here seen to fine advantage; the immense blocks of which it is composed, from this point, are but parts of a pattern, symmetrically complete, and in proper proportion to the space occupied by the piazza.

Of the paintings, statues, mosaics, monuments, sarcophagi, etc., with which the interior of St. Peters abounds, who can attempt even the mention of them all? much less their description, which would require an amount of time and culture which few possess sufficiently, to make these details as interesting as they must necessarily be lengthy. Murray Murray" "will give the catalogue, and critiques of art have not neglected to furnish the world with all suitable information connected with their profession, respecting this mammoth edifice and its embellishments.

Of the monumental designs seen in the church, the tomb of the ill-fated Stuarts struck us as the most beautiful and Christian. The winged youth with inverted torch, sculptured in relievo, in Canova's best style, was, to us, a continued attriction, and is still one of the most prominent and beautiful objects in our memories, of hours spent in inspecting these works of art in St. Peters.

Michael Angelo's "Pieta," executed when he was twenty-four years of age, is one of the celebrated groups which has attracted the attention of thousands. It represents the Virgin Mary holding the dead body of Christ upon her knees. The face of the Virgin is so mournfully sweet, that one is irresistibly drawn by it, and leaves the contemplation of it with reluctance. It is thought by critics, too youthful for the mother of our Lord at the time of his crucifixion, but sculptors, like poets, are allowed large license, and, as in the great artist's opinion, a youthful exterior could best illustrate the purity and innocence of the Virgin Mother, he felt justified, doubtless, in making the mother more youthful than the son.

Into the crypt of St. Peters we looked saw the lights which are kept continually burning around the place of repository for his sacred relics, but farther than that, made no explorations into the subterranean church, with its numerous tombs and chapels, its shrines and altars. This de

scending into the very grave and making places of worship of charnel houses, we confess is not to our taste. So long as there is ample space to rear altars above the soil, with God's bright heaven over us, and the pure air about us, we would prefer this, to any subterranean structure, though the time has been, alas! when, from the fierce fires of persecution, the saints of the earth were driven into dens and caves, for places of habitation and for worship. But these mouldering relics of humanity, when they are cast off like the shell of the chrysalis,-lay them away in the earth's bosom, we say that they may silently resolve back into their native dust, and though we may make the place where mortality is thus sown, beautiful with flowers and verdure, the divine announcment "not here but risen," should be still as significant as when first uttered at the garden-sepulchre, ages ago.

In visiting St. Peters, as in many other places of note within and about Rome, the extremes of credulity and scepticism are quite apt to meet. One feels the necessity of believing much or rejecting nearly all. Superstition, priestly craft and tradition, have sanctioned as truth, so many absurdities connected with places, persons and objects of sacred interest, that one can scarcely take a single stroll for sight-seeking, but his common sense and knowledge of historical facts will be more or less offen ed by known deceptions, or improbable absurdities, until he is prone to receive everything in the way of information, that is not palpable to the senses, or based upon unmistakable authority, as sheer fabrications, or, at best, improbable superstitions.

Thus, in looking at the Baldacchino, or canopy, cast in bronze, over the tribune, in St. Peters, while looking with wondering admiration, at this piece of work, so massive, and yet wrought into the appearance of richly hanging drapery,,-one can readily believe the statement that 8,374 pounds of bronze, or about half the entire weight of the whole canopy, was stripped from the Pantheon, (that best preserved and finest of all the ancient ruins in Rome,) but one cannot so readily admit the truth of the tradition of the church,

"

which asserts that the bronze chair, there, executed by Bornini, covers the identical one used by St. Peter himself, and his successors! Quite as difficult, too, is it to accept the column of white marble, in the Capella di Colonna Santa," (or chapel of the sacred column) as the veritable one taken from the temple at Jerusalem, against which the youthful Saviour is said to have leaned while disputing with those doctors of the law-quite as difficult to believe that a piece of the true cross the head of St. Andrew, or the bones of St. Peter, (though the latter claim may be better substantiated than most of the church's pretensions,) are actually preserved within the walls of this cathedral, or to give credence to the many other as improbable absurdities, with which the Roman church especially abounds.

