthousand petty articles which have touched the holy \ncoat! such as ribins, bits of cloth, cotton and silk, \nsome of which are shaped like the coat, besides cruci\xc2\xac \nfixes and images, in wood or in glass. The clergy have \nmonopolized all the old rags of the neighborhood of \nTreves, and sell them for their weight in gold; and \nthey find dupes weak enough to purchase these amu\xc2\xac \nlets ! The product of this traffic, added to the offerings \nof the pilgrims, will be perhaps from one to two mil\xc2\xac \nlions of francs.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAnother striking characteristic of the Romish church \nis its wretched intolerance. This is not clearly seen in \nAmerica, for here she has but little power, and thus \nfar she has secured no hold upon native-born Ameri\xc2\xac \ncans. Any display of a persecuting spirit would destroy \nits own purpose, and defeat its own efforts. The priests \npractice their rites and exercise dominion only within \ntheir own borders. In England, the cloven foot is seen \na little more distinctly, and the church is more arrogant \nand pretending. In France she takes still greater lib\xc2\xac \nerties, and since that monster of wickedness, Louis \nNapoleon, has trampled down the constitution, has es\xc2\xac \ntablished herself in her own peculiar way. But to \nknow Romanism, one must see Rome; he must travel \ndown through Italy, the seat and head-quarters of \nPopery, and learn what this false church is when \nuncontrolled by Protestant influences. He will find, \n\n53 \n\n\n418 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nwithin the walls of the Eternal City, the press under \nrestrictions unknown in any other city in the world, \nthe Bible a proscribed book, the rights of conscience \ndenied to man, and the whole people in the most ab\xc2\xac \nject slavery. He will find the dark, blood-sprinkled \ncells of the Inquisition, and the dungeons of old \nSt. Angelo, full of prisoners confined for conscience\xe2\x80\x99 \nsake; and could he explore the cloisters of the monks \nand the deep places in private edifices, he would doubt\xc2\xac \nless find traces of as foul a system of wrong as was \never known beneath the sun. The intolerance of the \nRomish church is seen in all her dealings with man\xc2\xac \nkind. She has claimed the right* to tread upon the \nneck of princes and kings; she has taught her disciples \nto break faith with heretics; she has refused permission \nfor other religions to be taught in her dominions, and \nhas at all times displayed a spirit of arrogance and \noppression. At the present moment, many of her illus\xc2\xac \ntrious sons are exiles, wandering up and down the earth \nto escape the vengeance of the wily and crafty priest\xc2\xac \nhood. A man cannot utter his opinions freely in Rome. \nThe fear of chains and imprisonment is ever before \nhim; and if, in an unguarded moment, he breaks forth \nin honest abhorrence at the crimes and woes which \nabound, a secret police hunts him out, tracks him to his \nabode, and drags him away, to torture or to death. I \ndo not affirm that Pio Nono is wholly an intolerant \nman, or that every cardinal is an ambitious tyrant, or \nthat every priest is a crafty villain. Pius is probably a \nkind, well-meaning, but weak and inefficient pontiff. \nHis history proves him to be friendly to the minor \nreforms; and could he reign alone, he would doubtless \ndo something to relieve the woes of his subjects. Some \nof the cardinals are worthy, generous-minded men, who \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 419 \n\nare wholly averse to oppression; some of the priests \nare honest, worthy, and perhaps I may say pious, striv\xc2\xac \ning to do good. I hope there is many an A Kempis \nand many a Fenelon yet left in Home, who will forsake \nher altars when the cry is heard, \xe2\x80\x9c Come out of her, my \npeople. \xe2\x80\x99 But this pope is the head, and those cardi\xc2\xac \nnals and priests rule over an intolerant church. It \nlives by its intolerance; and when its intolerant spirit \nis gone or broken, there will be an end of the church. \nThe pope cannot begin to reform without reforming \nhimself out of the episcopal office. His throne is built \non perverted justice and monstrous wrongs, and every \nblow he strikes for progress falls upon himself. I \nwould give the pope all the credit which he deserves \nfor his good intentions and his good moral character. \nHe is not, as were some of his predecessors, addicted to \nvice of all descriptions, from the little petty acts of a \nfriar to unblushing adultery and murder; but whoever \nhopes any thing from him for freedom, will hope in \nvain. There was a time when hope was kindled, and \nmen turned to Pius as the political regenerator of Italy. \nA company of cosy old gentlemen in our country as\xc2\xac \nsembled and voted him a complimentary address, and \nin their enthusiasm dreamed that the long, dark night \nof Popish oppression was ended. But the pope turned \nthe cold shoulder upon his new friends, and coolly in\xc2\xac \nformed the world, that whoever expected him to do any \nthing to curtail the power of the Romish see would be \nmistaken. From that time, Pio Nono has been rolling \nback the car of reform, doing penance for the few gen\xc2\xac \nerous acts with which he commenced his pontificate, \nuntil he is nearly as much detested by all the patriots \nas was Gregory XVI. What he has not done which a \ntyrant is able and willing to do, no living man can tell \n\n\n420 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nHe has condemned the right of private judgment; he \nhas uttered his anathemas against Bibles and Bible \nsocieties; he has bewailed the writing and printing of \nbooks, and the progress of knowledge; he has declared \nthat \xe2\x80\x9c beyond the Catholic church there is no salva\xc2\xac \ntion ; \xe2\x80\x9d he has turned over all heretics to plagues of the \nbody and torments of the soul; the saints he has shut \nup in prison, and haling men and women, he has put \nthem to death. \' What more could a tyrant do than \nPius IX. has done 1 His friends may urge that he is the \nblind tool of designing men, such as Lambruschini, and \nis forced into oppressive measures by his ambitious and \nintriguing cardinals; but there he is, sitting in the \nplace of God, with his iron heel upon the liberty of \nconscience, the freedom of the press, and the Holy \nScriptures; and the church sustains him. Not a voice \ncomes out from the polluted lips of the Mother of \nAbominations in remonstrance. In England, Cardinal \nWiseman and the apostate Newman defend him; in \nFrance, the Papal priests and presses declare that the \nholy father is right, and justify even the torture and \nmurder of those who oppose his authority; in Ger\xc2\xac \nmany and Austria, the most oppressive enactments of \ncorrupt courts meet with a ready response; while in \nAmerica, Bishop Hughes, at the head of his clergy, \nunblushingly declares that the pope is right in sup\xc2\xac \npressing the Protestant religion in Pome, and that \nProtestants have no right to expect toleration at his \nhands; and Orestes A. Brownson, ready to plunge yet \ndeeper than his priest into the pit of intolerance, \nstyles the patriots of Italy who forced a constitution, \nsuch as it was, from the pope, and who were led on by \nsuch pure men as Mazzini, \xe2\x80\x9cthe liberals,\xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9cmiscreants,\xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c spawn of hell,\xe2\x80\x9d men who are \xe2\x80\x9c doing their best to \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 421 \n\ndesolate Europe, and replunge the nations, civilized by \nChristianity, into the darkness of barbarism.\xe2\x80\x9d He de\xc2\xac \nclares them to be \xe2\x80\x9c deserving of the execration of every \nman who has a human heart under his left breast.\xe2\x80\x9d 1 \nThose who sympathize with these Italian patriots he \nstyles \xe2\x80\x9c stupid dolts, who throw up their greasy caps, \nand cheer them on with loud hurrahs.\xe2\x80\x9d He defends the \nJesuits, that order of monks and priests who are feared \nand hated more justly, by all good men in Europe, \nthan are the lazzaroni of the city or the banditti of \nthe mountain. He stands up in our midst and ridi\xc2\xac \ncules our institutions, which protect him in his very \nabuse of them; he goes abroad and defames our society, \nmisrepresents our conditions, and ridicules our laws. \n\nThe Catholic religion would be a most amusing play, \nwere it not for its intolerance and persecutions. There \nis so much of it which is perfectly absurd and laugh\xc2\xac \nable, that one can scarcely feel serious while speaking \nabout it. You have heard of the poor monk who had \nstained himself with fearful crimes, and who went to \nthe priest to confess. As he approached the confes\xc2\xac \nsional, he said,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Holy father, I have sinned.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe priest bade him kneel before the penitential chair. \nThe penitent was looking about, and saw the priest\xe2\x80\x99s \ngold watch lying upon the table, within his reach. \nHe seized it, and put it in his bosom. The priest ap\xc2\xac \nproached, and requested him to acknowledge the sins \nfor which he wished absolution. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Father,\xe2\x80\x9d said the penitent, \xe2\x80\x9c I have stolen, and what \nshall I do ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n. \xe2\x80\x9c Restore,\xe2\x80\x9d said the priest, \xe2\x80\x9c the thing you have stolen \nto its rightful owner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n1 Brownson\xe2\x80\x99s Quarterly Review. \n\nJJ \n\n\n422 \n\n\nEURQPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Do you take it,\xe2\x80\x9d said the penitent. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c No, I shall not,\xe2\x80\x9d said the priest; \xe2\x80\x9c you must give it \nto the owner.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c But,\xe2\x80\x9d said the thief, \xe2\x80\x9c he has refused to take it.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c If this be the case, you may keep it,\xe2\x80\x9d said the \npriest; and he absolved him from all his sins, and gave \nhim the blessing; and the penitent went out with a \nclear conscience in his bosom, and the priests watch in \nhis pocket. \n\nWe are told an amusing story of a case of Popish \njuggling in Ireland, in which the church was com\xc2\xac \npletely outwitted. A man died, and his widow was \ntold by her priest that his soul was in purgatory, and \ncould be released only upon the saying of a number of \nmasses, which he would do only on condition that she \nwould give him her cow, which was almost all her liv\xc2\xac \ning. For a long time she hesitated between duty to \nher children and the desire to release her husband from \nthe flames of purgatory. At length, her love for her \ndeparted companion prevailed, and she ordered her two \nbright little boys to drive the cow to the house of the \npriest. As they drove her along, weeping over the \nsacrifice they were about to make, for they were poor, \nthe priest tried to encourage them. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Well done; you are good boys; drive cheerily, for \nyour father\xe2\x80\x99s soul is out of hell, and the devil can never \nget him back again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Do you hear that, Jim \\ \xe2\x80\x9d said the older boy to his \nbrother; \xe2\x80\x9c the priest says father is safe out of purga\xc2\xac \ntory, and the devil can never get him back again; run \nalong and head the cow, and drive her back, for alibis? \nright now.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nQuickly the cow was wheeled about, amid the curses \nof the priest, and the boys drove her home again, to \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 423 \n\nthe great delight of the mother, who, through the wit \nof her children, had delivered her husband from tor\xc2\xac \nment, and saved her property. \n\nFrom the short stay which I made in Italy, and from \nthe most authentic accounts, given both by Protestants \nand Romanists, of the condition of that country, I can\xc2\xac \nnot but believe that the church has a weak hold upon \nthe minds of thousands, who would cast away the chains \nwhich are on them, did an opportunity occur. Light is \nstreaming over the dark walls of Rome, and illuminat\xc2\xac \ning the habitations of the people. The masses of the \nnation are ignorant, bigoted, and superstitious, and yet \nare open to conviction, to a greater extent than Papists \nin our land. Could light penetrate, they would hail it; \ncould a fire be kindled, they would feel its warmth. \n\nThat Rome is ready to give up the Catholic religion, \nnone would affirm; and yet a single newspaper, well con\xc2\xac \nducted, a single Protestant church, with a pious preacher, \na single missionary distributing tracts and Bibles from \nhouse to house, would, in five years, produce a change \nwhich would make the throne of Pius IX. tremble, and \nastonish the whole Christian world. I know of no spot \nin the world so favorable for the conversion of Roman\xc2\xac \nists as Rome itself. \n\nThe church of Rome has not changed; she is the \nsame now as she was in other days, when, at her behest, \nblood flowed in torrents. She is less open, more Jesuit\xc2\xac \nical now than formerly, because she has less power over \nkings and emperors. But her bloody spirit remains the \nsame. Not one of her acts of persecution has she dis\xc2\xac \navowed ; but, up to this hour, every scene of crime \ncommitted under her sanctity she has defended. When \nit was announced in Rome that the streets of France \nwere deluged with Protestant blood, that wicked city \n\n\n424 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nechoed with joy at the dreadful intelligence that the \nmassacre of St. Bartholomew\xe2\x80\x99s day had taken place. \nSo strongly did the church \xe2\x80\x94 O, shame! \xe2\x80\x94 commend \nthis scene of crime, that a coin was struck, on one \nside of which was the figure of an angel, with a cross \nin his hand, and a sword, the emblem of persecution. \nBesides this, there are men, and women, and children \nwounded, weltering in blood, and all the dreadful ap\xc2\xac \npendages to this scene of w T o, while over the whole is the \ninscription, \xe2\x80\x9c Strages Huguenotorum ,\xe2\x80\x9d ( The slaughter \nof the Huguenots.) On the other side is the name of \nthe pope who linked his title with the crimes of that \nterrible night \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c Gregorius X.III, Pontifex Maximus .\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHow, since then, has the church of Borne changed \\ \nLet us see. When the news of the famous coup d\'etat \nreached the Eternal City, and it was known that Louis \nNapoleon had broken down the constitution and the \nlaws, that blood was flowing in torrents, that the Cath\xc2\xac \nolic church was laying her beams wider in the blood of \nmen, \xe2\x80\x94 intelligence at which all the world but Borne \nrecoiled, \xe2\x80\x94 that city was illuminated, Pius IX. said \nhigh mass, and a jubilee was held throughout the Papal \ndominion \xe2\x80\x94 the jubilee of hell, whose echo was caught \nup and rolled along our shores, and thundered forth in \ntriumph from every church on which is seen the dead \ncrucifix of Bomanism. And if the work had been more \ncomplete, \xe2\x80\x94 if M. Coquerel and Adolph Monod had \nmet the fate of Coligny, we might have had a new \ncoin, with its terrible inscription, \xe2\x80\x9c Strages Huguenoto- \nrum and on the\'reverse, the portrait of Mastai Fe- \nretti, with his leaden look, and under it, or over it, his \nassumed title, Pius IX. \n\nIn this country, if we charge the church with intol\xc2\xac \nerance, and cruelty, and absurdity, we are accused of \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 425 \n\nfalsehood; but in Rome, a faithful minister could point \nto the Inquisition, and say, \xe2\x80\x9c There, in that edifice, are \nthe evidences that your religion is not of God ; there are \nthe proofs of its hatred and revenge; there is the stu\xc2\xac \npendous monument of its shame and crime.\xe2\x80\x9d And not \na man would dare say, \xe2\x80\x9c It is not true.\xe2\x80\x9d He could \npoint to the shameful lives of the popes; the unblush\xc2\xac \ning licentiousness of the priesthood; the ignorant du\xc2\xac \nplicity of monastic life; and say, \xe2\x80\x9c These are not of \nGod; the religion which supports them is not of God.\xe2\x80\x9d \nNone could reply. These sober facts no sophistry can \nelude; and could they be shown up, and discussed by \nthe people of Rome, who already know them, they \nwould hurl the throne of St. Peter over into the Tiber. 1 \nAnd the day is coming. The eyes are already open \nwhich will see it. The present pope is not secure. \nOnce he has been driven from the Vatican ; and to-day \nis sustained in Rome by the bayonets of foreign armies. \n\nThe usurpation of Louis Napoleon, the \xe2\x80\x9c prince pres\xc2\xac \nident,\xe2\x80\x9d as he calls himself, has darkened the prospect \n\n\n1 A work, called Taxa Camarae \nApostolic\xc2\xae, was some years ago \npublished in Rome, and republished \nin Paris, Venice, Lyons, and several \nother Papal cities, in which were the \nfines demanded by the priests for ab\xc2\xac \nsolution from various crimes. The \nwork was published by authority of \nPope Innocent III. The following \nis a specimen: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor a layman for murdering \xc2\xa3. s. d. \n\na layman, .... 0 7 6 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c him that hath killed his \n\nfather,.0 10 G \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c him that hath killed his \n\nmother,.0 10 6 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c him that hath killed his \n\nwife,.0 10 6 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c a priest or clergyman \n\nthat keeps a concu\xc2\xac \nbine, .0 10 6 \n\n54 \n\n\nFor him who, in a criminal \n\ncause, takes a false \xc2\xa3. s. d. \n\noath,.0 9 0 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c a man or woman that is \nfound hanged, that \nthey may have Chris\xc2\xac \ntian burial, ... 1 7 6 \n\xe2\x80\x9c a man to change his vow, 0 15 0 \nTo eat flesh and white meats \nin Lent and other \nfasting days, . . . 0 10 6 \n\nTo go into a nunnery alone, 0 18 0 \nFor the remission of a third \n\npart of one\xe2\x80\x99s sins, . 7 10 0 \nHow easily could a pious man \nshow that such a system is an abom\xc2\xac \ninable outrage! Here it is a greater \nsin to eat flesh during Lent than to \ncommit murder; to go into a nunnery \nalone than to commit adultery. O, \nshame! \n\nJJ* \n\n\n\n\n426 \n\n\nEUROPA, \n\n\nof an immediate change, and strengthened the hands \nof the pope; but the \xe2\x80\x9c glorious time is rolling on,\xe2\x80\x9d and \nthe day cannot be far distant when the predictions of \nScripture, with reference to the false church, must be \nrealized. Her recent usurpations have weakened her \ncause in England, and opened the eyes of the people to \nher intolerant and aggressive spirit. Her triumphs in \nFrance will only give new power to the preaching of \nProtestants. While Adolph and Frederick Monod are \nallowed to preach in Paris, the night will not be very \ndark. In America, her converts are almost entirely \nfrom the ranks of the ignorant paupers who are being \nemptied upon our shores from the almshouses of Europe. \nI found, while in England and in France, that an idea \nexisted that conversions were being made in intelligent \nfamilies, and among men of office and honor, who are \nnative-born Americans; but this is not a fact, as the sta\xc2\xac \ntistics of Popery will show. Our country is, indeed, \nfilling up with Catholics from foreign countries ; but if \nI do not mistake, the American branch of the church \nwill yet prove a most troublesome child for his ghostly \neminence at Pome to manage. The Christian need not \ndespair; God\xe2\x80\x99s hand is seen, and God\xe2\x80\x99s name is heard, \nin the changes and convulsions which are abroad among \nthe nations; and if any great gain is made by his sov\xc2\xac \nereign holiness, it will not correspond with the move\xc2\xac \nments of the church of Pome for the last half cen\xc2\xac \ntury, which have been almost entirely backward. I \ncannot close these observations more appropriately than \nin the words of Hon. and Pev. Baptist W. Noel, ad\xc2\xac \ndressed to a Papal missionary now in England: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c One thing I will predict, from the signs which are \nmultiplying around us : You may endeavor to warp \nthe minds of your partisans from infancy; you may \n\n\nPIUS IX. AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. \n\n\n427 \n\n\nexercise the influence of the confessional to prevent the \nstudy of the Bible; you may impoverish the education \nof those within your power; you may compress and \nchain down the minds of thousands and of myriads; \nbut you will yet see such an insurrection of the Cath\xc2\xac \nolic masses of Europe against your priestly sway, that \nwhile you are arguing about 4 the rock,\xe2\x80\x99 you will find \nyour sandy foundations giving way; and while you are \nproving your possession of the 4 keys,\xe2\x80\x99 your prisoners, \ndespite of keys and bolts, will burst from your thrall- \ndom forever.