crosses and images being preserved in the midst of flames which devoured every thing else; what shall we say, then, when our author tells us, Et caput Vulcani arsit yet was uninjured? And again, Puero dormienti cui Servio Tullio nomen fuit caput arsisse ferunt multorum in conspectu. Images, too, have in all ages been rather addicted to the tender vein. Does the Madonna weep at Rome? so did Apollo at Cumæ, -Cumis in arce Apollo triduum! ac tres noctes lacrimavit. So did Juno, Et Lanuvii simulacrum Junonis sospita lacrimasse. The moving of the eyes in images of the Madonna has its counterpart in an image of Minerva, Virgil, Æn. Lib. ii. 1. 171–175. Nec dubiis ea signa dedit Tritonia monstris. Emicuit, parmamque ferens hastamque trementem, During a pestilence which raged at Rome, 590 A.D., we have already seen that Gregory the Great carried an image of the Madonna to the Vatican, and that the pestilence thereupon ceased. Centuries before, when a pestilence raged in the same city, Livy says,—Et libri aditi, quinam finis aut quod remedium ejus mali ab diis daretur inventum in libris Esculapium ab Epidauro Romam arcessendum. It would be tedious to continue a comparison which might be carried on almost indefinitely; for every miracle of modern times, we may find its counterpart in ancient. Oxen, indeed, no longer speak, nor climb up to the second or third story of a house, as they did in or before the times of Livy, nor do wolves, divino prodigio, enter the city at one gate and leave it by another,-very juciciously too, I think; but, on reading Livy, 1 Dec., iii. Lib.,—Inter alia prodigia et carne pluit; quem imbrem ingens numerus avium intervolitando rapuisse fertur, I was not a little amused to find its counterpart in a tradition current in the district of Lecce. My authority is a native of that district, and a man who holds a judicial capacity. The story is, that when Gonsalvo was beseiging the city of Lecce, and wished to reduce it by famine, the protecting saint showered down upon the inhabitants from time to time hot ricottas,-a species of cream cheese. I do not mean to say that this is the belief of the better-informed; but where, at least, is the difference between this miracle and the moving of the eyes of an image? For my part I am inclined to support the hot ricottas," as being by far the most reasonable of the two, and much more in character with the charity of a saint. Yet the former is declared to be a tradition of the femminuccie, whilst the latter is inserted in the Diario di Roma. 66 Here, then, I finish my observations on Roman Catholic miracles; but remember that these things, which appear trifles to you, are here serious, very serious things; and, indeed, they are very serious things, if we look on them as representing the mind of Italy. The majority of those which I have adduced are recommended, as you will have seen, by papal authority, or by that of a celebrated antiquary, and are interwoven with their fêtes and with the names of some of their religious edifices: the few which I have advanced towards the termination of my letter have only the guarantee of my incorrupta fides. If the comparison prove, which I have instituted be fair and just, it will not that the Roman Church is Pagan,-altogether abominable, the Scarlet Lady of Babylon, or whatever else it may please our firebrands to call her,—but that, like all other institutions, divine or human, she has been acted upon by surrounding influences, and reflects the colours of the moral and spiritual atmosphere in which she lives and has her being. At the same time, however, she is not merely passive; for, possessing unbounded influence over an ignorant, devout and imaginative people, she modifies their dreams and gives them their particular form and substance. And the people will dream, and the Church will possess and exercise her influence, until education shall induce a more wholesome state of mind. But that time is, I fear, far distant, and stones will sweat and hot ricottas will fall yet many a year. Let us rejoice, however, in the belief that mind is advancing, however slow be the progress. Things cannot remain as they are; and the time may yet come when Rome shall be as distinguished for her superiority in the arts of civilization as she has already been in arms. LETTER V. PERHAPS there is no feeling deeper than that which lingers around the memory of a departed friend or benefactor. Look at him who has just been bereft of one who was dearer to him than life. How like a miser gloating over his gold does he hang over every relic of the beloved one! How many pleasures are brought to mind by these voiceless yet eloquent memorials of the past, and with what untold care are they hoarded and garnered up, as if they were the very personification of the being whose memory alone lends them their enchantment! Yes! it is a deep and holy feeling of our nature which gives birth to the worship (cultus) of relics ; and in wandering amongst the churches of Rome, monstrous as indeed are some of the reputed relics which are offered for inspection, I could not help sympathizing with the simple, primary feeling which led the worshiper to cherish with affection the remains of one who, whether right or wrong, was regarded as a saint, a benefactor, and a mediator. You will think, perhaps, from the tenacity with which I cling to the saints, that I am an illustration of my own remarks and, indeed, I am bound to them by many obligations, since they have furnished me with matter for three letters to you; but that I am disposed to carry my sense of their kindness any farther, you know me too well for an instant to imagine. With this caution, then, unnecessary I believe, let me enter on the subject of the present letter, the Worship offered to Relics, —a fruitful subject, I assure you, since almost every church has its pious treasure, and this treasury is a shrine at which the mass of the Italian Roman Catholics bow down with the profoundest devotion. Oh! what a rich profusion of feeling is lavished on these objects of pious wealth! Such was my observation on my one morning entering a church in the Forum. What undoubted faith and veneration are depicted in the countenance of that aged man who is kissing the head of St. Martin! What deep affection marks the expression of that female who kneels beside him! What gratitude is expressed in the face of that mother who attributes, perhaps, the recovery of her only child to the mediation of the saint whose perishable and perishing materials are exposed before her in all the hideous deformity of death! These were indeed extraordinary proofs of that paramount influence which the heart and imagination sometimes exercise over the intellect, and they certainly excited my regret, however much they interested me. But I could not view this scene with derision. No let the man who prides himself in the power and the cultivation of his mind, sneer at this exhibition of human weakness and of human tenderness: I found in it, at least, something |