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from golden candlesticks on the superb altars of the lateral chapels, upon sculptured popes, who, in all the array of human grandeur, are seen through a medium that adds to their gigantic proportions. Draperies of gold and crimson decked the columns, and spread their shadows from the intercolumniations, over the marble pavement.

'In the midst of this imposing display of church magnificence, sauntered or reposed a population which displayed the most squalid misery. The haggard natives of the mountains, the labourers who had that night deserted their cabins of straw and furze on the Campagna, to avail themselves of the saturnalia, and slumber upon precious marbles, were mixed with the whole mendicity of Rome, seeking one night's shelter beneath a roof, for heads accustomed to crouch beneath open porticos and projecting doorways. Some of these terrific groups lay stretched in heaps on the ground, congregating for warmth; and as their dark eyes scowled from beneath the mantle which half hid a sheepskin dress, they had the air of banditti awaiting their prey; others with their wives and children knelt, half asleep round the chapel of Santa Croce, lost in stupid admiration of its splendour, abstracted in the repetitions of their breviary, or wondering before the relics of Joseph's holy house enshrined in porphyry. Many slept profoundly on the earth, forgetful alike of the magnificence by which they were surrounded, and the misery of their accustomed abodes. In the centre of the nave, multitudes of gay, gaudy, noisy persons, the petty shopkeepers, laquais, and popolaccio of the city, strolled and laughed, and talked loud. Mixing among these bands were the inhabitants of Albano, with their curious costume and Isis head-dresses; the Trasteverini in a still more singular habit; and crowds of English of rank and fashion, sporting the appropriate or borrowed uniform of captains and colonels, in eager expectation of novelty, but evidently annoyed by the

almost licentious crowd, and by a stench in which garlic strongly prevailed-defying all the combined odours of frankincense and lavender water.

'Expectation and impatience gradually increased as the night wore, and frequent inquiries were made of choristers and property-boys, who were bustling from chapel to chapel, from orchestra to organ-loft, some with branches, some with ladders, one with a bass-viol, another with a roll of music, and all replying to the incessantly repeated demand of " when will it begin?" with the usual adesso, adesso (directly, immediately). About three o'clock the adesso arrived. The choral swell, the blazing torches, the gigantic crucifix, and the crowded procession of priests of every rank and order, opened the service of the nativity. This service performed in the choir was chiefly musical, and was accompanied by evolutions and changes of place, bows and genuflexions, which, though extremely imposing, were sufficiently wearisome from their inordinate length, and the drowsy hour of the night which they so tediously consumed. This service, which was scarcely seen or heard, except by the distinguished few (English, Poles, and Russians) who were admitted within the choir, lasted for two hours. Then began the procession of the cradle, consisting of the whole body of the clergy present, who proceeded to a sort of cell where the cradle lay enshrined in a blaze of tapers, and guarded by groups of devotees that had succeeded each other through the preceding day and evening. Thence it was borne with solemn chaunts to the Chapel of the Santa Croce. In this interval all were in motion, scrambling and crowding from the body of the church to secure a place in the chapel. The musicians hurrying to the orchestra prepared for them, for the second act of the evening's performance, tumbled over the sprawling crowds which knelt in their path; and the multitude, who had been indifferent to the service, were now in eager motion to get a sight of the cradle.

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Then followed a musical mass; and the culla being at last deposited on the altar, the wearied and exhausted spectators issued forth just as the dome of St. Peter's caught the first light of the morning; and the cupolas and spires which crown the seven hills rose on the eye above the dim mists of night, in which the city and its ruins were still involved.'-Lady Morgan's Italy, 4to, vol. ii, pp. 278, et seq.

26.-SAINT STEPHEN.

Stephen was the first deacon chosen by the apostles. He was cited before the Sanhedrin, or Jewish Council, for prophesying the fall of the Jewish Temple and economy; and while vindicating his doctrine by several passages of the Old Testament, he was violently carried out of the city, and stoned to death, in the year 33.

'On St. Stephen's-day, the farrier came constantly, and blouded all our cart horses, &c. This was the practice also in Germany.'-Aubrey MS., A.D. 1686. In some parts of the West of England (observes Bishop Kennett), when the women put their bread into the oven, they use this prayer:

Pray God and St. Steven,

Send a just batch, and an even.