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n428 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXXII. \n\nFLORENCE. \n\nThe hour came for me to leave mighty Rome, and all \nits scenes of glory and shame. I did not regret it; for \nthat renowned city contains so many objects of disgrace \nand wo, so much over which a philanthropist can but \nweep, that I turned from its museums and galleries of \nart, with no prospect of ever beholding them again, with\xc2\xac \nout any feeling of sorrow. There is little in Rome con\xc2\xac \ngenial with my feelings; and I was glad to be gone. \nThe palaces of the Csesars and the tombs of the Scipios \nare there, indeed; but what of that! Like Egypt, when \nthe ten plagues were visiting the city of the Nile, Rome \nswarms with filth, fleas, fevers, and pestilence; and \nwhere once captive princes walked in chains of gold, \nand emperors rode along in victorious state, hungry \n\ncardinals and a besotted priesthood roam; and on the \n\n0 \n\nthrone once filled by proud Caesar sits a weak, imbe\xc2\xac \ncile old man, with a paper cap upon his head, receiv\xc2\xac \ning the adoration of a superstitious and ignorant people. \nI could look upon the pomp and aristocracy of the \nEnglish nobility with some pleasure, for there seems a \nstately elegance in it; I could gaze upon the gay and \nvoluptuous pleasures of Paris with some allowance, for \nnature has her will in Paris, and, like a goddess, sweeps \nalong, receiving the homage of a blinded multitude ; but \nwith the hollow rites and foolish mockery of Rome my \nsoul could have no fellowship. It was neither natural, \n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n429 \n\n\ngrand, dignified, manly, or pleasing. The pomp of Rome \nis an insult to God and a disgrace to man, and utterly \nunworthy of rational beings. The mass of the people \nare blinded and in ignorance; but the higher ecclesias\xc2\xac \ntics must be aware of the infamous fraud which they are \npracticing upon the multitude. Their religion is a cheat, \nand no man in his sober senses can deny it; and the \npriests must be aware that they are arrant impostors. \nJoe Smith, with his Book of Mormon, never perpetrated \na greater deception than this same religion of Rome \nshows itself to be; and one feels relieved to be away \nfrom the dominion of the pope, out of sight of the car\xc2\xac \ndinal\xe2\x80\x99s red hat, the chapeau of the lazy priests, and the \ndirty rig of the shaven-headed friars. \n\nFrom Rome to Civita Vecchia by diligence, from \nthence to Leghorn by steamer, and from thence to Flor\xc2\xac \nence by railway, we hurried, arriving at the latter place \non the 25 th of June. Florence, or Firenze , as the Ital\xc2\xac \nians call it, is a city of about one hundred thousand \ninhabitants, lying on both sides of the \xe2\x80\x9c smiling Arno,\xe2\x80\x9d \nand is one of the most gay and delightful places in \nItaly. It is the capital of Tuscany; and though, with \nthe decline of Italy, it has lost much of its former glory, \nis yet full of life and gladness. Almost every day some \nfrolick is carried on, or some saint celebrated, to the \ngreat amusement of strangers. We arrived on what we \nwere told was San Victoria\xe2\x80\x99s day, and the whole peo\xc2\xac \nple seemed to be out in masses. The day was observed \nwith many civil and religious demonstrations, and ended \nin a horse race. Three horses were painted and lettered, \nand let loose in the public streets. The people crowded \nthe sides of the thoroughfares and windows all along the \nrace course by thousands, military men were parading \nup and down, and for some two hours we gazed from \n\n\n430 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe window of the hotel upon an array of beauty, fash\xc2\xac \nion, pride, pomp, and vanity, such as I had never seen \nbefore. The houses all along were waving with drapery, \nwhich was suspended from the windows, and every thing \ngave evidence that some gay event was about to trans\xc2\xac \npire. Well, when we had waited, stretched our necks, \nwondered at the pomp of the grand duke, and been \namused at the hundred little pleasantries, a cry an\xc2\xac \nnounced the approach of the horses, and soon they \ncame leaping by, the little creatures all spotted with \npaint, like the cheeks of some of our fair ladies, and in \na moment were out of sight. This was all \xe2\x80\x94 the show \nwas over, and the people began to disperse. We could \nsee nothing pretty, funny, or interesting in the race of \nthese three horses, which, from our window, looked very \nmuch like large wharf rats leaping by, and sending their \nheels into the faces of the crowds of people who lined \nthe streets on both sides. The whole show reminded \nus of the exhibition of \xe2\x80\x9c three blind mice.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThis race is the result of the folly of a man who \ndied, leaving a sum of money, the income of which \nwould be about three hundred dollars annually, which \nwas to be appropriated to this purpose. Thus the peo\xc2\xac \nple have a show day, the horses are run to death, sev\xc2\xac \neral persons are kicked down and injured, to carry out \nthe last will and testament of the Florentine Dives. \n\nFlorence, according to its name, is a city of flowers, \nand the flower girls meet you in every street; especially \non the morning of the Sabbath are they out by hun\xc2\xac \ndreds, with their white arms and necks shaded by the \nwide hat, which gives a grace and beauty to the person \nwhich cannot be derived from the little, awkward, un\xc2\xac \ncomely bonnet, resting so far back on the head that a \npaper of pins seems almost necessary to keep it on. \n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n431 \n\n\nThese flower girls are modest and pretty. They do not \noften try to sell you flowers, but force them into your \nhand, and turn away as if they were indifferent about \nthe pay. Frequently they dart away before you can \ndraw out your purse, and in a half hour will meet you \nagain, and thrust another bouquet into your hand, or \ntwine a sweet rose or blushing pink in the button-hole \nof your coat, and are off before you can say, 44 Thank \nyou.\xe2\x80\x9d As you ride along, shower after shower of roses \nwill fall into your carriage, thrown by a graceful hand, \nwith a most interesting smile. \n\nThe objects of interest in Florence are the cathedral, \nthe baptistry, similar to that of Pisa, and the bell tower; \nthe Pitti Palace, with its museums and galleries of art; \nthe Boboli Gardens, with their rich foliage and shady \nwalks; the convents and churches, rich with works \nof art; and a large number of public and private edi\xc2\xac \nfices, which wealth has adorned and beautified. The \ncathedral is an odd-looking structure, with a fine dome, \nfrom which Michael Angelo modeled that of St.. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s, \nin Pome. The dome was the work of Brunelleschi, and \nis a wonder, which will make his name noted as long as \nit continues to stand. It is built in alternate layers of \nblack and white stone, and presents a unique appearance. \n\nThe palace of the grand duke is a very fine structure. \nIt was built by Luca Pitti, who, by a series of misfor\xc2\xac \ntunes, became involved in ruin and disgrace. The gal\xc2\xac \nleries are filled with the finest paintings, in which are \ntreasured up the works of the old masters. Miles on \nmiles of paintings, and seas on seas of fine carving and \nchisel work, are to be found. Here are the evidences \nof the genius of Titian, Raphael, Pubens, Bartolom\xc2\xac \nmeo, Michael Angelo, and a host of the old masters \nwho have now fallen asleep. \n\n\n432 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nNothing interested me more, while in this delightful \ncity, than the visits which I made to the studios of sev\xc2\xac \neral of the prominent artists of the place; among oth\xc2\xac \ners, that of Pampaloni, the author of the Kneeling Sam\xc2\xac \nuel, copies of which in plaster are so common. The \nelder Pampaloni is dead; but his son, inheriting his \ngenius, still continues to give life to dead marble, chan\xc2\xac \nging deformity to order and beauty. Several exquisite \nstatues on which the artist was engaged were shown us. \nOne of great excellence as a work of art, to which the \nfinishing stroke was just being given, was Magdalene \nin the Wilderness; but who knows what that means \\ \nA woman reclining on her side, her arm upon a mossy \nstone, a rude cross beside her, and her hand resting on \na skull. The lifelike countenance, the exquisite finish \nof the limbs, and the gentle look of piety depicted on \nthe features, render the work one of great interest. \n\nLeaving Pampaloni\xe2\x80\x99s, we repaired to the studio of \nour countryman, Hiram Powers, who stands in the \nfront rank in his profession. Here, in this little room, \nwere the Greek Slave, and Eve, modeled and finished. \nThe American feels at home on entering; for besides \nthe frank, open, cordial salutation which he receives \nfrom the artist, he sees the busts of various distin\xc2\xac \nguished men whose names are indissolubly associated \nwith the history of our own country. Mr. Powers is \nnow engaged upon a work which he designs shall rep\xc2\xac \nresent the Genius of America. It is a female figure, \nwith a loose, flowing sash thrown about her person, a \nserene and placid countenance, one hand lifted, and the \nfingers pointing to heaven, as if appealing to the Most \nHigh, as our great sovereign and helper, the other hand \nplaced upon a bundle of rods, representing the states \nof our confederacy, and the feet standing on the broken \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFLOKENCE. \n\n\n433 \n\n\nemblems of tyranny and oppression. The upper part \nof the figure was completed, and we asked Powers where \nthe emblems of oppression were, that he was to have \nbeneath the feet of the Genius. \xe2\x80\x9c O,\xe2\x80\x9d said he, \xe2\x80\x9c we \nnever represent Liberty treading on Tyranny until the \nstatue is ready to leave Florence, lest Tyranny should \nattempt to forestall the matter and tread on Liberty.\xe2\x80\x9d \nMr. Powers has a family of young Italians growing up \naround him, but he assured us that he could not forget \nhis native land. One son he has recently sent to West \nPoint, to receive a military education. \n\nFrom Powers\xe2\x80\x99s we went to see Greenough, who was \nabsent from the city at the time. He also is an Ameri\xc2\xac \ncan, and stands high in Florence as an artist. He is \nnow engaged on a great work for some of the public \nbuildings at Washington. The group consists of an \nIndian, a hunter, a woman with a child in her arms, \nand a dog. The Indian, naked and fiendlike, has his \nrough hand in the long, flowing hair of the woman, \ndrawing back her head, with tomahawk upraised, ready \nto strike the fatal blow. The wretch has one knee upon \nthe ground ; the woman has her babe in her arms, and \nher whole countenance is wild and despairing. When \nthe blow is ready to fall, the hunter, the husband of the \nwoman, the father of the child, arrives, and seizes the \nupraised hand of the savage. The gun of the hunter is \non the ground; his dog, fierce and bristling, stands \nbarking by. The nude figure of the Indian, the rude \nyet neat dress of the backwoodsman, the shrinking \nwoman expecting death, yet striving to cover her child, \nform a striking group, well worthy the fame of our \ncountryman, and a befitting monument for the halls of \nthe nation. One of the workmen told us the group was \n\n55 kk \n\n\n434 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfor \xe2\x80\x9cthe palace of the President of America.\xe2\x80\x9d Well, \nthat is near enough! \n\nAll the churches of Florence are interesting, and are \ndistinguished for something peculiar and unique; but \nonly one or two of them deserve our notice at this time. \nThe Church of Santa Croce, erected six hundred years \nago, is to Florence w\xe2\x80\x99hat Westminster Abbey is to Lon\xc2\xac \ndon \xe2\x80\x94 the charnel of its illustrious dead. The first and \nmost conspicuous monuments which the stranger sees on \nentering this edifice, is the grand sarcophagus of Michael \nAngelo, the world\xe2\x80\x99s great artist. The sister arts, Paint\xc2\xac \ning, Sculpture, and Architecture, are weeping over the \ntomb, while surmounting them is a statue of the great \nman himself. The spot where he sleeps was selected, \nand the manner of his burial was described, by the artist \nhimself, who wished his resting-place to be within sight \nof the cathedral, on whose spacious dome he loved to \ngaze in life. Michael Angelo was a remarkable man, \nand evidences of his skill are seen all over Florence \xe2\x80\x94 \nin one place his paintings, in another his statues, and \nin another the work on which he was engaged at the \ntime of his death. He was a man of rare abilities and \nremarkable genius. He was manly, bold, and inde\xc2\xac \npendent. He stood before popes and kings without \nfear, and his name has descended to our times as one \nof the few men whom wealth, fame, and honor could \nnot corrupt, and whom bribery and policy could not \nseduce. There is told of him an amusing and striking \nincident, which will illustrate his character. It is \nknown that he frescoed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, \nwhich to this day is a wonder. The circumstances \nunder which it was done are thus related: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The surpassing superiority of Michael Angelo, while \nit secured the patronage of princes and popes, awakened \n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n435 \n\n\nthe envy and hatred of artists. Pope Julius II. deter\xc2\xac \nmined to monopolize his labors. His enemies suggested \nto the pope that he was as excellent a painter as a \nsculptor. This stroke of policy told. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c After having walked for some time, Julius led the \nartist into the Sistine Chapel, and raising his hand to\xc2\xac \nwards the vault, said, 4 Since my uncle\xe2\x80\x99s death, this beau\xc2\xac \ntiful building has remained unfinished. I wish it to be \nsaid, Julius II. has completed what Sixtus IV. began. \nBehold your appointed work; you shall be at once the \narchitect, the painter, and the decorator. Fill this \nimmense vault with frescoes and innumerable figures. \nI will that the world shall know that Michael Angelo \nis inimitable, not only as a sculptor, but as a painter.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c For a moment the artist stood silent with amaze\xc2\xac \nment ; then he said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n44 4 Your holiness mocks your servant.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 What mean you, Master Buonarotti ] \xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 My business is to wield the chisel and the mallet. \nI know little of painting, and nothing of the mechanical \npart of fresco work. How, then, can I suddenly, at my \nage, change my career ? But your holiness cannot be \nin earnest.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 1 have said I will it; it is thine to obey.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 And I tell your holiness that this idea never came \nfrom yourself. It is an infamous snare laid for me by \nmy enemies. If I accept, I shall certainly fail. Well, \nI prefer enduring the anger of your holiness to incurring \ncertain shame. I shall instantly return to Florence.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 We\xe2\x80\x99ll take good care ! \xe2\x80\x99 cried Julius; and he retired \nabruptly, leaving the artist a prey to his mute despair. \nThe thoughts that passed through the sculptor\xe2\x80\x99s mind, \nduring that long, lonely night, have remained unspoken. \nBut let us imagine him whose mind was teeming with \n\n\n436 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nvast projects, who needed but to strike the rock, and \nglorious creations would start forth, turned suddenly \nback in his career, commanded to forget his people of \nstone, and to evoke in their place a nation of colored \nshadows ; to pass from the summit of one art to the base \nof another; and this to be accomplished in an hour. \nTruly, it was a fierce struggle, and a strange triumph \nwrought by the indomitable human will. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c On the morrow, Julius found Michael Angelo on \nthe spot where he had left him; his arms were folded \non his breast, his head bent in profound meditation; his \ncheeks were pale, and his eyes bloodshot, but the fire of \ngenius beamed on his brow. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c 4 Well 1 \xe2\x80\x99 said the pope. \n\n44 4 1 submit to your wishes.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c c I am sure of it. Believe me, your enemies, in \nseeking to injure you, have prepared for you a new \ntriumph.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n444 Let Bramante come immediately to construct the \nscaffolding.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 This man had been foremost in the attack; and \nnow, caught in his own snare, the envious architect \nthought at least to procure a share of the work for his \nnephew, Baphael. But Julius w r as inexorable, and \ndryly ordered Bramante to prepare the necessary planks \nand cordage. \n\n44 Meantime, Michael Angelo went to the Sistine, and, \nfor the first time addressing himself to Bramante, said, \nin the presence ot the pope, and in a tone of insulting \nirony, 4 In what manner do you propose, Master Archi\xc2\xac \ntect, to raise this scaffold 1 \xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 In the usual manner,\xe2\x80\x99 replied Bramante, scorn\xc2\xac \nfully. \n\n44 4 That is to say-\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n437 \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c 4 That is to say, master, since yon seem ignorant of \nthe first principles of the art you profess, that I will \nmake holes in the vault; that from these openings cap\xc2\xac \nstans will descend, and sustain the marble platform on \nwhich you will work.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c 4 Very clear, indeed, Master Bramante. But permit \nme to ask you one question: When my paintings shall \nbe finished, how will you stop these holes 1 \xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 4 O, time enough to think of that.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n44 Michael Angelo shrugged his shoulders, and having \ncalled the head carpenter, said to him in a loud voice, \n4 Take all this trumpery away; sell it, and keep the \nproceeds for your own use.