feet of thirteen pilgrims. The pope prefaced this operation by reading a portion of Scripture in Latin, in a clear and audible voice. I believe that it was the narrative of our Lord washing the feet of his disciples, to set them an example of humility. A kneeling cardinal presented to the pope a silver basin, in which he dipped the towel, and slightly rubbed one foot of each pilgrim. After having witnessed this for a few minutes, we all moved to the supper room, where the pope was to attend the same pilgrims at table. We were fortunate in procuring good seats opposite, when the pilgrims came in and seated themselves on one side of the table. The pope followed, and, as before, began by reading a portion of Scripture in Latin: he then advanced to the table, and served them with macaroni, soup, vegetables, sweetmeats, &c. and goblets of wine in abundance, all of which he first received from a cardinal on his knees. Every thing which is laid on the table becomes the property of the pilgrims, the silver goblets, spoons, knives, forks, plates, napkins, &c., and the residue of the provisions. We waited until the conclusion, and then hastened on to the Pauline chapel, which was splendidly illuminated. The lights were beautifully disposed round a full-length picture of our Lord. After seeing this, we returned home; but, as the grandest sight was yet to come, the carriage waited while we hastily ate our dinner; and then drove quickly back to St. Peter's, to see the illumination of the cross. It was, in deed, very beautiful: and yet, after having read Eustace's description, I was rather disappointed; since, though fifteen feet high, it looked rather diminutive, comparing it with the magnitude of the place from whence it was suspended. Being all formed of lamps, and no lights being seen around, it sheds a soft radiancy on every object; and, tired as we were, we remained above an hour, walking about in the church, admiring the varied lights and shades. It was well for the poor pope, this busy day, that he could command other people to carry him about, for his own strength would most certainly have failed; as it was, he looked nearly exhausted. "Good Friday. We did not go this day to see the adoration of the cross, which, I have been told, is a very impressive ceremony; the pope and cardinals, dressed in flowing garments, kneeling a long time before it. We preferred attending our own church service, which a clergyman performed in his rooms. "At twelve o'clock this night, I heard a rattling sound, of which the maid servant in attendance explained the cause. It is made in several of the churches, to represent the shock of nature when our Saviour yielded up the ghost. "Saturday Morning. Before twelve o'clock the resurrection service begins at the Quirinal chapel. Exactly at that hour a curtain is drawn back, which concealed a picture of our risen Lord. Then begins a universal peal from all the bells, accompanied by the beating of drums and firing of guns; and joy succeeds to mourning. O that this may not be a mere semblance, an outward show and ceremony! That every heart may feel, and every tongue respond to the animating sound, The Lord is risen: He is risen indeed.' During the week, until this moment, a universal stillness prevailed in the streets: not a bell was heard to ring in any of the churches. The drums, and all instruments of music, were silenced, and scarcely a loud word was to be heard from the mourners as they traversed the streets. The churches were all hung in black; and nobody, not even the English, appeared except in that sable garb. "Easter Sunday.-Our own ser. vice was put off until after the ceremonies at St. Peter's. The show was, indeed, very splendid, but much more like a theatrical representation than an acceptable service in honour of that glorious Being who inhabiteth eternity, and who wills that his worshippers adore Him in spirit and in truth. "The scene was gay and animated. Every one looked pleased at being disencumbered from their sombre garments, which were now exchanged for all which fashion and finery could display. The church, and the whole piazza before it, were crowded with all classes of persons in gala dress. The pope was carried, in magnificent state, through the church, shaded by waving peacocks' feathers, attended by his guardia nobile, in princely uniform, glittering with gold, their helmets adorned with plumes of feathers; the ambassadors and their wives, the senator and his train, the Armenian bishop and priests, in very splendid robes, the cardinals, bishops, and all the Roman troops, in grand procession. In short, every one around was 'clothed in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls!' The ceremonies concluded with the blessing which the pope pronounced from the terrace, as before; and the people below received it on their knees, looking up, with eager eyes, for the indulgences which are scattered among them by some of the cardinals. "About two o'clock all was at an end; and we and the rest of the English met at the clergyman's apartments, to hear our own ser vice. The contrast was very striking, from the scene of gaiety and bustle which we had just left, to the quiet assembly of two or three gathered together in the name of the Lord, where some hearts at least, we trust, were drawn to Him in fervent prayer, meek humility, and love. In the evening the festivity of this holy day was concluded by a grand illumination of St. Peter's, and fire works, at the castle of St. Angelo On entering the piazza, we beheld the architecture of the CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 325. dome, façade, and colonnade, all marked out by soft lamps; and while we remained lost in admiration, a deep toned bell tolled; and in a moment, as if struck by a magical wand, the whole fabric burst into a dazzling blaze of the most brilliant light; nor could we conceive how the sudden transition was effected. "From hence we drove to a large building opposite the castle of St. Angelo, from whence we saw the fire-works. St. Peter's, in all its blaze of glory until they began, still looked very brilliant; but from the moment when the girandolo blazed forth, which is meant to imitate an eruption from the crater of Vesuvius, the intense light of the fireworks, in a great measure, eclipsed that of the illumination. 