While in St. Peters, one morning, a choral service was being performed by a full choir of priests; the effect of this grand harmony was enchanting! The rich volume of music, of voices and organ, blent in one sea of melody, swelling and rolling through those lofty arches, then gradually subsiding into softer cadences, and finally growing fainter and fainter, and yet more ravishingly sweet, until lost in the distance, and the wrapt senses awake, as it were, from a trance of heavenly bliss,-awoke but to feel the spirit of that entrancing melody, still lingering around the soul, mingled with the forms of robed priests, sweeping in lengthened procession, through the broad aisles, beneath lofty arches, with swinging censers and lighted tapers, seeming like some dream of imagination, too beautiful and sweet to belong to this actual, every day world of

Sent out on the earth by God's own hand;
I came, e'er the breath of life was given,
To him who was made in the image of heaven.
On the garden fell, with the scourge of death!
But darkness rose, and the serpent's breath
Our band was broken -and since that hour,
We've met no more as in Eden's bower.
Our meetings are short, and we find no home,
But apart o'er the world our spirits roam,
And the spirit of love is oft-times lone.

I came the first of a radiant band,

and nothing can justify your breaking it." Alice looked down. Mrs. Russel wiped a tear from her eye, and then rising, laid her hand upon her daughter's arm. "My Alice, you know that I have few ties in this world, and live but for my two orphan children; think, my child, what misery it would cause me to see you treated with neglect, perhaps contempt, by him in whose heart you have garnered up your young affections; and be assured that such will be the case if you correct not this one fault which. you have acquired since you left me to visit your aunt. Mutual esteem and respect can alone render married life happy, and Ernest is one who, with all his good qualities, has no charity for such minor failings; so noble and upright himself, he cannot think how others can fall into such faults, and would despise one who kept not their word."

Alice melted into tears, and clasping her mother's hand, exclaimed—

O, mother! I am afraid to tell him ; indeed, I did not mean to read it, but Marion Richlay brought it to me and persuaded me to read a few chapters; I wish I had refused to keep the book; but what shall I do?"

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And will your conscience be at rest or your heart happy, my Alice, whilst you are conscious of playing a deceptive part, and deceiving one who so truly wishes to make you happy? Ah, Alice, you shrink from his look, but do you not think of One who is higher yet, a being whom I have taught you to love and fear? Do you not feel, that in thus persevering in the path of wrong you are offending One whose displeasure you should fear more than an earthly frown? Think, deeply. my love, and calling moral courage to your aid, do that which your conscience whispers is right, though the penalty may

cost you pain. But there is Ernest's ring. He must not see this book until you decide what to do." And taking it from her hand, Mrs Russel left the room.

Ernest Dudley entered, and Alice received him not in her usual gentle and confiding manner, but with embarrassment and confusion. She dared not raise her eye to his, as he anxiously inquired if she was ill. A deep blush crimsoned her before pale cheek, as she replied in the negative.

I feared you were ill, you looked so very pale when I came in; but now your check wears its own bright hue. I was about to ask you to go with me to my sister's; the evening is fine, and Isabel made me promise to bring both you and Elizabeth. Will you go, Alice?"

"Certainly, if you wish it; and the evening is so mild, a walk will do me good. Come, Lizzy, will you go with

us ?"

Elizabeth, who saw that Alice wished to avoid a tete-a-tete with Ernest, knew that if she did not confess her breach of promise then, she would never after have courage to, and trusting to the impression she judged her mother's last word must have made upon Alice's mind, she excused herself upon some trifling plea.

There was no cloud to shadow over the star-lit heavens, and the air, though midwinter, was uncommonly soft and mild for the season. Ernest and his companion walked on for some moments in silence. She was pondering upon her mother's advice, and felt it right she should follow it, but how to begin the subject she did not know. Ernest spoke first, and remarked upon the beauty of the evening.