27.-JOHN EVANGELIST.—See p. 119.
28.-INNOCENTS.

This day, often called Childermas Day, is set apart to celebrate the slaughter of the Jewish children by Herod, mentioned by Saint Matthew, and confirmed by Macrobius. In the statutes of St. Paul's school, the scholars are ordered by the learned founder, Dean Colet, to go to Pauli's churche, and hear the chyldebishop's sermon.'

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For the church of Rome to put the Holy Innonents, as they call them, in their calendar, and observe a day in memory of them, while they have so often, by their barbarous massacres, justified and even outdone Herod, is but to do as their predeces

sors did, who built the tombs of the prophets, while they themselves fill up the same measure.'-Henry's Bible, on Matthew ii, 16-18.

SONNET.

[Written for Time's Telescope by W. P. S.]

Sweet is the smile of Infancy, and sweet

Its wavering breath, and soft cheek's roseate bloom;
Sweet is the morning's delicate perfume,
When silv'ry beams luxuriantly greet

The dewy violet in its green retreat.

Alas! o'er childhood yawns the untimely tomb,
And smiling morn oft weds a day of gloom;
Thy hope, fair Spring, admits not of defeat;
Thy smile with more than promise is replete :
Thy bud is fruitful ere thy leaf is sear,
Infant of Time! sweet morning of the year
Autumnal treasures are thy gift! Albeit
Thy day of love be mutable and fleet,
The lap of Summer is thy joyous bier!

From STANZAS on an INFANT.

By the Author of the Legend of Genevieve, &c.
E'en now begirt with utter helplessness,
"Tis hard to think, as on thy form I gaze,
(Experience makes me marvel not the less),
That thou to busy man shalt rise, and raise
Thyself, mayhap, a nation's pride and praise;
"Tis hard to let the truth my mind employ,
That he who kept the world in wild amaze,
That CESAR in the cradle lay-a boy
Soothed by a nurse's kiss, delighted with a toy!
That once the mighty NEWTON was like thee;
The awful MILTON, who on Heav'n did look,
List'ning the councils of Eternity;

And matchless SHAKSPEARE, who, undaunted, took
From Nature's shrinking hand her secret book,

And page by page the wondrous tome explored;
The fearless SIDNEY; the advent'rous COOK;

HOWARD, who mercy for mankind implored;

And France's despot Chief, whose heart lay in his sword.

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The fine picture of the Murder of the Innocents,' by Poussin, now in the gallery of the Institute at Bologna, is a most powerful piece, and composed with wonderful effect and skill. The figures are the

full size of life; the terror, dismay, and wildness of the different groups, are admirably pourtrayed, and, notwithstanding the violence of the action, each head is beautiful as that of an angel: the naked ruffians, with their uplifted daggers, and sacrilegious hands stained with blood, are drawn in the finest style, and with all the energy of pitiless soldiers inured to such deeds. The outcry of one mother, dragged by her scarf and hair, and held by one of these men till he reaches her child; the pale dishevelled aspect of another, breathless with terror, fainting, and delayed in her flight from agitation; the despair and agony of a third beyond these, who sits wringing her hands over her slaughtered babes; the touch of madness pictured on the fine countenance, which is uplifted with an indescribable expression of the utmost agony; the murdered babes filling the lower corner of the picture, lying on the blood-stained marble, so pale, so huddled together, so lifeless, yet so lovely and innocent in death, present a historical picture, perhaps the most domestic and touching that was ever painted. The broad shadows, the correctness, roundness, and simplicity of drawing in the whole, are inconceivably striking, the colour consistent and harmonious; no one point overlaboured, yet no effect neglected.

SONNET to a CHILD.

[Written for Time's Telescope by R. II]

A rosebud opening, pearled with morning dew,
Through the young foliage glancing, light and free-
A gentle fountain gushing joyously

O'er the green sward-a bright star in the blue
Of the still heav'ns, or beacon on the sea;
These have I thought thee, light of fanciful hours!
Fair promise of Time's yet unmeasured space!
But be thy bloom more durable than the flower's!
Thine all that fountain's purity and grace!
And may no blight fall on their hopes, who trace
Their features, fortunes, happiness in thine!
Be thou the star-light of their day's decline,
Waking unearthly dreams. O, may'st thou be
All I would fondly deem-all they will picture thee!

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