the valley of the Seven Churches. This exquisite scene of loneliness and gloom was cheered at the moment by a partial gleam of sunshine, which shone on the deserted churches, and flung the shadow of the round tower, a "gnomon raised by time to count his centuries," across the uneven plain on which it stands. I paused to look upon the lake which lay beyond the ruins; a cold and motionless expanse of water, prisoned in by mountains of rugged granite, with scanty traces of foliage to qualify the rudeness of the clifted heights. Yet there was more of a religious sadness than of sternness or terror in the character of the scene. was a fitting solitude for the abode of those who fled to its quiet sanctuaries in ages long gone by, to repair the passionate excesses of their youth, and meditate in sorrow, rather than in anger, on the thoughtlessness of men.

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Here it is, returning from the turmoil of London, and agitating pursuits, that the wanderer feels all the folly and idleness of the life which he has led ; that his heart sickens at the recollection of the dissipation of cities; that he opens his soul to nature as to a long forsaken mother, and thinks, with an aching bosom, of the purity, the simplicity, the religious regularity of his childhood. Here it is, that we seem once more, in the keenness of awakened memory, to lose those friends that have been snatched away from us by death or distance; that the still reproaches of that mysterious principle in our nature, which points to the eternal object of our existence, steal upward through the

tumult of our passions and our interests, and speak to our hearts like the voice of a long-forgotten friend. The rocks and woods, the lakes and water-falls, the ruins and the sober day-light, and the whisper of the persuasive wind, in scenes like this, convince the heart more readily than volumes of ingenious controversy, read over with aching head and weary eyes in the midnight chamber. Here we feel the truth that is too bright even for the eagle-eye of reason to contemplate. Ambition seems a dream, philosophy a guess, our spirit seems to mount above its tenement, and to behold the passions, the faculties, the sciences, and the occupations of man, at that leisurely elevation, where alone it can become acquainted with their relative value. Here we discover all the superiority of virtue over knowledge, and remember, with all that zest which feeling gives, even to the oldest truths, those fundamental principles of virtue, which, in our days of feverish inquiry, we were accustomed to despise for their want of novelty. As the thrilling music of the Christian churches first drew those tears from the eyes of St. Augustin, which he afterwards shed from a purer and loftier impulse; so here we are won back to the love of innocence by the poetry of nature. She reproaches us with having so long preferred, to her infinite varieties of form and colour, of sound and fragrance, the coarseness of scenic imitations, and all the low artificial mockeries of her excellence, which the palaces of art present to us. She seems to open her arms, and invite us to return!"

to blush for the meanness of our taste; to forsake the theatre, the picture-gallery, the library; and to study character in her towns and villages, beauty in her plains and valleys, sublimity in her mountains, and wisdom in the economy of her mighty system.

Of all the Roman ceremonies, the pontifical service. at St. Peter's is, without doubt, the most majestic ; and if we add to it the procession on Corpus Christi, in which the Pope bears the Holy Sacrament in solemn pomp along the colonnade, then hung according to the ancient fashion with tapestry, and graced with garlands, we shall have mentioned the two most splendid exhibitions, perhaps, to be seen in the universe. But, besides these, there are others, particularly during the last week of Lent, which cannot fail to excite attention and interest. The procession with palms, and the affecting chant of the Passion on Sunday, the evening

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service, called Tenebræ, in the Sixtine chapel, on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday; the morning service on the two latter days, particularly the Mandatum, so called from the first word of the anthem sung while the Pope washes the feet of the thirteen pilgrims, &c., are all rites which it is difficult to behold without edification and emotion.

I must not pass over the well-known exhibition that takes place in St. Peter's, on the night of Good-Friday, when the hundred lamps that burn over the tomb of the apostle are extinguished, and a stupendous cross of light appears suspended from the dome, between the altar and the nave, shedding over the whole edifice a soft lustre delightful to the eye, and highly favourable to picturesque representation. This exhibition is supposed to have originated in the sublime imagination of Michael Angelo, and he who beholds it, will acknowledge that it is not unworthy of the inventor. The magnitude of the cross, hanging as if selfsupported, and like a vast meteor streaming in the air; the blaze that it pours forth, the mixture of light and shade cast on the pillars, arches, statues, and altars; the crowd of spectators placed in all the different attitudes of curiosity, wonder, and devotion; the processions, with their banners and crosses gliding successively in silence along the nave, and kneeling around the altar; the penitents of all nations and dresses collected in groups near the confessionals of their respective languages; a cardinal occasionally advancing through the crowd, and, as he kneels, humbly bending his head to the

pavement; in fine, the pontiff himself, without pomp or pageantry, prostrate before the altar, offering up his adorations in silence, form a scene singularly striking, by a happy mixture of tranquillity and animation, darkness and light, simplicity and majesty.

THE mammalia are placed at the head of the animal kingdom, not only because it is the class to which we ourselves belong, but also because all the species included in it enjoy the most numerous faculties, the most delicate sensations, and the most varied powers of motion.

As the quantity of respiration in the mammalia is moderate, so, generally speaking, these animals are formed for walking on the earth, but, at the same time, with great force and permanence of exertion. To this end all the articulations of their frame have strictly defined conformations, which determine all their motions with rigorous precision.