\xe2\x80\x99 He then explained to the \nastonished pope the method which he meant to employ, \nand which has been ever since adopted under similar \ncircumstances. \n\n44 The next day he sent to Florence for several paint\xc2\xac \ners accustomed to fresco work. He caused them to \nascend the scaffold, gave each a portion of the wall to \npaint, and watched their proceedings closely. A few \nhours sufficed to make him acquainted with the me\xc2\xac \nchanical portion of the art. He paid them liberally, \nand dismissed them ; then he effaced all that they had \ndone, and shut himself up alone. \n\n44 Without any assistance he tempered the lime, mixed \nthe plaster, and ground his colors. Often a few drops \nmore or less than the right quantity of water, a co^t laid \non too thinly or too thickly, in fact, the smallest over\xc2\xac \nsight, used to cause his nearly-finished frescoes to fall \noff in patches. But genius mocks at difficulties, both \ngreat and small. After a time, colors and plaster \nobeyed their ruler, as marble and bronze had done be\xc2\xac \nfore. The mechanical obstacles removed, it only re\xc2\xac \nmained for him to execute his sublime conceptions. \n\nKK* \n\n\n438 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It was the spirit of Dante incarnate under another \nform, and breathed forth in painting instead of in song. \nBoth have embraced in their compositions the whole \nrange of creation, the order and events of time, from the \nfall of the angels to the last judgment. It would be as \nimpossible to convey an idea of the glories of the Sistine \nvault to those who have not seen them, as to describe \nthose of Dante\xe2\x80\x99s wondrous epic to such as have not felt \nthem. It would be speaking of music to the deaf, and \nof colors to the blind. MicliaeLAngelo employed but \ntwenty months in his stupendous work. On the day \nwhen he finally came down from the scaffolding, his \neyes had been so accustomed to looking upward, that \nhe could no longer without pain turn them towards the \nearth \xe2\x80\x94 a touching symbol of genius obliged to look \ndownward and walk with men, after having soared amid \nthe regions of the sky.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNext we come to the monument of Dante, author of \nDivina Commedia , the greatest poem of the age ; a man \nwho died of a broken heart, unappreciated by his con\xc2\xac \ntemporaries. Beyond is that of Alfieri, the greatest \ntragic poet in Italy, a man of wonderful genius; pas\xc2\xac \nsionate, haughty, imperious, but great. The names of \ngreat men are read on every side, and the enduring \nmarble tells where sleeps their dust. The monument \nof Galileo, with the statues of Astronomy and Geometry, \nand the statue of the great man himself, form a group \nwhich leads you to Wonder that human wisdom and \nskill should die so soon. \n\n*S* 4 s.- \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 t \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 r \n\nLeaving Santa Croce, we may wander about among \nother churches, finding in the corner of one a wax \nfigure of Christ in a glass case. The figure was spotted \nwith blood, crowned with thorns, and well calculated to \nawaken disgust. This figure was covered all over with \n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n439 \n\n\nvotive offerings, in the shape of watches, rings, and other \njewelry. I counted seven watches of considerable value \nhanging up there. The priests are careful not to let \nthese things become too burdensome to the figure. \n\nIn another church 1 is a Madonna, said to have been \npainted by St. Luke, who, according to these folks, \nmust have been a wonderful artist. In another 2 you \nwill find paintings of a great variety of persons and \nscenes, some painted by one apostle and some by \nanother, some by one saint and some by another, until \nyou feel disgusted with the conversion of the house of \nGod into a gallery of paintings and curiosities. One \nSabbath day we went into one of these churches, 3 which \nwas filled with an aristocratic audience. A whole regi\xc2\xac \nment of priests were at work at the altar, bowing and \nbending, rising and falling, to the edification of the \npeople, who gazed on with a sort of stupid wonder. \nSeeing others walking about, we did the same, and at \nlength found our way to the altar, and behind it, where \nabout sixty men were making most delightful music. \nInstruments of various kinds and fine voices blended \ntogether in one delightful strain of harmony. I have \nseldom heard such delicious music. There was in it \nsomething grand and awful, as the holy anthems, sung \nby such a host of professional singers, echoed amid the \npillars and arches of the old church. The choir in Ital\xc2\xac \nian churches is generally concealed, and so constructed \nare the churches that the stranger can hardly tell from \nwhence the strains proceed. The effect of the singing \nis thus hightened, and rendered more mysterious and \nenchanting. We know but little about good singing in \nthe churches of America. The soft, warbling, melting \n\n\n1 Santissima Annunziato, \n\n\n2 Santo Spirito. 3 Santa Maria Novella. \n\n\n440 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nItalian voice produces strains such as never roll from \nthe lips of the Anglo-Saxon. \n\nThe devout appearance of the people in church is \ncontradicted by the eagerness with which they rush to \nthe scenes of amusement with which the sacred day \ncloses. On the Sabbath before I left Florence, the \nafternoon was given to as gay and brilliant parade as I \never saw on festive days in our own country. Splendid \ncompanies of military men marched up and down the \nstreets; banners floated from the windows; civic pro\xc2\xac \ncessions moved through the streets; and over the \npeople, who, in the morning, were bending before the \naltar, came swelling the intoxicating melody of pleas\xc2\xac \nure and sin. \n\nThe Catholic church here appears as odious as in \nRome. The Grand Duke of Tuscany hates the Bible \nas much as does his master, the pope, who has made the \nbringing of one into Rome penal crime, for which four \nyears of galley labor are necessary as an expiation. At \nthe present time, arrests are being made almost every \nday in Florence, and no Italian is free to believe or to \nworship according to his own conscience. Information \nis generally received through the agency of the confes\xc2\xac \nsional, that perverted agent of a corrupt church. The \nwife reveals the fact that her husband has a Bible, or \nthe mother states that her son has a prohibited book, \nor the daughter confesses that her father is a heretic, \nand soon the offender is secured, and, often without \nproof, hurried into banishment, or to a vile and loath\xc2\xac \nsome dungeon. There is no crime in Italy greater than \nheresy; murder has less of guilt than Bible reading; \nand one had better become a beggar or a bandit than a \nProtestant. I see that the pope has expressed his desire \nto send a stone from the Temple of Peace, with an \n\n\nFLORENCE. \n\n\n441 \n\n\ninscription, \xe2\x80\x9cRome to America,\xe2\x80\x9d to be placed in the \nWasliington Monument. Such an insult to the mem\xc2\xac \nory of the great man could hardly be offered as the \nreception of such a stone. The pope will not allow the \ncountrymen of Washington to meet for worship in \nRome; he will not allow them to build a chapel ten \nfeet square in his city; he will not allow them to bring \nan Italian Bible into the place; and his only aim now \nis to subvert and destroy the light which emanates from \nthe American republic. Would a stone from Benedict \nArnold, were he now living, be received, or would it be \nsent back, with an indignant reply] The greatest foe \nto human freedom in the world is the Pope of Rome; \nhe is the sworn enemy of all the dearest rights of man; \nan American citizen is yet lingering in his dungeon, \nand yet he sends a stone to adorn the monument of \npatriotism. \n\nBut to return to Florence. The city is now swarm\xc2\xac \ning with Austrian soldiers, sent here by Prince Metter- \nnich, to sustain the grand duke in opposition to the \nwishes of his own people. The masses hate the sol\xc2\xac \ndiers, and gnash upon them with their teeth. They \nfeel indignant that the duke should allow himself to \nbe sustained by these hirelings of a foreign government. \nOne day, while leaving the grand duke\xe2\x80\x99s palace, we \nfound a regiment of these Austrian soldiers marching \nby. We asked of our guide, a well-informed, sensible \nman, \xe2\x80\x9c What are all these soldiers doing in Florence ] \xe2\x80\x9d \nHe replied, \xe2\x80\x9c I do not know; I wish the devil would \ntake them away, for he sent them here.\xe2\x80\x9d This expres\xc2\xac \nsion, reported at the palace, might have cost the fellow \nhis head; yet, knowing well his company, he went on \nwith a low, deep, bitter strain of denunciation against \nthe oppressive enactments of the government. But the \n\n56 \n\n\n442 \n\n\nEUROPA \n\n\nsoldiers are as much to be pitied as the people. They \nare quartered in convents and private residences, and \nare cursed by the whole population. They live in the \nmidst of maledictions, and die with none to mourn. I \nsaw one fall in the street, one day; he was borne into \nthe hotel apparently lifeless, while his companions \nseemed to care little about him. One day, while sit\xc2\xac \nting at our windows, in the midst of a terrific thunder \nstorm, we saw a military funeral passing by. The \nheavens were in commotion. The angry clouds seemed \nin valiant conflict with each other. Thunder rolled \nover our heads with startling effect. The sharp light\xc2\xac \nnings flashed with forked and serpentine motions \nthrough the regions of space. Every human being \nfled for shelter to some kindly refuge. In the midst \nof this storm, a low and solemn Avail fell on the ear, \nand then a louder blast of trumpet, bugle, and the \nmore discordant drum. On looking out, we saw ad\xc2\xac \nvancing a funeral procession. First came a soldier \nbearing a white cross, which was tastefully trimmed \nwith black crape; next, a detachment of soldiers, with \narms reversed, marching in sad and solemn order; next, \na fine band, which ever and anon sent the strains of the \nmelancholy death dirge along the deserted streets, mak\xc2\xac \ning sad yet exquisite harmony; next, a priest in white \nrobes, trimmed with gold; then the corpse, borne upon \nthe shoulders of four men, covered with crape, on \nwhich were laid the military cap, plume, and sword of \nthe departed, and a wreath of fresh roses; on each \nside were the pall bearers with lighted candles, while \nbehind followed a detachment of soldiers. Poor fel\xc2\xac \nlow! Far from the land of his birth \xe2\x80\x94 for he was a \nSwiss\xe2\x80\x94he was buried; far from that good mother; far \nfrom the kind father who loved him in childhood; far \n\n\nELOKENCE. \n\n\n443 \n\n\nfrom the wife to whom he gave his early affections; far \nfrom the child who has often wept for him in vain. \nPoor fellow! Why did he not remain at home, culti\xc2\xac \nvating the field, and not come here to die ? \n\nBut we will leave Florence, however much we might \nwish to dwell upon its beauties and pleasures. We \nleave the city of Dante and Petrarch, the smiling Arno, \nthe region of Italian poetry, the studios of the artists, \nand gay, delightful Florence itself, the city of flowers, \nas its name signifies, and pursue our way north, leaving \nbehind us the gay scenes, in the midst of which we \nhave spent a few delightful days. As we proceed, we \ngo still farther from monkery and priestcraft, in pro\xc2\xac \nportion as we leave the Eternal City. We get some \nlittle out of the region of relics and rites; away from \nmonks who will work any miracle for a franc, or for \ntwo scudi show you a bit of the true cross, the seam\xc2\xac \nless coat, or, what is more ethereal, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c A ray, imprimis, of the star that shone \nTo the wise men ; a phial full of sounds, \n\nThe musical chimes of the great bell that hung \nIn Solomon\xe2\x80\x99s Temple ; and though last, not least, \n\nA feather from the angel Gabriel\xe2\x80\x99s wing, \n\nDropped in the Virgin\xe2\x80\x99s chamber.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nO, when will man look up to God, and appeal away \nfrom the miserable falsehood of a corrupt hierarchy, to \nthe Truth and the Life, and cast down, in derision and \nholy zeal, the altars of this sanctified paganism, which \nhas set up its empire in the yery shadow of God\xe2\x80\x99s \nthrone 1 \n\n\n444 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nXXXIII. \n\nBOLOGNA AND FERRARA. \n\nWe left Florence, in the diligence, one evening about \ndusk. As this vehicle was a fair specimen of the whole \ndiligence tribe, I will describe it. We had four horses, \nas lean and lank as Pharaoh\xe2\x80\x99s lean kine, and as hun\xc2\xac \ngry, too. The harness was partly of leather, but \nmostly of rope, rotten as twine, and as clumsy as a \nbed cord. The diligence itself is a long, cumbersome \nvehicle, like an omnibus, and would not be tolerated in \nYankeeland a half hour. It is divided into different \ncompartments. The cabriolet is an open sort of a \nchaise on top; the coupe is the forward apartment, \nwill hold four or five persons, and is considered as the \nbest place for observation and ease; the interno, or \ninterior, is an apartment with two seats opposite, like \nthose in a coach, and is in the middle ; while below is \nthe rotunda, with two seats opposite, on the sides, like \nthose of an omnibus. These seats will hold two, three, \nor four persons, according to the size of the vehicle. \nThe baggage is put upon the top of the crazy carriage, \nand is liable every moment to fall through on to your \nhead. The horses are changed every eight or ten \nmiles, and the postilions leave with the horses. When \nthey leave, they come to the windows of the carriage \nand demand something for drink, and if you refuse, \nwill curse and swear prodigiously. It generally takes \nthree men, sometimes only two, to get the diligence \n\n\nBOLOGNA AND FERRARA. \n\n\n445 \n\n\nalong. One is the postilion, one a sort of a driver, and \nthe third a conductor. The whole arrangement is cum\xc2\xac \nbrous and awkward, and traveling by it is slow and \ntedious. \n\nIn such a contrivance we rode out of Florence, on St. \nPeter\xe2\x80\x99s day, when the boys were playing with powder, \nand the men were illuminating their houses, in honor \nof the great apostle. We rode all night, getting what \nsleep we could, and arrived at Bologna, the city of sau\xc2\xac \nsages, the next afternoon. On our way we were sub\xc2\xac \njected to many inconveniences. If we borrowed an old \niron pan to drink from, we were expected to pay for it, \nand we neither ate or drank without a fee, and were \nhaunted by beggars without number. This is, beyond \nall account, the greatest country in the world to dupe \ntravelers. Two thirds of the people seem to live on \nothers, and the other third get a living I know not how. \nI was agreeably disappointed in Bologna, it being a \nmuch finer city than I supposed. It numbers about \nseventy thousand inhabitants, and is the second city in \nthe dominions of the pope. Having washed off the dust \nof travel, secured a good dinner, and beginning to look \na little more like human beings, we went out to see the \nobjects of interest. We found our way to the Academy \nof Fine Arts, where we saw paintings of much merit\xe2\x80\x94so \nartists say; the Martyrdom of St. Agnes, by Domeni- \nchino ; the Massacre of the Innocents, by Guido; the \nSanta Cicilia, by Raphael; and many others. The ca\xc2\xac \nthedral at Bologna is a vast unfinished pile, the original \nplan of which would have made it one hundred feet \nlonger than St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s at Rome. Here, in the Church \nof San Dominicho, is the tomb of St. Dominic, the \nfounder of the base and bloody Inquisition, for which \n\nLL \n\n\n446 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nthe world curses his memory; also the tomb of the great \npainter Guido, and several others of much eminence. \nHere also are two famous leaning towers. They are \nrude square columns; the highest rises three hundred \nand sixteen feet, and inclines several feet. This incli\xc2\xac \nnation was caused by the settling of the ground in time \nof an earthquake. The two towers together present a \nquaint appearance, and what on earth they were erected \nfor none can tell. \n\nThe cemetery of Bologna is a singular arrangement. \nIt is a vast pile of buildings, and the bodies are buried \nin niches. Connected with the buildings are inclosed \ngardens where graves are made. We spent an hour \nhere musing on the brevity and vanity of human life, \nand then, having wandered over the city, and rode out \nto the hights of St. Michael, we retired to rest, to \ndream of home. \n\nThe next morning we started for Ferrara, at which \nplace we arrived in the afternoon of the same day. As \nwas our custom, we proceeded, without loss of time, to \nsee the town. It was once a fine city, but now is \nalmost deserted, and the grass is growing in the streets. \nIt has some galleries of paintings of merit, through \nwhich we ran, without stopping long enough to see any \nthing to advantage. \n\nEvery stranger in Ferrara will visit the prison of \nTasso, a little cell twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, \nwhere he was imprisoned by the duke for aspiring to the \nhand of his sister, the beautiful Eleanora. The history \nof Tasso was a sad one. All through life he seemed to \nbe afflicted more than other men. In early life he was \nseparated from his mother by a sad calamity, which he \nbewailed in his own affecting verse. \n\n\nBOLOGNA AND FERRARA. \n\n\n447 \n\n\n44 Me from my mother\xe2\x80\x99s breast, a child, \n\nDid cruel fortune tear ; \n\nThe tears she shed, the kisses wild, \n\nShe pressed, in her despair, \n\nOn my pale cheek ; and O, the zeal \nOf her most passionate appeal \nTo Heaven for me in air \nAlone recorded \xe2\x80\x94 with regret, \n\nI yet remember \xe2\x80\x94 weep for yet! \n\nNever, ah ! never more was I \nTo meet her face to face, \n\nAnd feel my full heart beat more high \nIn her beloved embrace ! \n\nI left her \xe2\x80\x94 O the pang severe ! \n\nLike young Camilla, or, more drear, \n\nAscanius-like, to trace \nO\xe2\x80\x99er hill and dale, through bush and brier, \n\nThe footsteps of my wandering sire.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut Ills genius drew friends to his aid, and he became \nthe companion of the nobles, and basked a while in their \nsunlight, and, at length, for the crime already specified, \nwas thrown into prison by Alphonso. From this prison, \nwhere I do not see how any person could have lived \nlong, and where on the walls Byron has scribbled his \nname, and which he has immortalized by his verse, \ncame forth some of Tasso\xe2\x80\x99s choicest poems. One which \nhe wrote to his friend, Scipio Gonzaga, is full of wild, \nenthusiastic eloquence. \n\n44 Sure, pity, Scipio, on earth has fled \n\nFrom royal breasts to seek abode in heaven ; \n\nFor if she were not banished, scorned, or dead, \n\nWould not some ear to my complaints be given ? \n\nIs noble faith at pleasure to be riven, \n\nThough freely pledged that I had nought to dread, \n\nAnd I, by endless outrage to be driven \nTo worse than death \xe2\x80\x94 the deathlike life I\xe2\x80\x99ve led? \n\nFor this is of the quick a grave ; and here \n\n\n448 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nAm I, a living, breathing corpse, interred, \n\nTo go not forth till prisoned in my bier. \n\nO earth ! O heaven! if love and truth are heard, \n\nOr honor, fame, and virtue worth a tear, \n\nLet not my prayer be fruitless or deferred.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThe poet was at length liberated, and removing to \nNaples, died of a broken heart in the monastery of St. \nOnofrio, to which my readers have already been taken. \n\nThe house of Ariosto is here, and his room is just as \nhe left it. The chair on which he sat, the table at \nwhich he wrote, and the very inkstand which he used \nremain. His tomb is in the Church of the Benedic\xc2\xac \ntines, and over it yet stands the lightning-riven bust, \nand is visited by many who have read and admired his \nwritings. \n\nJust at night we left Ferrara, and soon crossing the \nRiver Po, entered the Austrian dominions. There we \nwere subjected to an examination. Our baggage was \noverhauled without much ceremony. There was noth\xc2\xac \ning suspicious in my bag but a sermon which I had \nnicely folded up in the very bottom of my budget. The \nofficial, a good-natured man, drew it forth, and turned \nover its pages, which I could hardly read myself, much \nless he, and seemed in considerable trouble about the \nharmless thing. He turned it over, handed it to his \nassistant, and mumbled in a strange tongue. Now and \nthen, a glance at me would be given, as if he was en\xc2\xac \ndeavoring to read in my countenance whether I was a \nred republican, socialist, or rebel. But my countenance \nwas as blank as the sermon, which he finally threw into \nmy bag with as much violence as if it had burnt his \nfingers. But this was not all. We were to be exam\xc2\xac \nined by our passports to see if they were right. Dr. M. \nwent first, and passed very well. His well-brushed coat \n\n\nBOLOGNA AND FERRARA \n\n\n449 \n\n\nand white hat, and dignified demeanor, answered very \nwell to the description of the document which declared \n\nhim to be \xe2\x80\x9c an ecclesiastic.