66 Saturday-There is a baptism of Jews at the church of St. John Lateran, at which every year one or two are induced to receive baptism, either for the sake of the thirty pounds given on the occasion, or from some other motive; but very few, if any, are supposed to be real converts. I have even been told, that the same Jew has been baptized more than once, when no other could be persuaded to come, that the appearance may be kept up.' Our readers will now pass on with us to a far different scene-to the death-bed, and the tomb of the young lady above alluded to, Anne Elizabeth S., a daughter of Sir W. and Lady S., who expired in the faith and blessedness of a true disciple of Christ, at Rome, January 5, 1821, in her fourteenth year. We shall introduce her in the author's own incidental notices. "Anny had so much intelligence, sweetness, and animation, joined to a great share of beauty, that she attracts perhaps too much admiration, of which hitherto however she appears perfectly unconscious. "Mrs. C. sat opposite to Anny, whose sweet expressive countenance she studied with an artist's eye; observing to a person who sat next E her, that if Leonardo da Vinci had seen the face of that child, he would have copied it for that of an angel. Every one seems struck with the appearance of our dear Anny, who improves daily in every grace and beauty. At Lucca baths, where they passed the first summer after their arrival in Italy, the children enjoyed unrestrained liberty. Anny, in particular, bounded over the wild and lovely scenery, like the young mountain kid, with unwearying pleasure. "The children have great pleasure in going to see the pope get into his carriage to take his afternoon drive. I must tell you an anecdote of our darling Anny, which happened a few days ago on one of these occasions. We were standing amongst the crowd watching for the signal by which we were to know that the pope was advancing. It was given, and a poor woman, anxious to present a petition, which she held in her hand, endeavoured to make her way to him, but was rudely repulsed by the Swiss guards. In a moment Anny sprang forward, shielded the poor creature in her arms, and drew her on through the midst of the guards close to the pope, to whom the woman presented her petition on her knees. The guards, seeing the benevolent and graceful action of the child, made way for her with a smile of approbation. "Dearest Anny has, within these last few days, a languid look, which makes us all uneasy. On rising from her prayers this morning, I thought that she would have fainted; and told her that she must not again remain so long on her knees. She answered that she could not avoid it, for she had all her friends to remember in her prayers. "October 14.-Our apprehensions about Anny increase daily; she now lies on a couch, or is carried from one room to another, having again lost the use of her limbs. "October 20.-Anny is alarmingly ill several physicians have been : consulted, who give us little hope of her recovery: we can only look to the great Physician, who, with an almighty word, can bid her 'be whole.' "October 26.-She passed a very sleepless night: I was dreadfully alarmed, her breathing was so short and quick; while the bed-clothes heaved with violence of the palpitation at the heart. With difficulty she can utter a sentence; but when she does, that sentence is generally to ask for prayer, • the prayers for the sick in our own prayer-book.' Seeing but little probability that she would be continued much longer amongst us, my sister, after some serious conversation, asked her, what she thought of receiving the sacrament, having never yet approached the table of the Lord. She said, that she would like it, but that she was not worthy; and, bursting into tears, added, . O dear mamma, you don't know how naughty I have been; but I will tell you all. Is there any one in the room but ourselves?' Being assured that there was not, she opened her whole heart to her mamma: I had almost said her innocent heart; but that cannot be, since she partakes of that fallen nature which first brought sin into the world; but when I heard the crimes which weighed heavily on her spirits, and caused her, as she said, to shed many tears upon her sick bed, I felt convinced that she was indeed a child of God, who taught her to feel, that no sin is trifling in His sight, who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.' By God's assistance, my sister was enabled to tranquillize her child's mind she reminded her, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. "Sunday.-We had a visit from a clergyman, Mr. Wolf, who, although a perfect stranger, evinced all the kind interest of an old friend. He read prayers and administered the sacrament, of which our dear sufferer partook with a humble and contrite heart, which the Lord promises he will never despise. She unable to speak from excessive weakness and languor. On Monday morning, when Dr. Clarke came, he wished to feel her pulse; and perceiving that she held out her right hand, the one on which she had been lying, he objected to it. I cannot give you my left hand,' she said: I have not had the use of it since Saturday.' And then it was discovered, that from that time of her dreadful suffering, she had lost the use of her left side; and had forborne to mention it, for fear of grieving her mamma. Every trait of her character which illness develops, makes us more acutely feel the worth of this inestimable child. appeared deeply impressed, though pening for a heavenly inheritance. I remember her accents of praise, as when a baby from four to six years old she repeated hymns of her own selection, with glistening eyes looking up to heaven her own resting-place. The little book which contained her favourite hymns is now by me, in which she used as a very little child to mark the passages which most particularly affected her. The strictest observance of the Sunday has been from infancy her undeviating rule; and now in her illness is attended to with the most scrupulous watchfulness. On Saturday night she frequently inquires the hour, that twelve o'clock may not surprise her hearing any thing which she does not consider Sunday reading. Since her illness she never said any thing which could lead us to suppose that she was aware of her situation, till within these last few days, when she intimated it to her mamma, with an anxious expression of countenance, as if unwilling to grieve her, yet at the same time thinking that she ought to break to her a painful truth. 