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ROME "HOLY WEEK."

and the heart-humbling history which is embodied in the very name.

I feel I must not linger amidst these hoary remains of the most wonderful empire of the world, crowding as they do upon the memory, and each claiming a full and elaborate description. My business is rather with that which is now moving and acting in modern Rome.

During the "Holy Week," we availed ourselves of all opportunities for watching the ceremonies daily enacted in St. Peter's; and while marking the conduct of the thousands who thronged the area, even while the stated ceremonies were in progress, we could but notice the utter listlessness which pervaded them. It left an impression on the mind, that those who professed to account them sacred, were nevertheless entirely unaffected by them. Mere lightness and frivolity seemed to pervade all ranks, except perhaps a few ascetic monks, who paced stealthily along amidst crowds with whom they had but little sympathy. On one occasion, in the afternoon of Good Friday, turning from the general assemblage in the nave of the cathedral, we followed a large procession of ecclesiastics, of various orders, headed by a "Lord Cardinal," attended by his officers of state, into the northern side-aisle, where, after having taken his seat under an enriched canopy, he received the public confessions of those who chose to make them. Hurried-brief-formal was the process; after which, shoals of persons, both lay and ecclesiastical, knelt before him in succession, and received his benediction, which was administered by a touch on the head with a small gilt wand, something like a fishing-rod. Shortly after this, the Pope entered-not in full state, though abundantly attended; and, kneeling at a faldstool before the high altar, blessed the relics contained in a vault constructed beneath it. This is a custom of annual observance.

During the Saturday of the holy week, there is a cessation of ceremonies at St. Peter's, and time is allowed for fixing the various decorations, in order to give a stage-like effect to the sad drama of the following day-the day on which we

ROME-"HOLY WEEK."

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celebrate the resurrection from the dead of Him who " was delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justifica tion." Feeling that I ought to embrace every opportunity of seeing Popery in the magnificent form which it assumes at head quarters, in order that future protests against it might be based upon actual experience, I resolved on being present at St. Peter's on Easter-day. Popery, as it is, can be thoroughly understood only in Rome. We may read of it in books, and become intimately enough acquainted with its dogmas and doctrines and discipline. We may trace its insidious workings in our own land, whether it go like the serpent, or speak like the dragon; but as to its power to influence the mind, by captivating the imagination-this must be looked for in Rome !

As early as nine o'clock on Easter Sunday, we found the church thronged by those who were eagerly waiting for the ceremonies of the day; while the whole extent of the area was lined by the papal guards in their picturesque Swiss attire, keeping a due space for those who were to take part in the proceedings. All Rome was throbbing with life and animation. Its week-day dullness, and moping inactivity were quite banished. All was glitter and glare and display. Carriages of nobles and cardinals--the latter with their splendid gold and sumptuous scarlet trappings, thronged the streets, which resounded with the clattering of wheels and the cracking of whips. All notion of Sabbath quiet and peacefulness was at an end. I thought of Christ and his meekness, and asked within myself-are these the genuine followers of such a Master?-as my eye glanced upon nobles, cardinals, and inferior ecclesiastics, monks, pilgrims, and devotees, all pressing on together in a current of excited eagerness, as if to some secular spectacle.

I took my station on the south side of the high altar, amidst one of the largest assemblies I ever witnessed; and certainly, I must admit, one of the most picturesque and striking. Perhaps it would not be easy for the most vivid imagination to conceive any thing more splendid and dazzling in its way.

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"HOLY WEEK" THE POPE.

