with the deepening twilight, produced a most melancholy gloom. After a deep and most impressive pause of silence, the solemn Miserere commenced; and never by mortal ear was heard a strain of such powerful, such heart-moving pathos. The accordant tones of a hundred human voices-and one which seemed more than human-ascended together to heaven for mercy to mankind-for pardon to a guilty and sinning world. It had nothing in it of this earth-nothing that breathed the ordinary feelings of our nature. It seemed as if every sense and power had been concentered into that plaintive expression of lamentation, of deep suffering and supplication, which possessed the soul. It was the strain that disembodied spirits might have used, who had just passed the boundaries of death, and sought release from the mysterious weight of wo, and the tremblings of mortal agony that they had suffered in the passage of the grave. It was the music of another state of being. It lasted till the shadows of evening fell deeper, and the red dusky glare, as it issued stronger from the concealed recess whence the singing proceeded, shed a partial, but strong, light upon the figures near it. It ceased a priest with a light moved across the chapel, and carried a book to the officiating cardinal, who read a few words in an awful and impressive tone. Then, again, the light disappeared; and the last, the most entrancing, harmony arose, in a strain that might have moved heaven itself-a deeper, more pathetic sound of lamentation than mortal voices ever breathed. Its effect upon the minds of those who heard it was almost too all-powerful to be borne, and never-never can be forgotten. One gentleman fainted, and was carried out; and many of the ladies near me were in agitation even more distressing, which they vainly struggled to suppress. It was the music of Allegri; but the composition, however fine, is nothing without the voices which perform it here. It is only the singers of the papal chapel who can execute the Miserere. It has been tried by the best singers in Germany, and totally failed of effect. There is never any accompaniment; though at times the solemn swell of the softened organ seemed to blend with their voices. This music is more wonderful, and its effect more powerful, than any thing I could have conceived. At its termination, some loud strokes, that reverberated through the chapel, and are intended, I was told, to represent the vail of The Temple being rent in twain, closed the service.'

'On the morning of Good Friday we resumed our labours by going to the Sistine chapel. About ten o'clock the Pope appeared; and after a long service, the crucifix over the altar, which had been covered up all the week with a violet or purplecoloured cloth, (which is the mourning of crosses and cardinals. here,) was uncovered. This is called the discovery of the cross; and then, after a great deal of fuss and muinmery, it is laid on a napkin on a stand before the altar, and after some chanting, and much loss of time, the Pope comes to it, kneels to it, prays, or seems to pray, over it, and goes away; and all the cardinals come, one by one and do the same. And this is called the Adoration of the Cross. Then they all set off upon the usual procession to the Paulina chapel; the only difference being, that the Pope walks without any canopy over him, and uncovered. The doors of the Paulina chapel were closed upon them, and what they did there I do not know; only I understand, their business was to take up the Host which they had deposited in the sepulchre yesterday. Certain it is, they came back just as they went, except that the Pope wore his mitre. As soon as this was over, without waiting for the long mass which was to follow, I went to the service of the Tre Ore, the three hours of agony of Christ upon the cross, which lasts from twelve to three. It is a complete drama; and is performed in several churches. I attended it in S. Andrea delle Fratte, which, before I arrived, was crowded almost to suffocation; but a chair, in a commodious situation, and a soldier to guard it, had been kept for me by the attention of the priests, who had been apprized of my coming. The upper part of the church was arranged like a theatre, with painted trees, and pasteboard rocks and thickets, representing Mount Calvary. A little way two Roman centurions, large as life, dressed in military uniforms, and mounted on pasteboard horses, were flourishing their pasteboard swords. Higher up on the Mount, on three crucifixes were nailed the figures of Christ and the two thieves; so correctly imitating life, or rather death, that I took it for wax work. Catholics say, Christ spoke seven times upon the cross, and at every saying a dagger entered the heart of the Virgin, who is therefore painted with seven daggers sticking in her breast, and adored as "Nostra Signora de'sette dolori"-Our Lady of the seven sorrows. The service of the Tre Ore is, therefore, divided into seven acts; between each of which there is a hymn. In every act, one of the seven set