"Yes, it is very beautiful, but it only makes me feel sad." Then, rallying her courage, though the arm that rested in his trembled, I may as well speak, Ernest, although I do not know what to say, I have been so much to blame. I fear you will not forgive me.

"Forgive you, dear Alice! you surely could not be guilty of any fault that would require forgiveness from me."

"O, Ernest! what if I have broken my promise to you, you surely will not forgive that! Ernest stopped involunta

rily, and as the light from a lamp under which they were passing, fell upon his face, it wore a look of severity and apprehension. The stop was but for a moment. and they immediately resumed their walk, but Alice went on with a sort of desperate haste, as if she feared her courage would fail. "And can you forgive me?" she asked, in conclusion, in a low and tremulous voice.

I can forgive you, Alice, and do but I cannot express how much I am pained and disappointed. Your ingenuous confession has, in part, repaired your fault; but, Alice, never repeat it, if you wish to retain any portion of my esteen. Miss Richlay is a dangerous friend for one young and artless as yourself, and might lead you into far greater errors. I will forgive you, my Alice, but you must give re your solemn promise, a promise not to be broken," he added, laying an emphasis upon the words, and speaking very slowly," that you will give up her acquaintance; you know that your mother disapproves of it, and you must feel that she could easily lead you into faults of a more serious nature. Think upon what I have said, and do not decide hastily. Reflect upon the consequences of this dangerous habit, and in the solitude of your own room ask for strength to be guided in the right way. I speak strongly, dear Alice, but it is for your own happiness; and you have invested me with authority to tell you candidly of your faults, however painful the task to wound one so dear to me. I shall not shrink from it, and now, Alice, forgive me, if I have spoken harshly; tomorrow I will call and you shall tell me your decision. Wipe those tell-tale witnesses from your eyes, for we are at Emily's door."

A year had passed away, and Alice Russel was a wife. She was sitting alone one morning, when the servant entered with a note of invitation to a large party at her cousin's. Mrs. Lawrence lived much in the fashionable world, and Ernest, although on the score of relation he could not speak of it to his wife, still disliked the intimacy. She immediately wrote her acceptance of the invitation, and when Ernest came home she told him of it. "You, of course, will go with me," said she.

"O! spare me, I entreat you, my dear Alice, I cannot endure one of these routs; besides I have an engagement with one of my law friends, this evening; but go and enjoy you self, my dear; I will not fetter your inclinations. Do not mind me."

A deep shade crossed the beautiful face of Alice, and a feeling of disappointment and coldness strained over her heart. She felt that one of the golden threads were broken, that one image in her bright dream of happiness was fading away, when her husband could seek enjoyment and bid her also seek it apart from each other. But she said nothing, and Ernest was to deeply engaged in reading to watch the play of her countenance.

Ernest gazed with a look of admiration upon his wife's exceeding beauty, as, simply attired, she entered the drawing-room, previous to going to her cousin's; and after taking a kind leave of her for the evening, hurried away to his friends. A tear rose to her eye, but she wiped it hastily away, and prepared to wear a smile in public, although her heart was sad.

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Mrs. Lawrence received her with much apparent kindness, and meeting several friends whom she really esteemed and loved, she soon become gay and animated. Towards the close of the evening, Mrs. Lawrence drew her arm within hers, and led her towards a table which was covered with engravings, Some of them were very fine, and she was remarking upon their beauty to a friend, when her cousin touching her arm said, My dear Alice, let me introduce an old friend to you." Alice turned and in astonishment and dismay recognized Miss Richlay. Her promise to her husband flashed across her mind, and the sudden change in her countenance could not but be observed by the bystanders. She stood irresolute, and Miss Richlay, who well divined her thoughts, drew her arm within her own, and led her away. Alice could not, without insulting her in publie, withdraw it immediately, and the fear of her companion's ridicule, which she well knew of old, induced her to break through her first resolution, and reply to her lively sallies; but as soon as she could, without being conspicuous, she took leave.

Ernest had not arrived when she reach