And there was something, too, in the season of the year— the blandness of the atmosphere without, and the brightness of the light within, that helped the mind and stimulated the imaginative faculty. It was at about ten o'clock that the great western doors of the cathedral were thrown wide open, while the choir within sang the introductory anthem. By and by, the papal procession began to enter, advancing up the middle of the nave, which had been kept by the pontifical guards. The procession was headed by soldiers in armor, followed by a large retinue of the civil officers of the Pope, in costume, and a great body of ecclesiastics, monks, friars, &c. in the various habits of their orders. Then came a representative of the Patriarch of the Greek Church-crowned, accompanied by several bishops of the same church, and their various officers and attendants; and after them, a very large assemblage of bishops of the Church of Rome, in their splendid and gold-embroidered robes and mitres; next, a great number of cardinals in their state attire of scarlet and purple, attended by their train-bearers and other officials. It was, perhaps, half an hour before those who formed the procession had taken the several places assigned for them. A large space behind the high altar, in which stood the papal throne, was carpeted and superbly decorated with gorgeous drapery of crimson and gold, and set apart for the distinguished members of the procession, except for the cardinals, whose place was immediately about the high altar, so as to be in attendance upon the Pope. As soon as all were in their places, a loud flourish of trumpets from without, responded to by another within the cathedral, announced the arrival of the Sovereign Pontiff. Every eye was turned towards the entrance on the south side, where there is a communication with the Vatican, and soon was seen the uplifted golden cross of the Pope, and next, himself, borne aloft over the heads of the people in his gilded chair of state, under a rich canopy, with fans of large dimensions made of peacock's feathers, continu. ally waving from side to side. He wore his robes of statewhite silk and gold, and his triple crown. He sat more like

an image than a living man, with his eyes for the most part closed, and occasionally moving his hands, as if in the act of benediction. His person is far from prepossessing, however the weight of years upon his brow might entitle him to be called venerable. I should speak of his countenance as being a bad specimen of the vulgar Italian. He was soon seated on his throne behind the high altar, and received the homage of bishops and others. His triple crown was then removed from his royal brow, and forthwith offered and deposited on the high altar; and then, wearing a plain white skull-cap instead, he was arrayed no longer in royal, but in priestly vestments, for the purpose of saying mass, according to annual custom. During the whole ceremony, the Pope, aged as he is, appeared like a hale and active man. The scene was certainly imposing and splendid in the extreme; but alas, no religious feeling could for a moment be connected with it. It seemed altogether a matter of mere external display and ceremonious pomp; and I could not but feel how gracious a lot was mine, that I should be a member of a church through which both the bread of life and the water of life are really dispensed to the people. And, alas! I thought, if a poor guilty and sin-withered soul, craving for salvation, had entered St. Peter's at that moment, he might have been dazzled by the church's splendor, so as to have forgotten for a season the burthen of his sorrows, but would have departed without an answer capable of bringing peace and consolation.

The Mass was complete-the host was elevated—the idolatrous adoration of the "bread-god" was performed, and the immense congregation began to disperse, in order-some to witness, and others to receive, the papal benediction from the front balcony of St. Peter's. Following the crowd, I made my way to the grand area without; and it was an overpowering scene, when I beheld its vastness thronged with masses of people waiting for the remaining ceremony. I cannot say that they appeared like persons expecting to receive a spiritual benefit, and so far they were right; but yet, there they were, alas! the vassals of a sovereignty, which based its magnifi

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cence upon

PAPAL BENEDICTION.

the ruins of spirituality. The blue of an Italian sky hung over us, and the lustre of the brightest sunlight broke upon the lovely fountains that were casting their misty streams far and wide. The great bell of St. Peter's and other bells were tolling, military bands were playing, and all were at the height of expectation, when at length, bells and music suddenly ceased, and a dead silence pervaded the bare-headed and attendant thousands. Immediately the Pope presented himself at the middle balcony, in his full pontifical robes and triple crown, borne forward in his chair of state, and gave the accustomed benediction-signing it, as it were, by the motion of his hands. Some prostrated themselves on the pavement, while others fell upon their knees, and a few remained erect, as mere spectators. As soon as the ceremony was complete, a volley of heavy cannon thundered from Fort St. Angelo; again the military bands burst forth with their acclamatory strains, and soon the area was empty and silent, except as it was traversed by the carriage of a lingering cardinal or noble, wending his way from the splendors of the Vatican. How sweet and refreshing was the simple scriptural worship in which we joined in the afternoon at the English Protestant Chapel how affecting the contrast it presented to all we had witnessed in the lifeless formalities of popery, splendid and imposing as they were to the perception of the carnal mind.

It is quite impossible to convey an idea of the state of Rome during the "Holy Week." It is a season which seems to afford a strong stimulus to the whole sluggish, sensual, and listless population; and has power to bring up from the provinces great numbers of such as delight in a kind of religious dissipation. When the season is past, the dull habitude of indolent indulgence returns, and soon afterwards Rome is deserted by the many who shrink from the summer temperature which is approaching, and from the malaria which breathes up from the Campagna, and carries disease and death in its course.

Popery seems to be a system beyond all others adapted to