\xe2\x80\x9d Next, Rev. Mr.-\xe2\x80\x99s \n\nturn came. His papers declared him to be an ecclesi\xc2\xac \nastic, but his personal appearance seemed to belie the \nstatement. His sack coat, hanging loosely upon his \nthin form, his cap turned half round, and his lips fixed \nfor a discussion with porter or priest, rendered it some\xc2\xac \nwhat difficult for the officials to believe the statement \nmade over the name of our honorable secretary of state, \nand indorsed by a legion of consuls, ministers, tide- \nwaiters, and cheats. But at length he was permitted to \npass. My turn came next, and my plight was more sad \nthan either of my companions. To a coat of a peculiar \ncut I had added a little blue velvet Turkish cap, with a \nhuge red tassel, and in my hand I carried a straw hat, \nwhich I used for fan, umbrella, and house roof. My \ncompanions looked bad enough, but I was in a more \npitiable condition than either. So, when my passport \nwas opened and read, the officer looked up with a most \nprovoking smile, and exclaimed, \xe2\x80\x9c What! you an eccle\xc2\xac \nsiastic too! \xe2\x80\x9d then, setting up a loud laugh, in which \nsome dozen persons present joined, handed me back my \npapers, as if he imagined I was playing a clever trick, \nand palming myself off for what I was not. \n\nHaving escaped, we pursued our way along in the \ndark, half asleep and half awake, until an extraordinary \nstir outside convinced us that we had arrived at Padua, \nwhere we were to take the cars for Venice. The sun was \nnot yet up, and we repaired to Hotel Royal, where we \narranged our toilet and prepared for a new start. All I \nremember of Padua is empty streets, rude buildings, a \npoor breakfast, an exorbitant price, a wrangle with the \nporter, a quarrel in the street with a man who wished \n\n47 LL* \n\n\n\n450 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nto carry my carpet bag to the depot, a race to reach the \ncars, a dull stop of an hour waiting for them to start, \nand a comfortable sleep of half an hour after leaving the \nstation. I did not stop long enough in what appeared \nto me to be a very mean Italian town to see St. Antony\xe2\x80\x99s \nor St. Justina\xe2\x80\x99s, to visit the Comaro or the Pisani, but \nhurried away to the watery empire of the \xe2\x80\x9c Mistress of \nthe Hundred Isles,\xe2\x80\x9d the gay, proud \xe2\x80\x9c Queen of the \nAdriatic.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\n\n451 \n\n\nXXXIV. \n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\nThere are few cities so dreamlike and enchanting as \nVenice. We arrived one morning in the summer, when \nall nature seemed alive with beauty and redolent with \npraise. We entered in the cars, riding over a long \nbridge of stone, and landed at the railway station. This \nbridge connects Venice with the main land, and chains \nthis daughter of Italia to her ambitious parent. We \nfound at the railway, instead of cabs and carriages, such \nas we see in France and England, a long line of neat \ngondolas, each manned, and ready to put off into the city. \n\nVenice was built long ago by refugees from the main \nland, who fled to the reeds and marshes of the Rialto, \nand amid the little islands built their houses and pre\xc2\xac \npared their homes. From the bosom of the wave rose \nup the great city, with its palaces, churches, and towers. \nFor a long time, the city was governed by a doge, as\xc2\xac \nsisted by the tribunes. The city continued to increase; \nthe glory of Venetian arms was sounded from Constan\xc2\xac \ntinople to Jerusalem ; and the richness of her commerce \nwas the wonder of the Archipelago. From a little city \nof huts and rushes arose a great and magnificent repub\xc2\xac \nlic, and in the sea appeared fine edifices, which out- \nbeautified those upon the solid land. Unlike any other \ncity on earth, the seat of vast wealth, filled with a joy\xc2\xac \nous and pleasure-loving people, it became, and continued \nfor a while, the most gay and delightful city in the world, \n\n\n452 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nmocking even the splendors of Rome, Florence, and \nFerrara. Artists and poets here gathered to kindle the \nsacred flame of art; and men of commerce here con\xc2\xac \nvened to amass princely fortunes. The lovers of the \nbeautiful and the sublime, the priests of religion, the \nslaves of sensualism, all found in Venice congenial \npursuits and associates; while on the bosom of the \ndeep, the \xe2\x80\x9c Queen of the Adriatic \xe2\x80\x9d herself reposed, a \nsparkling gem in nature\xe2\x80\x99s ephod. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Underneath day\xe2\x80\x99s azure eyes, \n\nOcean\xe2\x80\x99s nursling, Venice, lies \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA peopled labyrinth of walls, \n\nAmphitrite\xe2\x80\x99s destined halls, \n\nWhich her hoary sire now paves \nWith his blue and beaming waves. \n\nLo, the sun upsprings behind, \n\nBroad, red, radiant, half reclined \nOn the level, quivering line \nOf the waters crystalline ; \n\nAnd before that chasm of light, \n\nAs within a furnace bright, \n\nColumn, tower, and dome, and spire \nShine like obelisks of fire, \n\nPointing, with inconstant motion, \n\nFrom the altar of dark ocean, \n\nTo the sapphire-tinted skies, \n\nAs the flames of sacrifice \nFrom the marble shrines did rise, \n\nAs to pierce the dome of gold \nWhere Apollo spoke of old.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nOn leaving the depot, we entered a boat, and sailed \nby palaces, churches, halls, and gardens, to a hotel, \nsituated near the centre of the city. The gondolas, \nwhich are used instead of cabs, are long, black, narrow \nboats, with a black awning to protect the traveler \nfrom the rays of the sun. The boats are all of one \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\n\n453 \n\n\ncolor, a law being in force to this effect, to prevent any \nextravagance on the part of the boatmen. They are not \nso pretty as those on the waters of the Mediterranean, \nin the harbor of Marseilles and Genoa. They are pro\xc2\xac \npelled by one or two men, who, as they pull along, \nwarble some soft Venetian lay, which, echoing over the \nwaters, steals gently to the senses with the most pleas\xc2\xac \ning sadness. \n\nAs we rowed on, other gondolas passed us and hur\xc2\xac \nried by, some filled with gay, laughing girls, on some \npleasing errand; others crowded with men; and others, \nstill, loaded with baggage. The fares, the number of \npassengers, and the amount of baggage to be carried, \nare all regulated by government, and each gondolier \ncarries his tariff of fares in his pocket, or in the saloon \nof his little vessel. We went about two miles, and \ndrew up to the door of a hotel, the steps of which were \nwashed by the blue waves. While my companions \nwere negotiating for apartments, I amused myself in \ncatching a large shell fish on the steps of the house, \nand pulling the bunches of moss and seaweed from the \nfront of the building. Having made arrangements for \na day\xe2\x80\x99s stop, we went out to see the city, and enjoy a \nsail up and down the streets, whose pavements are \nliquid waves, and whose carriages are black and som\xc2\xac \nbre gondolas. \n\nVenice is built upon seventy-two islands, and is con\xc2\xac \nnected by three hundred and six bridges, scarcely any \nof which can be crossed by a carriage. We went to \nseveral academies of art, to the churches, in one of \nwhich is the tomb of Titian and the monument of \nCanova; to the Cathedral of San Marco, up into the \nhigh tower, from which a view of the city is obtained; \nthrough St. Mark\xe2\x80\x99s Square, up and down, down and \n\n\n454 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nup; by the doge\xe2\x80\x99s palace and giant\xe2\x80\x99s stairs; now gaz\xc2\xac \ning on the arch of the Kialto, and then upon the Bridge \nof Sighs, over which no prisoner passed but once. All \nthe time I was in Venice, I seemed to be in a dream; \nand to this day I cannot make that fairy city appear to \nme as a reality. At night, as I sat down at my win\xc2\xac \ndow in the hotel, below me, in the long canal, was \nheard the splash of the oars, and the earnest conversa\xc2\xac \ntion of the boatmen, as their gondolas glided along. \nThe first object I saw in the morning, as I gazed out, \nwas a load of vegetables and flowers bound for the \nmarket of the city, rowed by a woman, who cheerily \nsang as she dipped her oar in the yielding wave. \n\nThe government of Venice has always been noto\xc2\xac \nriously cruel. The halls of justice and the dungeons \nof torture have ever been near each other, and an ac\xc2\xac \ncusation has always been equivalent to conviction. \nThe priest and the tyrant have ruled the \xe2\x80\x9c Queen of \nthe Sea;\xe2\x80\x9d and deeds of night have been perpetrated \nhere, such as would make humanity shudder. The \ninstruments of toAure yet remain to tell the story of \ndeep and horrid cruelty, and all the waters of the \nAdriatic are not sufficient to wash out the stains. An \ninstance of the intolerance of the irresponsible govern\xc2\xac \nment has been made, by Byron, the theme of one of \nhis most beautiful works, the particulars of which are \ngiven by a recent traveler. 1 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Wearied with the cares of state, and foreseeing \ntroubles ahead, the old doge had once and again asked \npermission to retire from his office; but so far from \ngranting his request, the council exacted of him an \noath to retain it for life. Three of his four sons were \n\n\n1 Rev. Robert Turnbull. \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA\xe2\x80\x94MILAN. \n\n\n455 \n\n\nalready dead, \xe2\x80\x9chunted down\xe2\x80\x9d by the fell adversaries of \nhis house. Giacomo, young, beautiful, and brave, was \nhis only pride and hope. He had formed a splendid \nalliance with the noble family of the Contarini, and \nwas one of the greatest favorites among the Venetians. \nBut four years from his marriage he was accused of \nhaving received presents from foreign potentates \xe2\x80\x94 a \nhigh crime in Venice; and in the presence of his own \nfather, he was subjected to the rack, and when a con\xc2\xac \nfession was extorted from him in his agony, that father \nwas compelled to pronounce his sentence of banishment \nfor life. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Some years after, an assassination occurred in the \nstreets of Venice. The chief of the Ten, Donato, was \nmurdered on his return from a sitting of the council, \nat his own door, by unknown hands. A victim was de\xc2\xac \nmanded for this monstrous offence; and the coadjutors \nof the slain magistrate eagerly caught at the slightest \nclew which might lead to the detection of the offender. \nA servant of Giacomo Foscari had bgen seen in Venice \non the evening of the murder; and it w T as said that, \non being met by the chief of the Ten in a boat off \nMestre, the next morning, he had, in answer to the \nquestion, \xe2\x80\x98 What news % \xe2\x80\x99 reported the assassination \nsome hours before it was generally known. The ser\xc2\xac \nvant was arrested, examined, and barbarously tortured; \nbut even the eightieth application of the strappado \nfailed to elicit a word which might justify their suspi\xc2\xac \ncion. And yet the young Foscari was recalled, placed \non the rack vacated by his servant, tortured in his \nfather\xe2\x80\x99s presence, and condemned, although he per\xc2\xac \nsisted to the last in asserting his innocence. On this \nhe was banished to a more distant and painful exile. \nIn the mean while, Niccolo Erizzo, a noble infamous \n\n\n456 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nfor his crimes, confessed on his death bed that it was \nunder his dagger that the murdered councillor had \nfallen. And yet Giacomo Foscari suffered no remis\xc2\xac \nsion of his punishment! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c But the love of home was strong upon the exile. \nDay and night he dreamed of his wife and children, \nuntil his brain reeled, and he resolved that he would \nprocure his recall at any risk. So, writing to the \nPrince of Milan, imploring his good offices with the \nsenate, he left the letter where it would easily be found \nby the spies, who watched him even in his exile. The \nresult was a hasty summons to Venice, to answer for \nthe heavy crime of soliciting foreign intercession with \nhis native government. \n\n44 For a third time Francesco Foscari listened to the \naccusation of his son, who calmly avowed his offence, \nbut stated that he had committed it for the sole pur\xc2\xac \npose of being recalled. But there was 4 no flesh \xe2\x80\x99 in \nthe obdurate hearts of his judges. Thirty times was \nhe raised on \xe2\x80\x98the ^ccursed cord,\xe2\x80\x99 and yet no false con\xc2\xac \nfession came from the quivering lips of the sufferer. \nTorn, bleeding, and senseless, he was carried to the \napartments of the doge, firm in his original purpose. \nBut the judges were equally firm in theirs, and again \nrenewed his sentence of exile, with the addition that \nits first year should be spent in prison. Before his de\xc2\xac \nparture, one interview was permitted with his family. \nThe doge, his father, was now old and decrepit; and \nwhen he came, supported by his crutch, into the cham\xc2\xac \nber, he spoke with great firmness, so that it might \nappear as if he was addressing another than his son \xe2\x80\x94 \nhis only son! 4 Go, Giacomo,\xe2\x80\x99 was his reply, when \n\nentreated for the last time to solicit mercy, 4 submit to \nthe will of your country, and seek nothing further.\xe2\x80\x99 \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\n\n457 \n\n\nIt was too much for the old man; when he retired, he \nswooned in the arms of his attendants. His son again \ndeparted into exile, and was soon afterwards relieved by \ndeath.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nBut we leave Venice, where floods arc dashing \nagainst the door steps of the finest palaces, and men \nare fishing from their windows. The city is fast losing \nits glory and vitality. The palaces are being deserted, \nand one can be rented at a small cost. The buildings, \nthough noble, now seem falling into decay, and the once \nproud \xe2\x80\x9c Mistress of the Hundred Isles\xe2\x80\x9d is becoming a \nslave to the house of Hapsburg. \n\nA ride of four hours brought us to Verona, a rather \nmean city between Venice and Milan. During the time \nwhich expired before we could \xe2\x80\x9c go ahead,\xe2\x80\x9d we went to \nthe Amphitheater, which is in a tolerable state of pres\xc2\xac \nervation, and gives a fine idea of such ancient struc\xc2\xac \ntures. The seats remain, and only a part of the wall is \nbroken down. In the arena is a small wooden building \nfor circus purposes \xe2\x80\x94 a striking illustration of the de\xc2\xac \ngeneracy and decay of the city. The little rude build\xc2\xac \ning in the arena, and the noble Amphitheater itself, \nform a striking emblem of the Verona of the present, \nand the Verona of the past. \n\nWe had read Shakspeare, and wished to see the tomb \nof Juliet, which is here. Our romantic ideas had a fall; \nand what a fall! We entered a narrow passage, in \nwhich a man was washing the dirty wheels of a car\xc2\xac \nriage, and where were .several horses, which nearly \ntrampled us as we passed on, and knocked at a rude \ndoor, which was opened by a woman with a child in her \narms. She was an Italian woman, with dark skin, coal \nblack eyes, piercing and glistening, and a form as \ngraceful as a sibyl. Giving her babe to another, she \n\n58 mm \n\n\n458 \n\n\nETTROPA. \n\n\nconducted us through a stable into a garden. We \npassed along under a heavy overhanging grape vine, \nwell hung with unripe fruit, to a little chapel, once \nused for devotional purposes, and in which a tolerable \nfresco of the crucifixion still remains. Here, in this \nchapel, which is now used for dovecot and hencoop, a \nstone tub was pointed out to us as the veritable coffin \nof Juliet. The hole left as a breathing-place was \npointed out. Visitors have broken off pieces of the \nmarble, and carried it away. We wished to do the \nsame, but our pretty gypsy guide would allow of no \nsuch thing. Dr. M. was bent on success, but the \nwoman was immovable. He offered her money, but \nshe indignantly replied,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo possible \xe2\x80\x94 no possible! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nHe then tried to coax her a little, and with fair com\xc2\xac \npliments secure a piece of the marble; but though her \nreply to his persuasions was less indignant than before, \nit was no less firmly given: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cNo possible \xe2\x80\x94 no possible! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nWe wandered about Verona a few hours, into stores, \noffices, churches, graveyards, and wherever else w T e \nimagined we could see something, hear something, or \nfind something to buy or beg, to forward our plans, or \nperfect our knowledge of the city and its inhabitants. \n\nAt two o\xe2\x80\x99clock in the afternoon, we took the diligence, \nand jolted on until eleven, when we stopped an hour to \ntake supper in a town with an outlandish name, which \nI have forgotten. Supper being swallowed, we pressed \non by diligence and railway to Milan, where we arrived \non the morning of the 4th of July. Here, to cele\xc2\xac \nbrate the day, I went to bed sick, having overtaxed my\xc2\xac \nself for the few days previous by overeating, overriding, \nand overworking. At night, I went out to see the \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN.\' \n\n\n459 \n\n\nMilan Cathedral, one of the finest specimens of the \npointed Gothic architecture in the world. It struck \nme more impressively than St. Peter\xe2\x80\x99s at Pome. Any \ndescription would fail to do justice to the noble design \nand the exquisite finish. One involuntarily uncovers his \nhead, and feels a profound awe creeping over him, as he \nwalks up the magnificent nave. In one of the chapels, \na funeral service was being performed by several priests. \nThe coffin and the mourners were present. As I stood \nlooking on, I felt my handkerchief sliding out of my \npocket, and on turning round abruptly, saw a great \nawkward fellow with it in his hands. I laid one hand \nupon his shoulder, and seized the handkerchief with the \nother. For a moment, the thief showed light; he jab\xc2\xac \nbering in Italian, while I scolded in English. The \npriests turned round, the people appeared horror-struck, \nbut I still held on to the article. The fellow, seeing \nthat he should get into trouble, gave up, and devoutly \ncrossing himself, moved away, an admirable specimen \nof Italian Christians. Had he stolen the handkerchief \nthere in the cathedral before the altar, one of those very \npriests would have absolved him from all sin for a single \nfranc, and satisfied his conscience by an act of priestly \nforgiveness. I blame the religion, and not the man. \nThe Catholic church is admirably calculated to produce \nall kinds of crime, and she is responsible for the present \nstate of morals in continental Europe. \n\nAt Milan, in an old convent, now used for a stable \nand for barracks, is the original painting of Leonardo \nda Vinci. It has been retouched until its former beauty \nis gone, and yet, as the original of the multitude of \nimitations, it is an object of great interest. \n\nMilan is a fine city, but I did not see much of it. It \nhas about one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. \n\n\n460 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe Austrians have possession of it, and contrary to my \nexpectations, I found them civil and obliging. Both \nhere and at Venice, we were treated with more genuine \ngood manners by the officers than down in the dirty \ndominions of the pope; and were I to-day in trouble in \nEurope, I should expect more justice in Vienna than at \nRome. \n\nWe are now prepared to leave Italy, the land of \nflowers and fruits, poets and painters. The finest of all \nlands, it lives under a bitter curse. The hand of God is \non it, withering its flowers and threatening wo to the \npeople. Priestcraft and kingcraft are doing what for\xc2\xac \neign armies and invading forces never could do. The \npope\xe2\x80\x99s foot is on the track of progress, and his iron \nhand is raised against the spread of truth. An Italian \npatriot, 1 weeping for his country, thus exclaims: \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nu O thou devoted land, that canst not rear \nIn peace thine offspring ! thou the lost and won, \n\nThe fair and fatal soil, that dost appear \nToo narrow still for each contending son ! \n\nReceive the stranger in his fierce career, \n\nParting the spoils ! thy chastening has begun ! \n\nAnd wresting from thy kings the guardian sword, \n\nFoes whom thou ne\xe2\x80\x99er hadst wronged sit proudly at thy board.