dissertations upon the "sette parole" of Christ is read, or begun to be read, by a priest, who goes on until his lecture is interrupted by the preacher; who breaks in upon it at whatever part he pleases with a sermon (as they call it,) or rather a tirade, of his own, which seems to be extempore, but I am told is previously learnt by rote. A fat Dominican filled the pulpit on this occasion. He opened his seven sermons by a preparatory exhortation, inviting us to come to listen to the last accents of Christ, to witness his dying agonies. Then he burst forth into a string of apostrophes to Christ on the cross, being an incessant repetition of interjections and vocations, interlarded with a few metaphors, most of which I hold to be perfectly untranslateable. The following, which I took down verbatim from his mouth, were uttered without the smallest interruption or pause:- "O my Jesus! O most beloved Jesus! O brother Jesus! Most beloved brother! O Jesus of my heart! O most suffering Jesus! O Jesus afflicted! O Jesus crowned with thorns! O dear Jesus! O my Jesus! O most sweet Jesus! O most sorrowful Jesus! O most benign Jesus! O our beloved Jesus! whose burning love the waters of so much cruelty and tribulation could not extinguish !"-During his last discourse, which, in vehement emphasis, ejaculation, and gesticulation, far exceeded the six preceding ones, he continually importuned Christ for one sign, one look...then he said he had given him one look full of mercy...and he asked for another...At length the discourse was drawn out to the right instant of time-the three hours were expiring-" Ecco il momento!" he cried, and every body sunk prostrate on the ground in tears; and sobs, and groans, and cries, and one loud burst of agony filled the church. I believe mine was the only dry eye in the church except the priest's. The sobs of the soldier, who leaned on his firelock behind my chair, made me look round, and I saw the big tear rolling down his rugged cheeks.-At length the preacher cried, "Here they come-the holy men-to bear the body of our Redeemer to the sepulchre ;" and from the side of the scene issued forth a band of friars clad in black, and white scarfs tied across them, and, gradually climbing Mount Calvary by a winding path amongst the rocks and bushes, reached the foot of the cross, unmolested by the paper centurions. But when they began to unnail the body, it is utterly impossible to describe the shrieks, and cries, and clamours of grief, that burst from the people.. At the unloosening of every

nail, they were renewed with fresh vehemence; and the sobs and tears of the men were almost as copious as those of the women. Five prayers, separately addressed to the five wounds of Christ-first, the wound in the left foot; then that of the right foot; and so of the two hands, and, lastly, of the side, were next repeated. They were nearly the same, and all began, Vi adoro, piaga santissima-(I adore you, most holy wound.) The body of Christ being laid on a bier, decked with artificial flowers, and covered with a transparent veil, was brought down Mount Calvary by the holy men, as the preacher called them, who deposited it on the front of the stage; where all the people thronged to kiss the toe through the veil, and weep over it. I was conducted round to it, along with some Italian ladies of my acquaintance, through a private passage, by one of the civil priests, and so escaped the crowd. Upon close inspection, I found that the body was made of pasteboard, extremely well painted for effect; it had real hair on the head, and it was so well executed, that even when closely viewed, it was marked with the agony of nature and seemed to have recently expired. The congregation consisted of all ranks, from the prince to the beggar, but there was a preponderance of the higher classes. Some ladies of the first rank in Rome were beside me; and they were in agitation the most excessive.'

'Within this little month three great miracles have happened in Rome. The last took place yesterday, when all Rome crowded to the capitol to see an image of the Virgin opening her eyes. Unluckily we were in the country, and did not return in time to witness it; for as this miracle was thought a very improper one by the higher powers,--who would rather she had winked at certain practices which, it is thought, she had not only opened her eyes upon but those of other people,she was carried away, and certain priests, who are supposed to be in her confidence on this occasion, have been shut up in prison. Two officers of the Guarda Nobile are also in custody in the state prison at the castle San Angelo, for expressions which implied no extraordinary admiration of the present state of things. It is so nearly impossible to get at the bottom of any thing at Rome, that both these disgraced military and clergy may have given much more reason for their enthralment than we hear of.... The last miracle was of a much more orthodox description. The miraculous Madonna, in this case opened

her mouth instead of her eyes; and spoke to an old washerwoman, to whom she imparted her discontent at being so much neglected; and her chapel left in such a dirty and ruinous condition; while so many other Madonnas, no better than she, had theirs made as fine as hands could make them. The Madonna spoke no more; but the old washerwoman proved a very loquacious reporter of her wishes and sentiments. The news of the miracle spread like wildfire; thousands (I am not exaggerating) may be seen every day crowding to this little old chapel, near St John Lateran's, about four in the afternoon, the hour at which the Virgin addressed the washerwoman; it being supposed that this is her favourite time for conversation; but I have not heard that she has made any new observations. Not only the lower orders, but crowds of well-dressed people, and handsome equipages of all sorts, daily throng the door; and the long green avenue that leads within the walls to the Porta San Giovanni, instead of an unbroken solitude, now wears the appearance of a cried fair. At the corner of every street you stumble over a chair set out with a white cloth, a little picture of the Madonna, and a plate for collections to beautify her chapel. You are assailed on all sides with little begging boxes for the Madonna's beautification; and even the interests of the holy souls in purgatory are forgotten, in the pious zeal to make her fine enough.'

There is certainly more superstition in the south of Italy than in the north, because there is more ignorance. In Milan, and in most of the cities of Lombardy, it is rapidly disappearing with the diffusion of knowledge and science. Yet Florence, enlightened as she is, has a reasonable share; and miracles, and miraculous Madonnas abound nearly as much in Tuscany as in the estates of the church; as I have good reason to know. Even the liquefaction of St Januarius' blood, which is generally quoted as the comble of superstition, is not without its parallel. At Mantua, a bottle of the blood of Christ is liquefied every year; to the great edification of the countrymen of Virgil. The bottle, containing this real blood of Christ, was dug up at Mantua, in a box about two hundred years ago, with a written assurance, that it had been deposited there by a St Longinus, a Roman centurion; who witnessed the crucifixion, became converted, and ran away from Judea to Mantua with this bottle of blood; and after lying sixteen centuries in the

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