'Mamma,' she said from the pain I feel in my chest, and my not getting the least better, I cannot help thinking myself in danger.' Again she said, I am sure I shall never rise from this bed.' My sister answered, she hoped that thought was not painful to her;" to which she unhesitatingly replied, 66 Night and day she suffers, but she suffers as one passing through the 'refiner's fire.' Many things she says which give us the comfortable assurance, that the short moment of affliction is passing away, while there is working for her a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory in that peaceful mansion opened for all believers by Him who has washed them in his own most precious blood. In her greatest sufferings she frequently exclaims, O how many have much more to endure without the alleviating care of such kind friends!' Under all her bodily suffering, her memory and understanding remain uninjured. Reading has ever been her greatest delight; and now it acts upon her nerves like a powerful soporific, as the physician tells us, calming and tranquillizing her as laudanum would any one else. When most inclined to be restless, from an increase of pain and fever, she is most anxious for constant reading, as if to turn her thoughts from herself. Books of amusement are sometimes read to her, travels or biography: she objects to novels, or any thing from which she cannot derive improvement as well as amusement. From childhood her mind has not been occupied as the minds of children are in general. Her pursuits and inclinations have marked out the ri that it was not. Seeing her in great suffering her mother said, 'O my child, that I could do any thing to relieve you! You can do no thing now, however, but pray for me: O pray for me.' She complains much of the wandering of her thoughts in prayer, unconscious that it proceeds from the increasing de bility of her body. My sister said, I hope, my darling, your faith does not fail.' O no, mamma; but I often repeat that beautiful prayer, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." "December 24. Anny again received the most comfortable sacrament' of the Lord's Supper. Christmas day. After passing many restless hours of the night coughing, she seemed overcome by weakness, and lay motionless, until roused by the shepherds' pipes under the windows raising her languid head from the pillow, she said distinctly, Glory to God in the highest: on earth peace, good will to man.' Then she sunk again to quiet rest, with peace and good will in her heart, as well as on her lips. "Rome, January 1, 1821.-The new year has opened sadly upon us. The sufferings of our precious child are beyond what I thought the mortal body could endure. January 2.-Still she remains in the same state of drowsy stupor. At four o'clock to-day, as I stood watching her calm countenance, the cold hand of death spread its hue over her lovely features, still lovely, and still expressive of the peaceful feelings of her heart; peace within and peace without, for mortal suffering seemed to be past. Her respiration became quick and interrupted, attended with the noise in the throat which generally precedes dissolution. After some time, she revived as one awakening from broken slumbers, and talked more cheerfully than she had done for many days. Having heard of Amelia Ot's death, she began to speak of it: Sweet, beautiful Amelia O-t is dead. O how will her poor mamma return to Scotland without her!' her lips quivering, and the tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke. My love,' said my sister, Mrs. O- -t is a Christian, and will be resigned to the will of God.' 'O mamma, she will miss her so much! she will see her empty chair. When any of our family only dined out, I used to think the table looked melancholy.' She asked me At to read to her, and listened very attentively while I read an account of the death of D▬▬▬ D. 'How awful,' she said, for a Deist to be taken off so suddenly.' This evening, when the doctor saw her, he told me, that, from the change in her pulse and looks, he thought it probable, that before the morn. ing all her mortal sufferings would terminate. But like an expiring lamp, which emits one more bright ray, she was re-animated, and spoke cheerfully to her father when he came to see her in the morning. Her father and mother, with aching hearts and constrained cheerfulness, sat looking at their darling, and saying that she had always been a good and dutiful child, and a great pleasure and comfort to them. this time, something brought to her recollection a musical entertainment, at which she had been present on a Sunday evening, where the King of Naples was present. Immediately the peaceful expression of her countenance gave place to one of agonized distress, and bursting into tears, she said, ' O why did you let me go on Sunday? I did very wrong.' My sister having explained the particular circumstances to her, she recovered her composure, and appeared so much herself, and talked so pleasantly and so collectedly, that a ray of hope, like a passing sun-beam, crossed my mind, that our precious child might yet be spared to gladden the evening of her father's days, and her mother's and mine also; but the hand of death was upon her, and again I saw its pale hue overspread her face. She talked coherently and with much composure, not as a spirit hovering on the verge of the tomb, whose expectation among the living is cut off, but as still lingering between time and eternity. She spoke of the pleasant days which she had passed at her brother's house, as the happiest of her life: but the whole of Anny's short life was happy; no shade of sorrow had ever cast a cloud over the young morning of her days. She was |