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAs the traveler pursues his way from the palaces of \nNaples up to the foot of the Alps, he forgets, in the \npresent degradation of the\' people, that this is the land \nof Dante, Michael Angelo, Petrarch, and Manzoni. \n\xe2\x80\x9c Genius is dead,\xe2\x80\x9d he will declare, as he sees a race of \nbeggars thronging the Capitol, and whining at the door \nof the Vatican. \xe2\x80\x9c This is not Italy,\xe2\x80\x9d he will affirm, \nas he inquires in vain for Caesar\xe2\x80\x99s glory and Nero\xe2\x80\x99s \npride. \n\n\n1 Alessandro Manzoni. \n\n\nVENICE \xe2\x80\x94 VERONA \xe2\x80\x94 MILAN. \n\n\n461 \n\n\nu Italia ! O Italia! thou who hast \nThe fatal gift of beauty which became \nA funeral dower of present woes and past, \n\nOn thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame, \n\nAnd annals graved in characters of flame. \n\nO God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness \nLess lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim \nThy right, and awe the robbers back, who press \nTo shed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress.\xe2\x80\x9d 1 \n\nBut how vain are all the sad songs which are sung, \nand all the wails of sorrows which are uttered, over the \nfallen, disgraced land of the emperors and the popes! \nItaly has chosen her own lot, and followed her own \ndestiny. Her degradation is self-imposed, and her suf\xc2\xac \nferings are of her own making. She has voluntarily \nrelinquished her claim to the improvements of science, \nand the benefits of the word of God, and stands out \nan example of mistaken zeal, blinded enthusiasm, and \nunmitigated cruelty. \n\n1 Byron. \n\nMM * \n\n\n462 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nI \n\n\nXXXV. \n\n\nTHE ALPS \xe2\x80\x94PASS OF THE SIMPLON. \n\nIt was a beautiful day when we jolted out of Milan. \nThe sun was just gilding the turrets and pinnacles of \nthe magnificent cathedral as we turned our hacks upon \nfair Italia. Soon all the beautiful buildings and the \nworks of human art were left behind, and an unabridged \nedition of nature was before us. The lower Alps were \nsoon reached, and in the hazy atmosphere presented an \never-varying appearance, now rough and rugged, and \nthen the smoothly-rounded cone; now bare and desolate, \nand anon crowned with verdure and covered with foliage. \nAnd soon the higher Alps were gained, all misty and \ndim, and having on the everlasting nightcap of snow \nand ice. We crossed the Toccia on a swing boat ferry, \nand rode along the shores of Lake Maggiore, within \nsight of the picturesque Island of Isola Bella, which \nrises from the bosom of the dark wave like a star shining \nthrough a night cloud. The road all along was delight\xc2\xac \nful and pleasant. Formed for the march of armies, it was \nbroad, smooth, level, and destitute of ruts and gullies. \nIt winds around the base of the mountains, whose sides \nare covered with vines and foliage of various kinds, from \nout of which peep now and then the cottage of the \npeasant, the church tower, and the humble unostenta\xc2\xac \ntious village, and whose summits are concealed by the \never-shifting clouds. \n\nA whole day was passed in the diligence, during which \n\n\nTHE ALPS \xe2\x80\x94PASS OF THE SIMPLON. \n\n\n463 \n\n\nwe amused ourselves as best we could, discussing ques\xc2\xac \ntions of politics, morals, and religion; gazing with \nadmiration upon the magnificent scenery through \nwhich we rode; and often wandering back to the less \npoetic clime from which we had journeyed, but which \nhad a greener and fresher place in our remembrance \nthan any land w*e had seen, or any city whose hospi\xc2\xac \ntality we had shared. We arrived at the foot of the \nSimplon, and entered the grand pass, just at nightfall, \nand, until nine the next morning, continued to ascend \nover the splendid road which the genius of Napoleon \nbuilt amid those frowning liights, and over which his \narmies passed in midwinter, now overwhelmed by the \navalanche, and anon emerging from the danger, to pour \nthemselves upon the smiling fields below. The scenery \nwas wild and awful. On one side of us towered the \nhigh peaks, from which swept down the cold, icy wind; \non the other side were deep ravines and terrible preci\xc2\xac \npices, which yawned as if eager to devour an army. \nNow we passed the refuge houses ; the convent, at the \ngate of which stood a large St. Bernard dog ready for \nduty; beautiful cascades leaping down from cliff to \ncliff; piles of snow in midsummer; and many a huge \nrock projecting overhead, and ready to fall upon the \nhead of the traveler. Yet higher up we go, until the \ncross, wdiich marks the turning-point, standing in its \nloneliness, is \'seen, a truthful emblem, suggesting holy \nthoughts to the traveler in his dreary march. \n\nThe most terrible moment spent in crossing the Sim\xc2\xac \nplon is that which is required to penetrate the gorge \nof Gondo, a magnificent gallery, cut five hundred and \nninety-six feet through the hard rock, down over which \nthe water tumbles with ceaseless roar. The first thought \nwhich rushes through the mind, while in this splendid \n\n\n464 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\npassage, is of the greatness of God. The Christian \nhears his voice in the roar of the waterfall, and sees his \nform in the silent grandeur of the hights above and the \ncaverns below. The next thought will pay a voluntary \ntribute to the mighty genius of the conquering hero, at \nwhose command this road was built. An ordinary man \nnever would have made the attempt; the stupendous \nidea of cutting out, not a little footpath, but a broad \nroad, over which regiments of artillery might march, \nNapoleon alone could originate. Whatever we may \nthink of his moral character, and however much we \nmay denounce his unconquerable ambition, we can but \nadmire his lofty genius and determined energy. His \nmind was fitted for conquests; and his soul rose above \nthe difficulties which nature placed in his way. In \nthose broad roads across the Simplon, the Splugen, and \nSt. Bernard, and in the improvements which he made \nat Borne, Naples, and in Spain, we have an idea of the \nsublime plan \xe2\x80\x94 sublime, though murderous \xe2\x80\x94 on which \nhe acted. Though accustomed to the confusion of battle \nand the din of war, his taste for the true and beautiful \nmay be gathered from projected improvements, which \nwere abandoned in consequence of his fall, in Italy, \nGermany, and also in his own beloved France. The \nbeauties of Wilhelmshohe, and the adornment of many \na fancy spot, may be traced to the designs of the con\xc2\xac \nqueror. \n\nAll that night we continued to climb, the impres\xc2\xac \nsions of awe becoming deeper every moment. There \nis every thing in that wild scene to make one forget the \nnarrow occupations of earth, and lift up his soul to \nGod. The stupendous hights; the yawning caverns ; \nthe everlastling roar of the descending torrents; the \ndark night and the dawning morning; the hospice \n\n\nTHE ALPS \xe2\x80\x94PASS OF THE SIMPLON. \n\n\n465 \n\n\nof the monks; the exposure to the descending ava\xc2\xac \nlanche ; the galleries hewn out of solid rock, dripping \nwith water and hung with icicles; the wet, misty \nclouds which now sweep down upon us, and anon \nroll back, and leave us in moonlight and starlight,\xe2\x80\x94 \nall increase the interest and awfulness of the ascent. \nThe cold was intense, though not greater than we ex\xc2\xac \npected. The snow was lying in drifts on the sides of \nthe mountains ; and above us, in the gorges, shone the \nglaciers. In one single night, we had passed from the \nsummer of Italy to the cold, ceaseless winter scenes of \nthe hoary Alps. The green, vine-clad fields were ex\xc2\xac \nchanged for long, deep drifts of snow which never \nmelt, and glaciers which never cease to shine. \n\nIt was the morning of the holy Sabbath when we \nreached the cross which tells where the ascent ends and \nthe descent begins, and denotes the altitude of the pass. \nIt was good thus to be in the midst of nature\xe2\x80\x99s works \non such a day. There were no regiments of soldiers, \nno chanting choirs, no robed priests, but God was \nthere in that awful solitude; and as I paused at that \ncross, the sacred emblem of the believer\xe2\x80\x99s faith, the \nsublime words of Bowring ran though my mind and \ntrembled on my lips : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c In the cross of Christ I glory, \n\nTowering e\xe2\x80\x99er the works of time; \n\nAll the light of sacred story \n\nGathers round its head sublime.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nDown we rolled, rattling along, now holding on to \nthe side of the rickety diligence, anon bursting forth \nwith exclamations of surprise at the grand and awful \nscenes around us. The passage of the Alps is not \nattended, in summer, with any particular danger; but \n\n59 \n\n\n466 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nin winter the traveler encounters fearful perils. He is \nliable, while passing through the gorges, to be over\xc2\xac \nwhelmed by the avalanche which sweeps down with \nsuch terrible fury and such overpowering might. The \nFrench armies crossed the Alps in midwinter, and, led \nby Napoleon and his valorous marshals, in spite of all \nthe difficulties, threw themselves upon the cities of \nItaly, ere men had ceased to wonder at such boldness. \n\nOn our way down, we came to Brieg, a little, miser\xc2\xac \nable town, on the Swiss side; and here we dined. It \nwas Sabbath on the Alps, but in this little Catholic \nvillage it was training day. Some kind of a religious \ncelebration was in progress. A procession passed \nthrough the streets to the village church, w r hich was \ndecorated with evergreen and filled with people. This \nprocession was a most singular one, and consisted of a \nstrangely mixed company. First came a band of music, \nas uncouth and discordant as one could imagine, such \nas we might suppose would be made by a company of \nboys with tin horns and pans, who were endeavoring to \ndrown the whistle of the locomotive; then followed \nseveral young men, grotesquely dressed, one as an old \nfeudal lord, one as a gay knight in full armor, one as \na Highlander, and so through a great variety of fantas\xc2\xac \ntic costumes ; then followed five or six well-fed, portly \nJesuits, in long black robes and three-cornered hats, \nwho walked as demurely as if they were doing a very \nreligious thing; behind followed a crowd of people of \nall ages and conditions. The procession moved on to \nthe church, where some service was held; but we did \nnot care to follow. That this had any thing to do with \nreligion, we could hardly imagine; and we can scarcely \nconceive of any greater abomination than such irrevei \nence offered to the God of grace. \n\n\nTHE ALPS \xe2\x80\x94PASS OF THE SIMPLON. \n\n\n467 \n\n\nI was pleased with a hat which the ladies in the \nstreet wore on this Sabbath day. It was of straw or \nsilk, formed like a gentleman\xe2\x80\x99s beaver, with a low \ncrown and wide rim. Around the hat was a band of \ncrape or ribin, while the whole was tastefully adorned \nand trimmed with purple, pink, or gilt. This is the \nonly town in which we saw these headdresses to any \nextent. Those that were made well were very becom\xc2\xac \ning, and were well adapted to show a pretty face to \nadvantage. One of our company caught one of the \nyoung women as she passed, and persuaded her to take \noff her hat and allow him to examine it; and when he \nreturned it, she seemed quite gratified at the compli\xc2\xac \nment. The day seemed very unlike the Sabbath; and. \nI could but contrast its observance in this Catholic vil\xc2\xac \nlage with the quietness and order of an English or an \nAmerican Sabbath. Here all was mirth, confusion, \nbeating of drums, shouting of the mob, festivity, and \nsin; in the Protestant town, order, quiet, and a heav\xc2\xac \nenly calm reigns. \n\n\n468 \n\n\nEUEOPA. \n\n\n/, <*\xe2\x80\xa2 L \xe2\x96\xa0 44 j \n\n0 i;. \nmrvoUz \n\n\n,j.tt \n\n\nXXXVI. \n\n\nt - * f \n\nSWITZERLAND \xe2\x80\x94 LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. \n\n* \xe2\x96\xa0\' 77 . -\xe2\x80\xa2/ \' \' : 7 / . \n\nWe left Brieg in the afternoon, and after a hard, \nfatiguing ride, arrived early the next morning at Lau\xc2\xac \nsanne, where we tarried a while. The contrast between \n\nthis place and the cities on the other side of the Alps \n\n- \xe2\x80\xa2- \n\nwas very favorable to the former. We could see that \nwe had passed from a region of filth and indolence to \na quiet, industrious, well-ordered country; and Protes\xc2\xac \ntant Switzerland, though denied the natural advantages \nof Papal Italy, seemed to us a paradise compared with \nthe lazy monks and dirty streets of the cities of the \npope. Near the hotel at which we took breakfast is \nthe old house of Edward Gibbon, and the garden of \nour hotel was once the arbor in which he wrote the \nlast page of his work, \xe2\x80\x9c The Decline and Fall of the \nRoman Empire.\xe2\x80\x9d We wandered over the town, saw \nwhatever was to be seen, and again entering the dili\xc2\xac \ngence, started for Geneva. The road winds along the \nshores of Lake Leman, and at every turn brings some \nnew scene of beauty to the view. The lake itself, as \none says, \xe2\x80\x9c lies in the shape of a half moon, with the \nhorns curved towards the south, and is the largest lake \nin Switzerland, being fifty-five miles long.\xe2\x80\x9d The waters \nare clear, and reflect, as in a polished mirror, the sky, \nthe birds which hover over or fly across it, and the tiny \nships which float upon its surface. The banks rise \ngradually, covered with objects of beauty, from the \n\n\n\nCASCAME (IDF T1IE PHILOMMS IN TJHIIE VA1LJLW \xc2\xa9IF OttAM\xc2\xa9OJK\'\xc2\xa5 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nt " \n\n\n- m \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSWITZERLAND \xe2\x80\x94LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 469 \n\n\nwater side to the towering mountain, and the eye rests \nupon a scene of delightful magnificence, wander which \nway it may, from the lone rock in the sparkling deep, \non which stands the Castle of Chillon, the prison of \nBonnivrad, up to the old snow-crowned summit of \nMont Blanc. \n\nNothing could be more delightful than the appear\xc2\xac \nance of Geneva, as we entered it one afternoon, weary \nand hungry. The people were in the midst of a great \nnational festival. Arches spanned the streets; flags of \nvarious colors were suspended from the windows; mot\xc2\xac \ntoes, wreaths, and evergreens adorned the public and \nprivate buildings, and music was sounding in every \nstreet. The inhabitants, dressed in gala day attire, filled \nthe streets; cannon sounded from the neighboring \nhights; bells sent out a merry peal from every tower; \nand all the various signs of some great fete met us at \nevery step we took. The occasion of all this, we were \ntold, was the occurrence of the annual shooting match, \nwhich calls together multitudes from all parts of Swit\xc2\xac \nzerland. This festival is conducted somewhat on the \nfollowing plan: The people of the various cantons \ncome together, and spend a whole week in target shoot- \nins:. Prizes of from five francs to five thousand francs \n\no \n\nare awarded; and on this occasion it was estimated that \nforty thousand persons from abroad were in the city. \nThe shooting ground was laid out in an open square, \ninclosed on all sides by temporary buildings, erected for \nthe purpose. On the front side was a stupendous \nwooden arch, under which the masses enter the grounds. \nThis arch was gayly decorated with flowers and festoons, \ngiving it quite a fairy-like appearance. On the right, \nas we entered, was a long pile of buildings for the sale \nof fancy articles, such as visitors would wish to carry \n\n\n470 \n\n\nEUKOPA. \n\n\naway with them to their distant homes. On the left \nwas a monstrous eating-house, rough, but neat and com\xc2\xac \nfortable, and which, some one said to us, would seat five \nthousand persons at once. In the background, opposite \nthe entrance, were the buildings for the shooters. This \nwas divided into different compartments, each having a \nclerk, who kept an account of the shots fired. The \ntargets were in the rear, at a distance, as I was told, of \nfour hundred and fifty feet. The Swiss carabine was \nemployed by the marksmen, and they used it with won\xc2\xac \nderful accuracy. In the center of the open square was \na small circular oratory, or glass house, a sort of \ncrystal palace, in which were the prizes. The building \nbeing of glass, the prizes, which were hung up, could \nbe seen. Here were purses, through which the shining \ngold could be seen, silver and gold plate, splendid \nwatches, musical instruments, and such like. The \nnumber of competitors was very large. A hundred \nguns were cracking at once, and this was kept up for \ndays together. Some fire many times during the week, \nthus increasing the chance of obtaining a prize. As far \nas I could see, the wdiole affair was an honest sort of \ncompetition, and much more reasonable than the fete \ndays of Italian saints. \n\nThe difference between a Protestant and a Catholic \ncountry was more apparent here than at Lausanne, and \nthe more we saw, the more fully were we convinced of \nthe value of the religion of the Bible. Our stay in \nGeneva lasted but a few days, and these were spent de\xc2\xac \nlightfully. One of the first objects of interest was the \nhouse in which Calvin lived, situated in an obscure \nstreet. We entered the dark and dismal gateway, and \nknocked at the door of the room which was once the \nstudy of the reformer. Up these very stairs, and into \n\n\nSWITZERLAND \xe2\x80\x94 LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 471 \n\nt \n\nthis cheerless study, the men who were associated with \nCalvin went, and held communion. Kindred spirits \nthey were, engaged in a kindred, cause. Here those \nvolumes were written which have left such an indelible \nimpress upon the world \xe2\x80\x94 indelible because they only \necho the teachings of God. Here the prayers were \noffered which went up to God, and moved his gracious \nwill, and drew upon the supplicant such a measure of \nthe Holy Ghost. Here were arranged those mighty \nschemes to disinthrall the human mind, the influence \nof which we have not yet, and never shall cease to feel. \nThe house is now occupied by those who scarcely know \nthe name of Calvin, and who look upon those who \ncome with reverence to survey the premises very much \nas the barbarians of Italy look upon the artists who \ncross sea and land to study the works of the great mas\xc2\xac \nters, or as the infidels of Jerusalem look upon those \nwho come on pilgrim feet to bow in sad Gethsemane, \nor weep in sadness over the sepulcher of Jesus. \n\nFrom the house of Calvin w^e go to the old Church of \nSt. Peter, where he used to preach. It was refreshing \nto see a church without candles, crosses, ornaments, and \nstatues. The edifice is a fine specimen of the plain \nGothic, having its vane, aisles, and pulpit, the canopy \nof which once hung down over the head of Calvin. \nThere is a richness and freshness in the church, so dif\xc2\xac \nferent from the cathedrals of Catholic countries, that \none breathes freely, and feels that he is in the temple \nof God, and not in a playhouse, where