gs of colossal size
appear of only ordinary proportions. Thus, two apparently small cherubs,
holding a vessel of holy water, are in reality six feet high; and other
figures, almost insignificant in the distance, are really wonderfully
large. The pen in the hand of St. Mark on the dome is five feet long.

There are about 134 popes buried here, and when looking at their grand
and beautiful monuments, extending up the left aisle, one cannot but
remember that these were the men whose power was at times almost
unlimited, who controlled the destinies of the world, and made emperors
tremble; and the mind travels back into the dark ages of the past. But
in these enlightened times, when the souls of men have shaken off the
fetters of mediaeval bondage, it is difficult to understand how our
ancestors could have been so enslaved--worshipping the reigning pope,
though even a Borgia, as a very God upon earth. Near the last column of
the aisle is a colossal bronze statue of St. Peter, seated on a huge
chair or throne. We noticed that every one (Roman Catholic) bowed before
the image, and afterwards advanced and kissed one of the feet, the big
toe of which is quite worn away with the friction of countless myriads
of devout lips, and the general wiping of the sacred digit by each
individual before venturing to kiss it. It would seem, alas! that the
present generation is not so very far removed from the superstitions and
absurdities of the past, after all!

In the Pieta Chapel is one of the most beautiful pieces of sculpture I
have ever seen; it is Michael Angelo's _Dead Christ_. The Saviour's head
rests on the knee of the Virgin Mother, whose face is full of the
deepest pathos of holy love and intense sorrow. Truly a God-inspired
work.

"Art is the gift of God, and must be used
Unto His glory. That in art is highest
Which aims at this."

How appropriate these words are, placed in the mouth of the great
Buonaroti, we could hardly imagine till we had seen this sublime work
of art.

We felt greatly interested, in common with all our countrymen, in the
tomb which contains the ashes of the last of the Stuarts. Canova's
winged genii stand with reversed torches on either side of the door,
which is now closed for ever.

I must confess that I was neither pleased nor edified by the services
conducted in the gorgeous side chapels; they certainly seemed but a
mechanical form of prayer, little less than sacrilegious; the bisho