the actors are \nmonks, and the play a burlesque on the religion of \nChrist. But alas! the pure and life-giving doctrines \nonce taught here by the reformer are taught here no \nlonger. The rank weeds of error have grown up, and \nare checking the growth of the pure faith of the Bible. \n\n\n472 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe multitudes who tread the marble pavements are \ntaught to deny the most precious truths which Calvin \nuttered, and are led backward towards the corrupt \nchurch of Rome. \n\nFrom the house and church of Calvin it is natural \nthat we should go to his grave, which is in a field of \ntombs just without the city. The grave of the great \nand good man is here all unhonored. A simple square \nstone is over it, rising about a foot from the ground, on \nwhich are the simple letters, \xe2\x80\x9c J. C.,\xe2\x80\x9d put there in ac\xc2\xac \ncordance with his own dying injunction, in which he \nstrictly forbade the erection of a costly monument. Cal\xc2\xac \nvin is the great man in the history of Geneva, and has \ngiven to it a fame and glory which no other name has \never conferred, and we should think the people would \nrise above even his dying instructions, and erect some \nenduring tribute to his fame. And yet what is a stone \npillar, or a marble sarcophagus, for such a man as \nCalvin ? Are not his life and labors a monument \nhigher and nobler than any lifeless shaft which man \ncould raise above his gravel \n\nIn this same graveyard with Calvin sleeps Sir \nHumphry Davy, under a simple stone, with a modest \nepitaph. Well, he could afford to do without a eulogy \nor a long inscription. Point out the grave, and though \nno stone marks it, and no flower blooms over it, men \nwill stop long beside it. \n\nThe library of Geneva is valuable as a collection of \nancient manuscripts, and several antique pictures and \nportraits of great value. The number of books is not \nlarge, but choice, and a half day is spent very profitably \nhere in looking over copies of works which have stirred \nthe world in their times, and which have long since \nbeen laid aside, and their places taken by others, better \n\n\nSWITZERLAND \xe2\x80\x94LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 473 \n\nadapted in style and thought to the improved state of \nsociety and manners. \n\nHere at Geneva lives J. H. Merle d\xe2\x80\x99Aubigne, one of \nthe greatest men of his times. We were not fortunate \nenough to see him, having overrun, in some other excur\xc2\xac \nsion, the time set by him for us to call. His name is \nhonored at Geneva, and all classes regard him as a \ngiant in mind, and a saint in piety. His influence is \nvery great, and all wielded for God and his sacred \ncause. We went into the little chapel w here he and his \nassociates declare the word of life to the Genevans. It \nis a poor affair, not half as comfortable as the lecture- \nroom of our own church. We thought how fortunate \nthe people must be who can sit beneath the ministra\xc2\xac \ntions of such a man, and how grateful must they \xe2\x80\x94 \nshould they be! \n\nAll my remembrances of Switzerland are pleasant. \nThe rocky land of Tell, though mountainous and icy, \nhas fields as green and hearts as warm as any other \ncountry on the globe, and at Lausanne and Geneva \nwere spent by our little party some most pleasant hours. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x99Tvvas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, \n\nPeopling it with affections ; but he found \nIt was the scene which passion must allot \nTo the mind\xe2\x80\x99s purified beings; \xe2\x80\x99twas the ground \nWhere early love his Psyche\xe2\x80\x99s zone unbound, \n\nAnd hallowed it with loveliness ; \xe2\x80\x99tis lone, \n\nAnd wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, \n\nAnd sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone \nHath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Lausanne and Ferney ! ye have been the abodes \nOf names which unto you bequeathed a name ; \n\nMortals who sought and found, by dangerous roads, \n\nA path to perpetuity of fame ; \n\n60 NN* \n\n\n474 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThey were gigantic minds, and their steep aim \nWas, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile \nThoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame \nOf Heaven, again assailed, if Heaven the while \nOn man and man\xe2\x80\x99s research could deign do more than smile.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nAt Geneva I parted with my traveling companions, \nwith whom I sailed from America, and whose society I \nhad enjoyed thus far. They were previously bent on \nseeing something more of the Alps, and were determined \nto have a slide in the Yale of Chamouni, while I was as \neager to see more of England, the dear old fatherland, \nand become acquainted with the men of that noble \ncountry. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c What, are mountains to a man? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSo I bade adieu to \xe2\x80\x9c Alps on Alps,\xe2\x80\x9d to the cold, shining \nglacier, to old Mont Blanc, which reared itself within \nsight of my hotel window, and all their majestic scenes. \nI said 66 farewell \xe2\x80\x9d to the land of Calvin; to his unhon\xc2\xac \nored grave. I turned one look on the placid waters of \nLake Leman, and murmured \xe2\x80\x9c adieu.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake \nWith the wild world I dwelt in is a thing \nWhich warns me, with its stillness, to forsake \nEarth\xe2\x80\x99s troubled waters for a purer spring : \n\nThis quiet sail is as a noiseless wing \nTo waft me from destruction ; once I loved \nTorn ocean\xe2\x80\x99s roar, but thy soft murmuring \nSounds sweet as if a sister\xe2\x80\x99s voice reproved \nThat I with stern delights should e\xe2\x80\x99er have been so moved. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c It is the hush of night, and all between \nThy margin and the mountains dusk, yet clear, \n\nMellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, \n\nSave darkened Jura, whose capped hights appear \nPrecipitously steep; and drawing near \n\n\nSWITZERLAND\xe2\x80\x94LAUSANNE AND GENEVA. 475 \n\n\nThere breathes a living fragrance from the shore \nOf flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear \nDrops the light drip of the suspended oar, \n\nOr chirps the grasshopper one good night carol more. \n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c At intervals some bird from out the brakes \nStarts into voice a moment, then is still ; \n\nThere seems a floating whisper on the hill, \n\nBut that is fancy ; for the starlight dews \nAll silently their tears of love instil, \n\nWeeping themselves away.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nI engaged my passage in the diligence for Dijon, \nwhich started at midnight. I arrived at the office a few \nminutes before the time for leaving, and found two men \nasleep in the apartment which I was to occupy during a \nride of some fifteen or twenty hours. As I clambered \nin, I could see nothing but two enormous beards, which \nappeared ferociously black, as the light of the con\xc2\xac \nductor\xe2\x80\x99s lantern shone upon them; I could hear nothing \nbut the wild snort of the sleepers, who doubtless were \nafflicted with nightmare; I could smell nothing but to\xc2\xac \nbacco, as if they had smoked themselves to sleep, and \nwere dozing on quantities of the smuggled weed; I \ncould feel nothing but four legs, which seemed to be so \narranged as to fill the whole space, forming a St. \nAndrew\xe2\x80\x99s cross. An expressive grunt answered my \ncourteous inquiry for a seat, and a low, deep curse, in \nEnglish, informed me that I had trodden upon the toe \nof one of my cosy companions. However, I was used \nto this mode of living, and so prepared myself to con\xc2\xac \ntend for my rights, which were soon yielded to me. \nAcross bridges, through gateways, along streets, over \npavements, up hill, down hill, jolting, rumbling, turn\xc2\xac \ning round, going ahead, we went out of Geneva, over \nthe Jura Mountains, through a country grandly beau\xc2\xac \ntiful and infinitely diversified. \n\n\n476 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\n/ \n\n\nXXXVII. \n\nFRANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\nAll night, all day we rode, until some time the next \nafternoon, I think it was, we found ourselves driven into \nthe yard of a French custom-house. The discovery of a \nlot of Swiss jewelry on the person of one of our fellowr \ntravelers led the officers to be exceedingly rigid in their \nexaminations. One of us they had discovered to be a \nrogue, and as several of us were of one language, they \nconcluded we all belonged to one company. So, with \nmany a suspicious look, and many a dark frown, they \noverhauled our dirty and ragged clothing, expecting at \nevery turn to make some wonderful discovery. I had \nstarted from Geneva sooner than had been arranged, \nand was obliged to take some of my clothing out of the \nwash tub, undried and unsmoothed. Packing in a bag \nseveral articles with the water well drained out, I threw \nthem on the diligence, and they jolted to the French \nfrontier. The official came suddenly upon this bag of \nwet clothes, and at once was in \xe2\x80\x9c the suds \xe2\x80\x9d indeed. \nWhat to make of such a bundle he did not know, but \nconcluded that something must be wrong about it, as \nin all his history as a revenue collector he had never \nknown a traveler to journey with his clothing in such \na plight. But after the most careful examination, he \ncould find no bottles of cologne, no nicely-packed \ncigars, no rich silks, no Genevan watches, not even a \nchild\xe2\x80\x99s toy, or a music box. But what could be the \n\n\nFRANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\n\n477 \n\n\nobject of this curious bag of clothes. A custom-house \nofficer in Maine would at once have seized the whole \nas some mysterious device to smuggle liquors into the \nstate ; but the liquor law not being in force in France, \nthis idea did not suggest itself to the poor, bewil\xc2\xac \ndered fellow, who still held up one article after another, \nfrom a nice linen handkerchief to a stocking with more \nholes in it than were necessary to get the feet in and \nout. He talked to me in French, and I talked to him \nin English; he pointed to the bag of suspicious articles, \nand I pointed to the diligence ready to start; he shook \nhis finger, and I stamped my foot. The postilion \nmounted the horse and cracked his whip; a dozen \nheads were thrust out of the windows and doors of \nthe carriage; and a dozen voices, in nearly as many \ndifferent languages, vociferated with all their might. \nFor a while, the chance of remaining over night at \nthis horrible place, where I did not see room enough \nto put a bed, was very fair; but I concluded to try an \nexperiment which I had tried once before with success. \nWith an air of offended dignity, I took the bag from \nthe hand of the officer, put my wet clothes into it, \nshouldered the bundle, marched with it into the dili\xc2\xac \ngence, and closed the door behind me with the air of \na man who had been most egregiously abused. The \nofficer opened his eyes wide; the postilion cracked his \nwhip; the passengers shouted, \xe2\x80\x9cBravo!\xe2\x80\x9d and the rest \nof the way I had the best seat in the diligence, and the \nmost attention from my fellow-travelers. The last I \nsaw of the officer, he was standing in the road, with \nhis hand raised; and for aught I know, he stands \nthere still. \n\nAt dusk we arrived at Dijon, a tolerable town in \nFrance; and I repaired at once to a second-rate hotel, \n\n\n478 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nnear the center of the place, took supper, and then wan\xc2\xac \ndered out to spend an hour, before the starting of the \ncars. In the street I saw an Englishman, of huge pro\xc2\xac \nportions, with a heavy carpet bag, trying to inquire of \na French woman the way to the railway station. The \npoor fellow was trembling lest he should be left behind, \nand the woman was endeavoring to comprehend his \nlingo, but in vain. I very uncivilly stopped, looked, \nand laughed. With a no very complimentary expres\xc2\xac \nsion of contempt for the ignorance of the woman, who \nknew as much of English as he did of French, he \nturned to me, and screwing up his lips into all sorts \nof shapes, tried to put enough French together to ask \nme how he should get to the cars. When, with a pro\xc2\xac \ndigious effort, he had got his sentence out, I said, \n\xe2\x80\x9cWhat 1 ?\xe2\x80\x9d At that one word the man\xe2\x80\x99s face bright\xc2\xac \nened, and we went on together to the station. On \nentering the cars, he persisted in paying my fare; and \nall night long we rode together towards Paris, at which \nplace we arrived at four o\xe2\x80\x99clock the next morning. I \nthere parted from my new acquaintance, who w T as a \nmerchant of Birmingham, and who almost extorted \nfrom me a promise that I would spend a day with him \nbefore leaving the country. One who has never gone \nbeyond the reach of his own language can hardly esti\xc2\xac \nmate the difficulties of a man who is in a strange coun- \ntry, where he can hardly ask for a dish of soup without \nhaving set before him a tray of onions; and where, if \nhe asks the way to the station-house, he is pointed to \nthe penitentiary. One letter writer 1 gives a descrip\xc2\xac \ntion of a dilemma in which he was placed on Sunday, \nwhen he went from Leyden to Haarlem to attend \n\n\n1 Rev. Henry Colman. \n\n\nFKANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\n\n479 \n\n\nchurch and hear the great organ. He was to go back \nthat night to Leyden, where he had left some friends. \nIn tiaveling about, he lost the way, and did not know \nhow to get to the cars. He tried English, but in vain. \nHe used French with no more success. He attempted \nGerman and Italian, of which he knew a little, but all \nto no purpose. The men laughed, the women pitied \nhim, and the children thought they had found a crazy \nman. Some thought he was begging cold victuals, and \nsome took him for a madman. At length, he recol\xc2\xac \nlected seeing over the railway station the word Spoor- \nweg, which, he thought, might be the Dutch for rail\xc2\xac \nroad station ; so he began to shout, \xe2\x80\x9c Spoorweg! Spoor- \nweg! \xe2\x80\x9d and, to his delight, found that, by crying it all \nalong, he was enabled to arrive in season to take the \ncars for Leyden; and he declared, that he should bless \nthe word \xe2\x80\x9c Spoorweg \xe2\x80\x9d all his life. \n\nYou have heard the case mentioned by some other \ntraveler \xe2\x80\x94 I do not remember who \xe2\x80\x94 of the Frenchman, \nwho, on arriving in England, was seized with sudden \nsickness. He knew that a certain part of his system \nwas called the chest , and his dictionary told him that \nchest was a box to keep clothes in \xe2\x80\x94 a portmanteau. \nSo, confounding the two, he called upon a medical man, \nwho asked him where the pain seemed to be located. \n1,4 O,\xe2\x80\x9d said the poor man, 44 the pain is in my portmanteau. \nO, how r my portmanteau aches! \xe2\x80\x9d he cried, laying his \nhand upon his chest. Another we are told of, who was \nendeavoring to address the Evangelical clergymen in \nScotland. He had discovered that hare and barren , in \nsome cases, meant the same thing; that a hare country \nwas a barren one. So when he arose to speak, he, in \nhis desire to compliment the aged, venerable, bald eccle\xc2\xac \nsiastics before him, said he felt 44 much diffidence in \n\n\n480 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nbeing called upon to address so many barren heads.\xe2\x80\x9d \nAnd you have also heard of the man in France, who, \nwhen one day almost exhausted, took some of the light \nwine of the country; and, in accordance with the sug\xc2\xac \ngestions of a friend, who knew as little of the lan\xc2\xac \nguage as he did, called sacre , instead of sucre , when \nhe wished something to make the sour and simple bev\xc2\xac \nerage palatable. \n\nI did not stay in Paris but a few hours, and took \nthe train after breakfast for London. The narrow, \nuncomfortable car which I entered contained one man, \nwho, as soon as the train started, drew from his pocket \na little book, and began to read, stopping now and \nthen, and uttering an exclamation of delight. I soon \nfound he was reading a Testament, and judged from \nthe fact that he was a religious man. On entering \ninto conversation, I found that he was a colporter of \nthe Baptist persuasion, and a man of considerable in\xc2\xac \nformation and much apparent sincerity. He opened \nto my mind the condition of the Protestant religion in \nFrance, and gave me many facts illustrative of the zeal \nand devotion of the few and persecuted Christians of \nthat misnamed republic. I asked his opinion of Louis \nNapoleon, but he seemed inclined to avoid a reply; but \nat length, with an expressive sigh, he answered, in in\xc2\xac \ndifferent English, \xe2\x80\x9c The president got no God.\xe2\x80\x9d What \nsingle sentence could more fully describe the perjured \nwretch who is now at the head of the French govern\xc2\xac \nment ? Flis oath of office was one of the most solemn \never taken, but he violated it. The constitution of his \ncountry was a noble document, but he trampled it be\xc2\xac \nneath his feet. Liberty had commenced her reign in \nFrance, but he struck down her angel wings. He is, \nindeed, without a God. \n\n\nFRANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\n\n481 \n\n\nI arrived in Calais at night, and at once took the \nsteamer for Dover. We started in a terrific thunder \nstorm, which raged up and down that narrow channel \nwith uncontrollable fury. We were three hours in \ncrossing; and three such hours I never passed in my \nlife before. There were about forty of us in the cabin, \na little, square room, not large enough to accommodate \nten comfortably. The waves dashed over the decks, \nand we were shut down, without the least ventilation. \nThe steamer was small, and, under the violence of the \nwaves, seemed to be knocked about like a chip in a \ntempest. Most of the passengers were French, who \nwere going over to the great exhibition, and many of \nthem were very much alarmed. And, indeed, it did \nseem as if we should go to the bottom. Our little boat \nseemed to be standing now* on one end, and then on the \nother; now poised on a watery pinnacle, and anon \nburied deep in the trough of the sea, while far above \nus the angry waves were heard roaring in their terrible \nmight. Of the forty persons shut up in the cabin, I \nbelieve I was the only one who was not sea-sick; and \nI was saved from it only by the sport which the ludi\xc2\xac \ncrous scenes furnished. Here were men and women \nvomiting, some in bowls, some on the floor, and some \nin the hats and bonnets of friends; young ladies lying \ndown on the floor, drabbling fine silk dresses in the \nfilth, in the wildest consternation; the French chatter\xc2\xac \ning most outrageously, and uttering the most hideous \noutcries; the steward running from one to another \nwith the consoling exclamations, \xe2\x80\x9cNo danger! \xe2\x80\x9d \n\xe2\x80\x9c Don\xe2\x80\x99t be skeered! \xe2\x80\x9d \xe2\x80\x9c Get there soon! \xe2\x80\x9d with which \nhe endeavored to comfort the wretched creatures, who \nimagined they were about to perish. In the midst of \nall this, the stove fell down, bringing with it our only \n\n61 oo \n\n\n482 \n\n\nEUR OP A, \n\n\nlamp, leaving us in total darkness. Then was such an \noutcry as I never heard, which, until another light was \nbrought and order restored, was truly terrible. The \nhorrors of a whole voyage across the Atlantic did not \nequal the scenes of that one evening, into three hours \nof which were crowded all the awfulness of the sea \nstorm and all the danger of shipwreck. \n\nOn arriving at Dover, we repaired to the custom\xc2\xac \nhouse, where our baggage was examined. I had in \nmy bag a little reprint of an English work which I \nhad purchased in Venice, and the margin of every \npage of which I had crowded with notes, which were \nof no small value to me. The rude, burly fellow who \nexamined my little stock of goods perceived this book, \nand before I could remonstrate, coolly tore it to pieces, \nand threw the fragments upon the floor. \n\nThat night I remained in Dover, and in the morn\xc2\xac \ning started in an early train for London, and arrived \nin time to breakfast with some of my friends, who were \njust sitting down to their morning meal. Two or three \nweeks I remained in London, visiting the Crystal Pal\xc2\xac \nace, attending the sittings of the Peace Congress, wan\xc2\xac \ndering about among the stores, churches, and houses, \nmaking valuable acquaintances, and receiving much \ndesirable information. Some of the things which I \nsaw, and some of the places which I visited, I have \ndescribed in a former chapter; and the rest I will not \nweary you to detail. Of all the countries in Europe, \nEngland is the greatest and the best; of all sovereigns, \nVictoria is the most worthy of affection; and though \nthere are stains upon her administration, and though \nthere are wrongs and abuses beneath the shadow of \nher throne, yet no one who has looked upon her sweet \ncountenance, and beheld the greatness of her empire, \n\n\nFRANCE AND ENGLAND. \n\n\n483 \n\n\ncan withhold the expression, \xe2\x80\x9c God save the queen/\xe2\x80\x99 \nWe may not respond to every sentiment of her own \npoet laureate , 1 contained in the ode with which he has \ndedicated to her majesty one of his latest works; and \nyet, in the present state of Europe, we know not how \nto utter any other wish. \n\n11 Revered Victoria, you that hold \nA nobler office upon earth \nThan arms, or power of brain, or birth \nCould give the warrior kings of old,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c I thank you that your royal grace \nTo one of less desert allows \nThis laurel, greener from the brows \nOf him that uttereth nothing base; \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c And should your greatness, and the care \nThat yokes with empire, yield you time \nTo make demand of modern rhyme, \n\nIf aught of ancient worth be there, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xc2\xab Take, madam, this poor book of song ; \n\nFor though the faults were thick as dust \nIn vacant chambers, I could trust \nYour sweetness. May you rule as long,\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c And leave us rulers of your blood \nAs noble till the latest day ! \n\nMay children of our children say, \n\n4 She wrought her people lasting good ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c 1 Her court was pure ; her life serene; \n\n* God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; \n\nA thousand claims to reverence closed \nIn her as mother, wife, and queen. \n\n\n1 Alfred Tennyson. \n\n\n484 \n\n\nEUEOPA. \n\n\n\xe2\x80\x9c 1 She brought a vast design to pass, \n\nWhen Europe and the scattered ends \nOf our fierce world were mixed as friends \nAnd brethren in her halls of glass; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98 And statesmen at her council met, \n\nWho knew the seasons, when to take \nOccasion by the hand, and make \nThe bounds of freedom broader yet, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c \xe2\x80\x98 By shaping some august decree \n\nWhich kept her throne unshaken still, \nBroad-based upon her people\xe2\x80\x99s will, , \n\nAnd compassed by th\xe2\x80\x99 inviolate sea.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n485 \n\n\nXXXVIII. \n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\nFrom London to Liverpool, where I tarried a few \ndays, visiting Chester, Birkenhead, and other places of * \ninterest in the vicinity, I went, and secured my place \nin the steamer which was to bear me to my own dear \nnative land. I embarked on board the Europa, July \n29, and passing out of the North Channel by the Isle \nof Man, the coasts of merry England and green Ire\xc2\xac \nland faded from our view. Farewell, Liverpool, Bir\xc2\xac \nkenhead, the Mersey, and the rough, boisterous chan\xc2\xac \nnel. Welcome, wide, deep, billowy ocean, for ye bear \nme to kindred and clime, to the loved scenes of youth, \nand the dear delights of home. \n\nSunday came \xe2\x80\x94 a dull, irksome day. We had no \nreligious service on board, and the passengers went \nmoping about, half sea-sick, sad and lonesome. A \nweek rolled away \xe2\x80\x94 a stupid week. There were no \nstorms, no vessels in sight, not even a sea serpent to \nfurnish us amusement. Another Sunday came, and \nwe assembled in the cabin to hear the English church \nservice read by the captain, and a sermon appended to \nit by Rev. Alexander J. Sessions, of Salem. The dis\xc2\xac \ncourse was from these words \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x9c The kingdoms of \nthis world are become the kingdoms of our Lord.\xe2\x80\x9d 1 \nThe preacher attempted to show that the religion of \n\n\noo * \n\n\\ \n\n\n1 Rev. xi. 15. \n\n\n486 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nChrist would ultimately prevail in this sin-ruined \nworld. He argued, 1. That our hearts prophesy this \nbetter day; 2. The events of history teach it; 3. The \nScriptures predict it. The style of Mr. Sessions is very \npeculiar, adapting him rather to a learned and select \naudience than a promiscuous one. He has been absent \nfrom home nearly two years, traveling in the East. \n\nOne evening, just as the sun was setting, we had a \nfine view of an iceberg. It was supposed to be five \nor six miles distant; and those whose practiced vision \nwas accustomed to measure objects at sea said it was \nabout four hundred and fifty feet high. It presented \na very beautiful appearance, as the motions of our \nvessel brought it between us and the sinking sun, \nwhose last beams, falling upon it, adorned it with \nall the colors of the rainbow. \n\nThe only striking incident which occurred on our \nway home took place on the night of the second Sab\xc2\xac \nbath we were out. I had retired to rest about mid\xc2\xac \nnight, and soon after was started from a disturbed \nsleep by a slight shock, which was followed by confu\xc2\xac \nsion on deck, and a backing of the wheels of the \nsteamer. That monstrous iceberg which we had seen \nthe evening before rushed into the mind, and the idea \nthat we had struck a mass of floating ice w r as not at \nall comfortable. I hastened on deck, and in a moment \nlearnt that we had struck a vessel instead of an ice\xc2\xac \nberg, and the steamer was running back to see what \ndamage had been done. Sad were our feelings as \nwe gathered on deck, straining our eager eyeballs to \ngather the first signs of the wreck. In a few minutes, \nwe saw the vessel, and the boats were at once put off \nto the rescue, and soon fourteen men were brought on \nboard. The vessel proved to be the fishing schooner \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n487 \n\n\nFlorence, of Wellfleet, Lot Higgins, master, a craft of \neighteen tons, manned by fifteen hands, and having on \nboard two hundred and fifty barrels of mackerel. Her \nonly boat was smashed at the onset, and when the boats \nof the steamer reached her, one of the men had disap\xc2\xac \npeared. Had the night been dark, or stormy, or had \nthe steamer been five minutes longer in returning, all \non board the wreck would have perished. The men \nwere brought on board, destitute of clothing, having \nbarely escaped with their lives. The cause of this sad \ndisaster I do not pretend to know. The night was \nlight, the vessel could be seen at nearly a quarter of a \nmile distant, her light was up, and as she saw the \nsteamer coming, a gun was fired. \n\nAnd it is a wonder that no more disasters of this \nkind occur. The night after leaving Halifax was a ter\xc2\xac \nrible one. A dense fog enveloped us all night, and a \nvessel could not be seen one hundred feet ahead. The \nfog bell could be heard only a short distance, and the \nsteamer was ploughing through the waves at the rate \nof thirteen miles an hour. When the morning dawned, \nand the fog cleared away, we found ourselves in the \nmidst of a fleet of fishing vessels; and it seemed a \nmiracle that they all escaped. The Europa was the \nsteamer which ran down an emigrant ship a few years \nsince, by which about one hundred lives were lost. \n\nWe put into Halifax, and stopped about three hours. \nThis is a dirty town, full of pigs and dogs, and has a \ndead, decaying look. We went up into the place to see \nwhat we could, and found a few soldiers ; a great many \nnegroes, most of them refugees from oppression in this \nboasted and boasting land of freedom; one or two good- \nlooking edifices, and a large number of unpainted, di\xc2\xac \nlapidated wooden houses, which seem about ready to \n\n\n488 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\ntumble down upon the heads of the occupants. Three \nhours are enough for a stranger to see the whole town, \nand to make up his mind that he never wants to see it \nagain. On hights back of the place is a fine fortifica\xc2\xac \ntion, and one or two Highland regiments are quartered \nhere. What use these are put to, no one knows ; and \nthey must be a set of lazy fellows to endure such a life. \nI can see how a soldier can love the excitement of \nbattle, and the din of war, but how an enterprising \nregiment can exist in Halifax I do not see. \n\nWe arrived in Boston after a short passage of ten \ndays and ten hours, and once more gazed upon the wel\xc2\xac \ncome and familiar sights in Boston harbor. The rest \nyou know; the kindly greeting, the pleasant words, \nand all the dear delights of home. I saw abroad many \na fair land, but none so dear as my own country. I saw\xe2\x80\x99 \nmany churches, with spacious aisles and dim arches, \nbut none like the more homely and less ostentatious \none in which ordaining hands were laid upon my head, \nand in which I have preached so many happy years. I \nsaw many kind friends and pleasant faces abroad, but \nnone so pleasant and so kind as those to wdiom I \nreturned after a short wandering. \n\n44 Breathes there a man with soul so dead, \n\nWho never to himself hath said, \n\n4 This is my own, my native land \xe2\x80\x99 ? \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn looking back over the countries of Europe, we can\xc2\xac \nnot fail to perceive that great events are soon to trans\xc2\xac \npire, which will agitate the world. The position assumed \nby Louis Napoleon in France cannot be long sustained, \nand doubtless thousands in that fickle and irresponsi\xc2\xac \nble nation would glory in the idea of his assassination, \nwhich, sooner or later, is likely to take place. He may, \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n489 \n\n\nhowever, live long enough to convulse the continent, \nand drench with blood every tottering throne. That he \naims at imperial honors and kingly prerogatives none \ncan doubt. His administration is a reign ; his govern\xc2\xac \nment is a usurpation; and his constitution is the edict \nof an unprincipled despot. A Protestant missionary, 1 \nwho has been obliged to flee from his own country to \nBrussels, writes of the usurper as follows: \xe2\x80\x9c They \naccept the peace he gives without loving himself. The \ngood effected by him is received with pleasure, in view \nof its results, but without enthusiasm for himself. He \nis loved as one loves the gendarme , who puts a robber \nin prison; he is esteemed as one esteems a commissary \nof the police, who maintains order in a town. His fetes \nare brilliant, but without soul \xe2\x80\x94 without heart; the \ngas burns brilliantly ; the lips ery, Vive Napoleon ; but \nit is felt to be a matter of course there, and a heartless \ncry elsewhere; and if a crowd presses around the presi\xc2\xac \ndent, it is not to defend his person, but to ask for \nplaces. It must be conceded, that this state of things \nproves as much against the nation as against Louis \nNapoleon. If nations were moral, immoral govern\xc2\xac \nments would not be of long continuance. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c The Bomish clergy continue to be the very humble \nservants of Louis Napoleon. His name has been intro\xc2\xac \nduced into their prayers, in the place formerly occupied \nby the king or the republic. The pope\xe2\x80\x99s words are \ncited in entire approval of the coup d etat. On the \nother hand, the miracles, temporarily suspended, begin \nto revive. The president compliments the bishops, the \nbishops praise the president; and while the speech of \nthe Bomish clergy at the reception on the 1st of \n\n\n62 \n\n\n1 Rev. Mr. Roussel. \n\n\n490 \n\n\nETJROPA. \n\n\nJanuary is fully reported, not a word is said of the \naddress from the Protestant consistory. The success \nof Napoleon encourages the German government. The \nEmperor of Austria has taken away the constitution, \nand the government vexes the Lutherans. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c On the other hand, read what the Romish clergy \nare permitted to publish. I give you a faithful abridg\xc2\xac \nment from a Catholic journal. 4 Our missionaries have \nfound an admirable method of converting pagans by \nthousands. They have established in China a phar\xc2\xac \nmacy, where they give medical advice and remedies \ngratuitously to children. Then, as the converted Chi\xc2\xac \nnese employed in this dispensary are very skilful in \ndetermining, by inspection of the thumb, whether the \nmalady is mortal, we have an admirable method of bap\xc2\xac \ntizing these little creatures at the point of death. The \nCatholic physician, in administering the remedy, takes \na sponge saturated with water, and squeezes it, in the \nguise of a medicine, on t the head of the infant, and the \ndying child is saved.\xe2\x80\x99 \xe2\x80\x9d \n\nPerhaps the state of France has never been more de\xc2\xac \nplorable than at the present time. Vice abounds, and \npoverty has taken the place of prosperity and industry. 1 \nThe people have lost confidence in the government and \nin each other, and the army rules from the Tuileries to \nthe Boulevards. The prospect of a great European war \n\n1 The Westminster Review classi- In easy circumstances, 550,000 \nfies the people of France in the fol- In moderate circumstances, 4,200,000 \nlowing manner, and if this classifica- Gaining a decent but un- \ntion be correct, we have a view of certain living, 6,000,000 \n\nthe social condition of that unfortu- Gaining a scanty and un- \nnate nation, in which one out of every certain living, 16,000,000 \n\nnine persons is a pauper, and where Living in extreme indi- \none half of the people are barely fed gence, 5,000,000 \n\nand clothed: \xe2\x80\x94 Paupers, thieves, and oth- \n\n\nMillionaires, \nRich men. \n\n\n50,000 \n\n200,000 \n\n\ners, \n\n\n4,000,000 \n\n\n36,000,000 \n\n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n491 \n\n\nincreases every day, and the prediction of Napoleon, \nthat Europe will soon become republican or Cossack, \nseems like to be verified in this our age. England, free \nand glorious in her might, seems to be almost the only \nobstacle to the usurpations of the ambitious tyrants \nof Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg. She is strength\xc2\xac \nening her fortifications, increasing her navy, disciplining \nher army, and preparing for whatever may occur in the \nfuture. In the emergency she will look across the ocean \nfor help; she will appeal away from tyrants to her giant \n\xe2\x80\x9cdaughter of the west,\xe2\x80\x9d and with firm faith in the \nGod of the free, will battle for human rights. A lace \nLondon journal 1 foresees the time, and utters its voice \nin the most stirring strains. \n\ni \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Gigantic daughter of the west, \n\nWe drink to thee across the flood : \n\nWe know thee most, we love thee best; \n\nFor art thou not of British blood ? \n\nShould War\xe2\x80\x99s mad blast again be blown, \n\nPermit not thou the tyrant powers \n\nTo fight thy mother here alone, \n\nBut let thy broadsides roar with ours. \n\nHands all round ! \n\nGod the tyrant\xe2\x80\x99s cause confound ! \n\nTo our great kinsman of the west, my friends, \n\nAnd the great name of England, round and round! \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Arise, our great Atlantic sons, \n\nWhen war against our freedom springs ! \n\nO, speak to Europe through your guns \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey can be understood by kings ! \n\nYou must not mix our queen with those \nThat wish to keep the people fools ; \n\nOur freedom\xe2\x80\x99s foemen are her foes \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nShe comprehends the race she rules. \n\n\n1 London Examiner. \n\n\n492 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nHands all round ! \n\nGod the tyrant\xe2\x80\x99s cause confound ! \n\nTo our dear kinsman of the west, my friends, \n\nAnd the great cause of freedom, round and round/\xe2\x80\x99 \n\nThe prayer of every Christian should go up to God \nthat he would avert any such calamity as is threatening \nin the signs which have brought out these forcible \nverses. \n\nNor can we foretell what will be the result of the \nmovement which is now going on in the Romish \nchurch. The Catholic masses in Europe are in an \nagitated and troubled state, and a rupture between the \npope and the people is liable to come at any moment. \nIn the mean while, the most strenuous efforts are being \nmade all through Europe to keep the Bible away from \nthe common people. The living and the dying are \ndenied its hallowed light, and deprived of its holy effi\xc2\xac \ncacy. Letters from Europe are filled with accounts \nof Popish efforts to quench the fires of truth. One \ntraveler, 1 writing from Italy, says, \xe2\x80\x9c At Nice, a highly- \neducated gentleman, a graduate of Paris, gave instruc\xc2\xac \ntions in my family. The unhappy man attempted sui\xc2\xac \ncide, but he was saved and taken to a hospital. I \nvisited him there, [this was in 1842,] and read the \nScriptures to him, to which he listened with great \npleasure. Remember this was a gentleman, and not a \npoor person, who might be thought liable to be easily \nmisled. The Bishop of Nice applied to the governor \nof the city, Monsieur de Maistre, to prevent my visits, \nwhom I knew intimately, who had dined in my house, \nand who had declared to me that it 4 was a calumny to \nsay that Roman Catholics are prevented from reading \n\n\n1 Sir Culling Eardly. \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE\xe2\x80\x94 HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n493 \n\n\nthe Scriptures.\xe2\x80\x99 My friend, Monsieur de Maistre, at the \nbishop\xe2\x80\x99s request, ordered that I should not be admitted \nto visit the (supposed) dying man. I remonstrated with \nhim, in his own palace, by the hour together, several \ntimes. At last he offered to go to the hospital with me. \nI assented, if I might, in his presence, read the Bible to \nthe dying man. That he refused, and I never saw the \npoor gentleman again.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn Hungary, the cause of evangelical truth is opposed \nat every step, and the enemies of the Bible are doing \nall they can to rid the country of its influence. A mis\xc2\xac \nsionary, 1 writing from Pesth, says, \xe2\x80\x9cA terrible blow \nhas been struck at the mission, and yet the Lord may \nbring good out of the seeming evil. Two imperial \norders from Vienna compel us all instantly to quit the \nAustrian territory. Every effort with our embassy and \nthe government has failed even to ameliorate the se\xc2\xac \nverity of the edict. If we are not on the way to-mor\xc2\xac \nrow, we shall be expelled by military force. My youngest \nchild is two months old; my second youngest sixteen \nmonths. Mr. Smith\xe2\x80\x99s little daughter is in very deli\xc2\xac \ncate health; and both of us handed in medical certifi\xc2\xac \ncates, that a journey in the very severest winter season \nendangered Mrs. Wingate\xe2\x80\x99s and several other members \nof the families\xe2\x80\x99 lives \xe2\x80\x94 all in vain. In six short days, \nall our arrangements have had to be completed. The \nschool, as yet, is untouched. In these circumstances, \nwe have no resource but to set out. The Lord will \nundertake for us. Here is nothing but weeping and \nwailing. We trust soon to render an account of our \ntransactions, and of the persecutions and cruelties which \nhave been perpetrated. Brother Edwards is in a still \n\n\n1 Mr. Wingate. \n\n\nPP \n\n\nI \n\n\n494 EUROPA. \n\nmore dreadful position. It is supposed here that we \nare on the point of war with Great Britain. Fear not \nfor the mission to the Jews. We doubt not the ship \nwill safely pass through this storm.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn Sweden, the enslaved people are groaning be\xc2\xac \nneath the wrongs and curses of the establishment; and \na writer from Copenhagen gives the following doleful \ndescription, in a long and interesting letter to an Eng\xc2\xac \nlish journal: 1 \xe2\x80\x9c The bloody and bigoted intolerance \nof the Swedish church laws, by which Swedish Lu\xc2\xac \ntheranism is pinned to the earth a helpless slave in the \nhands of the civil power, while the laity sink into the \nserfs of the police church, has, during the last ten \nyears, caused the emigration of thousands of the \n\xe2\x80\x98 Pietist \xe2\x80\x99 peasantry of the northern provinces \xe2\x80\x94 a se\xc2\xac \nvere loss to a country like Sweden. We now learn \nthat this movement is extending to the south of \nSweden, and that a large emigration to America will \ncommence next summer from Skane. A writer in a \nSwedish paper says, 4 We have become so persuaded \nthat no good object, least of all religious liberty, can \nbe gained in our country, except at a snail\xe2\x80\x99s pace, that \nwe prefer to leave it altogether. Spectators of the way \nin wdiich the population of Ireland has sunk from nine \nmillions to six ought to reflect before they abandon \nthemselves, body and soul, to a system of reaction.\xe2\x80\x99 \nKing Oscar has hitherto taken no step towards free\xc2\xac \ndom of conscience in Sweden. If he finds that the \npresent system will materially diminish the number of \nhis tax payers, he may be induced to alter his policy. \nThat the Swedes themselves do not boldly take the \nmatter in hand, as a question of common civil right, \nis most amazing.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\n\n1 London Morning Chronicle. \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n495 \n\n\nThe German papers state that the cause of truth is \nsuppressed there; and in one account we have the fol\xc2\xac \nlowing precious item: \xe2\x80\x9c One of the most respectable \ncitizens of Schweinfurt, and member of a religious \ncommunion dissolved by the government, declined to \nhave his children confirmed according to the rites of \nthe state church, and was informed that if he persisted \nin keeping them away, he would be arrested.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn Austria, the flame of persecution burns with \ngreat fury; and a beloved man, 1 whose name is dear \nto all lovers of religion and liberty, writes as follows: \n\xe2\x80\x9c On the 20th April, eleven of our brethren, and five \nother persons assembled with them at Vienna, were \nsuddenly arrested and cast into prison; but they have \nsince been liberated, owing to the intercessions of a \nperson of high influence. Another case of persecution \nhas occurred in the grand duchy of Mecklenburg, and \nwe have every reason to fear that the evangelical \nclergy in the Lutheran church have been its chief in\xc2\xac \nstigators. Brother Bues, our missionary at Wismar, \nwas in the first instance banished from the country for \npreaching and seducing the people from the state \nchurch. Some time later, another brother was ban\xc2\xac \nished from Ludwigslust, the summer residence of the \ngrand duke, for having instructed a few of the chil\xc2\xac \ndren of our members from the Bible, on the Lord\'s \nday; and, finally, the resident members have been \nheavily fined for continuing to hold religious assem\xc2\xac \nblies. The government has made known its determina\xc2\xac \ntion to suppress, and, if possible, entirely put an end \nto, our sectarian movements. It might be well if our \nBritish brethren were once more to exert their influ- \n\n\n1 Rev. J. G. Oncken. \n\n\n496 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nence, on behalf of our persecuted brethren, by sending \nan earnest remonstrance to the grand duke, and by \ngiving publicity to these barbarous facts.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nTo show how much liberty men have in the classic \nland, we have only to refer to the fact which was \nbrought to us but a few days ago in the following \nwords, which show that even a man\xe2\x80\x99s official connec\xc2\xac \ntion with our distinguished government will not save \nhim from persecution, if he makes, sells, or gives \naway a book which does not indorse the divine nature \nof the Virgin Mary: \xe2\x80\x9c Dr. King, the eminent Amer\xc2\xac \nican missionary, and the United States\xe2\x80\x99 consul at \nAthens, in Greece, has been sentenced to fifteen days\xe2\x80\x99 \nimprisonment, and to expulsion from the country, for \nhaving published a book to prove that divine honors \nshould not be paid to the Virgin Mary. His convic\xc2\xac \ntion is said to have been procured by foreign influence, \nto be against the law and the evidence, and contrary \nto the Greek constitution, which guaranties religious \ntoleration.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nThese facts and figures show us, to some extent, the \ngeneral hostility of Europe to the Bible, which only \ncan make good government and sound national pros\xc2\xac \nperity. The pope has condemned it, and in his en\xc2\xac \ncyclical letter banished it from his vast dominion; and \nkings and emperors are doing his will. The ordi\xc2\xac \nnances of religion are suppressed, and the law of God \nis despised. The records of missions assure us, that \xe2\x80\x9c at \nEimbeck, in Hanover, the assembly of the church has \nbeen twice dispersed by the police, and their pastor is \nthreatened with a prosecution in case he ventures to \nhold another religious service. In Baden, though the \nJesuits have the largest liberty, our brethren are for\xc2\xac \nbidden to Iiold a meeting for worship. Another \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n497 \n\n\nbrother has been expelled from Mecklenburg, and Mr. \nNiemitz, the pastor at Memel, in Prussia, has been \nforbidden to carry on a Sabbath school. Three com\xc2\xac \nplaints have been made against him for administering \nthe Lord\xe2\x80\x99s supper. But they are undismayed, confi\xc2\xac \ndent that as persecution in time past has not crushed \nthe truth, it cannot now crush it. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c A late communication from Dr. Devan shows that \nthe French authorities are more than ever openly hos\xc2\xac \ntile to evangelical effort. A colporter has been arrested \nand lodged in prison. Two pious soldiers have been put \nunder arrest for reading the Scriptures and observing \nsocial worship, which had been the instrument of the \nconversion of two of their comrades. These desired \nbaptism, which it was not thought prudent to admin\xc2\xac \nister immediately under the circumstances. One of \nthe native assistants of the mission has been threat\xc2\xac \nened with prosecution for itinerancy. These may be \nbut the beginning of sorrows. But \xe2\x80\x98the wind blow- \neth where it listeth\xe2\x80\x94so is every one that is born of \nthe Spirit.\xe2\x80\x99 For those who are truly the Lord\xe2\x80\x99s \nchosen, we have sympathy, but no fear; they are safe. \n\n\' France claims our pity, for there is no safety to nations \nthat war against the kingdom of Christ.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIn England and Scotland, Romanists are making \nthe most strenuous efforts to root out the old Cove\xc2\xac \nnanter faith, and break down the old Covenanter\xe2\x80\x99s spirit. \nConvents and churches to Antichrist are rising on all \nsides; and the war has been carried into Parliament, \nand has raged up and down the land among the people. \n\nWhat the consequences of all this will be, no hu\xc2\xac \nman vision can foresee. All we have to do is to wait \nthe result. While the enemy is at work, the Lord is \nlifting up a banner and setting a defence against him. \n\n63 pp* \n\n\nr \n\n\n498 EUROPA. \n\nTruth is girding herself for the contest, and the Bible \nis shedding its light in spite of prisons and flames. \nAnd on the truth which that Bible teaches we must \nrely. It is our only hope of freedom for the world; \nand if its light is extinguished, the whole system of \ncivil society is in dense darkness. It makes our coun\xc2\xac \ntry what it is, and gives to America its noblest endow\xc2\xac \nments. We can but say with another, 1 \xe2\x80\x9c Tell me \nwhere the Bible is, and where it is not, and I will write \na moral geography of the world. I will show what, in \nall particulars, is the physical condition of that people. \nOne glance of your eye will inform you where the \nBible is, and where it is not. Go to Italy: decay, \ndegradation, suffering meet you on every side. Com\xc2\xac \nmerce droops, agriculture sickens, the useful arts lan\xc2\xac \nguish. There is a heaviness in the air; you feel \ncramped by some invisible power; the people dare not \nspeak aloud; they walk slowly; an armed soldiery is \naround their dwellings; the armed police take from \nthe stranger his Bible before he enters the territory. \nAsk for the Bible in the bookstores; it is not there, \nor in a form so large and expensive as to be beyond \nthe reach of the common people. The preacher takes \nno text from the Bible. Enter the Vatican and in\xc2\xac \nquire for a Bible, and you will be pointed to some case \nwhere it reposes among prohibited books, side by side \nwith the works of Diderot, Rousseau, and Voltaire. \nBut pass over the Alps into Switzerland, and down the \nRhine into Holland, and over the channel to England \nand Scotland, and what an amazing contrast meets the \neye! Men look with an air of independence; there \nare industry, neatness, instruction for children. Why \n\n\n* Dr. William Adama, \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME AG AIN". \n\n\n499 \n\n\nthis difference l There is no brighter sky; there are \nno fairer scenes of nature; but they have the Bible; \nand happy are the people who are in such a case, for \nit is righteousness that exalteth a nation.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nIf we have any thing to fear in this free, happy land, \nit is the influence of Romanism upon our liberal institu\xc2\xac \ntions. Already sentiments have been advanced, which, \nif carried out, will transform our government into as \ngross a despotism as ever was seen beneath the sun. \nIf the Papist has a right to break faith with heretics; \nif the Pope of Rome, a temporal sovereign, has a right \nto absolve any American citizen from his oath of alle\xc2\xac \ngiance to this nation and government; if a sect is rising \nin our midst who glory in the burning of Bibles, and \nwho consider it the highest honor to break down the re\xc2\xac \nligion of Jesus, \xe2\x80\x94 why, we may tremble lest our boasted \nland become another Erin, in w T hich famine stalks abroad, \nand poverty reigns without mitigation. Listen to the \nsentiments which have come thundering out from an \nAmerican press, the hideous sentiments of the mind of \na man 1 who claims America as his home; sentiments \nwhich contain a poison, which, if it could sink down \ninto the hearts of freemen, \xe2\x80\x94 which, thank God, is im\xc2\xac \npossible,\xe2\x80\x94 would send the virus of death through all \nthe veins and arteries of the whole social and political \nsystem under which we live. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Protestantism is, no doubt, a heresy; but all \nheresy is at best only inchoate heathenism, and needs \nonly time and freedom to become fully developed hea\xc2\xac \nthenism ; for it is the assertion of the natural against \nthe supernatural, the secular against the spiritual, the \nImman against the divine. Protestantism is heathenism \n\n\n* O. A. Brownson. \n\n\n500 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nin its natural form, since the church, as ancient As\xc2\xac \nsyrian, Chaldean, Egyptian, Greek, and Roman Gen- \ntilism, was the natural form of civilized heathenism \nbefore her. It is only the church that introduces into \nthe world another than a heathen element; remove \nher, and nothing but heathenism does or can remain. \nThe essence of all heathenism, whether before or since \nthe Christian church, is in the emancipation of the \nflesh of the secular order, and the subjection of the \nspiritual. Protestantism, whatever its pretensions, is \ntherefore really heathenism, and nothing else; or if it \nplease its friends better, since it professes to believe in \nthe Messiah, we will consent to call it carnal Judaism, \nwhich holds the Messiah to be a temporal instead of \na spiritual prince, the founder of an earthly instead of \na heavenly kingdom, places the secular above the spir\xc2\xac \nitual, and puts the creature in place of the Creator \n\xe2\x80\x94 the essential principle of all heathenism and of all \nidolatry. It bears the same relation to Christianity \nthat carnal Judaism bore to spiritual Judaism. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9cWe wish our readers to bear in mind that it is \nnot religious bigotry, that it is not zeal for religion, \nthat chiefly lights the fires of Protestant persecution, \nbut zeal for the world, and determination to subor\xc2\xac \ndinate religion always and every where to the secular \npower. And, therefore, we lose all the breath we ex\xc2\xac \npend in declaiming against bigotry and intolerance, \nand in favor of religious liberty, or the right of every \nman to be of any religion or of no religion, as best \npleases him, which some two or three of our journal\xc2\xac \nists would fain persuade the world is Catholic doctrine. \nSuch declamations only tend to render Catholics indif\xc2\xac \nferent to their faith, or to inoculate them with a false \nand fatal liberalism, as experience every day proves. \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94 HOME AGAIN. \n\n\n501 \n\n\nThey produce no effect on Protestants, save so far as \nthey may he regarded as indications of a tendency \namong us to abandon our religion, and turn Protestant \nor infidel. It is always folly to talk or reason of Prot\xc2\xac \nestants, taken as a body; as if they had religion, or \ncared a pin\xe2\x80\x99s head for religion of any sort. Set them \ndown always as modern heathens, and go and preach to \nthem as the fathers did to the Gentiles, or you will \nnever touch them. They will persecute you if they \nhave the power, and regard you as of sufficient impor\xc2\xac \ntance to be persecuted, until you succeed in convincing \nthem that heathenism is false and Catholicity is true, \nand that they are to live for heaven and not for earth. \nThe great error into which we fall is that of considering \nProtestantism as a form of religion, and adhered to from \nreligious motives. If such was ever the case, it is not \nnow. With here and there an individual exception, \nProtestants constitute not a religious, but a political \nand social party; and what they say in reference to re\xc2\xac \nligion, is said only in furtherance of their secular move\xc2\xac \nments or desires, whether they themselves are distinctly \nconscious that it is so or not. \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c Our first work should be to unprotestantize our\xc2\xac \nselves \xe2\x80\x94 a thing we shall not very readily do, if our \npopular writers take care to deny or suppress Catholic \ntruth, as applicable to the secular order. Atheistical \npolitics are well nigh universal, and, till we abandon \nthem ourselves, we shall make poor headway against \nProtestantism, when we ourselves are afraid to assert \nthe supremacy of the spiritual order. As that unity \nand Catholicity are effected and secured by the papacy, \nthe real object of attack is the pope, and his spiritual \nauthority, under God, over the whole secular order. \nThe whole question is here. Give up or deny that \n\n\n502 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nauthority, and you give up or deny all that Protestantism \nreally opposes, and embrace practically all that is living \nin it, and are Protestants in the only sense in which \nProtestants are worth counting. We must, therefore, \nif we mean to be Catholics, be truly\xe2\x80\x94we like the word \n\xe2\x80\x94 Papists, and fearlessly assert the Papal supremacy.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nSentiments like these show that even in our land the \ngreat battle between freedom and tyranny is again to be \nfought, and the question of individual opinion, freedom \nof conscience, and the right of self-government, which \nour fathers supposed was settled long ago, is to be again \ncontested on the very soil where they poured out their \nblood. What its result will be, no one who has faith \nin man, and in the progress of society, and in the strong \narm of God, can doubt, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x9c For freedom\xe2\x80\x99s battle once begun, \n\nBequeathed from bleeding sire to son, \n\nThough baffled oft, is ever won.\xe2\x80\x9d \n\nNo intelligent person can travel through Europe, we \nthink, without being forced to the conclusion, that Ko- \nmanism is destructive to the best interests of every com\xc2\xac \nmunity. He cannot fail to see evidences of its degrading, \nenslaving spirit, and he will trace the woes of many an \nunfortunate people to that great organization which \nought to stretch out its hands and drop blessings upon \nthe millions who fly to it for protection. His heart \nwill be heavy, and his spirit will be sad, as he finds the \nprofessed church of God placing the iron fetters upon \nthe limbs of the disciples, and crushing the energies of \nthe people of God. As he approaches the Eternal City, \nhe will behold new causes of grief, as he finds the glory of \nPome gone, and all its shame and guilt yet remaining. \nHe will leave the old man of the Vatican, who wears a \n\n\nTHE VOYAGE \xe2\x80\x94HOME* AGAIN. \n\n\n503 \n\n\npaper cap, and is surrounded with a guard of foreigners \nwith striped breeches; who rides on the shoulders of \nmen, and requires the people to kiss his toe; who \nstands there amid the dead mummies from Egypt, and \nthe dumb idols from Nimrod, and casts his bulls across \nthe mountains and the seas, \xe2\x80\x94 he will leave this old \nman, and go out to the ruins of the past, and sit down \nalone, to wonder why Rome should exchange paganism \nfor popery, the emperor for the pope. \n\nThe part which is to be taken by our great confed\xc2\xac \neracy of states none can misunderstand. It is the ex\xc2\xac \nample of our own nation which has inspired the down\xc2\xac \ntrodden people of continental Europe with the holy \ndesire to be free; and in the light which emanates from \nour institutions are they to march forward, until the \nlast chain is broken, and the last tyrant has been dis\xc2\xac \nen throned. We are not called to descend from the \nhigh position we occupy to contest a few feet of land, \nor battle for an empty name. Our flag need never float \nin the breezes of Italy, or be torn upon the plains of \nGermany, or flap in the wild and fitful blasts of an \nAlpine storm. The oppressed masses of the old world \nneed our Bible more than money; our missionaries will \nconquer faster than our soldiers; the glad notes of sal\xc2\xac \nvation will be more effectual than the thunder of can\xc2\xac \nnon. The greatest foe to human freedom is the church \nof Rome. It is her heel which is now on the prostrate \nform of liberty, and vain is every hope until her power \nis broken. The only weapon which can be used against \nher is the Bible. That she fears ; that she hates. She \ntrembles more when a few colporters find their way into \nher territories, than when a hostile army is thundering \nat the gates of the Vatican. Our mission is to set the \nnations of Europe an example, and send them light. \n\n\n504 \n\n\nEUROPA. \n\n\nThe conquests we are to make are bloodless; our vic\xc2\xac \ntories are moral and mighty. No fire, no sword, no \nblast of war, but a calm, steady light, shining upon the \nblackness of the world\xe2\x80\x99s long night, and a holy stream \nof information and truth, continually flowing forth to \nthe world\xe2\x80\x99s drear and desolate abodes. \n\nI bid adieu to my kind reader, with many thanks for \nhis patience in following me through so many scenes of \njoy and sorrow; and if I have related any thing to in\xc2\xac \nstruct or please, I shall be repaid for having transferred \nfrom the pages of my journal to the printed volume \nthese hasty observations, which, I trust, may not be \nfound to any considerable extent incorrect. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'