suggested to my mind. I did not notice imperial Rome on that occasion, and, therefore, purpose to do so now; and as it is as easy for an ideal perambulator to enter Italy at one part as at the other, I shall place myself at once at Loreto, proceed to a few places southward, and then enter the imperial city. Who has not heard of Loreto, famous for its splendid shrine of the Virgin Mary, and for the Casa Santa, (holy house,) in which it is pretended the virgin lived, in Nazareth? Thousands of pilgrims used to flock to the place, and listen to the wonderful narration of the Santa Casa flying through the air from Palestine. Alas! that any should be so deluded. Even now "Our Lady of Loreto" stands on the cathedral altar, splendidly arrayed to receive the devotional offerings of the many who prostrate themselves before her. They tell me that her treasury was once worth fifteen million crowns! Such an amount as this would, indeed, have been worth while disposing of, that the money might be "given to the poor!" Loreto is a bustling, busy, and disagreeable place. Here he who is in want of rosaries, crucifixes, and reliques of " our lady of Loreto," may be abundantly supplied. The church, the confessionals, the incense, the images, the processions, the bare-headed monks, the pavementkissing devotees, the gilded baubles, the consecrated beads, the holy water, the barefaced impositions, the mummeries, and the mockeries are unbearable. Indignation against these popish friars would prevail, were it not overcome by commiseration for the poor, ignorant, and deluded victims of their shameless rapacity. In the shop of the carver and gilder that I have just passed, is a ghastly crucifix, of the full size of a man, and two or three figures of dying saints receiving the last touches of the varnish brush, while the merry workmen are as lighthearted as if they were at play. Ignorance, thou art indeed blind! Popish delusion, "thy name is Legion!" * Macerata with its university, Matelica, Pioraco, Camerino, and Nocera, I hurry through, and am now at Foligno, a place at which I shall not willingly tarry. Never have I yet set my foot on any spot beneath the skies, where some good was not to be found; and, therefore, there are good thing's at Fo ligno. But, if there are a few things which I like, there are a great number which I disapprove. I like not the begging of the stropi and ciechi, (lame and blind,) for I cannot relieve them all. I like not the salle à manger into which I have been shown; it is over the stables, a too common case in Italy. I like not my bed-room, with its deal tripod, waterless jug, and leaden crucifix. I like not the cotton-clad, paper-capped, dirty-looking cooks, whom I have just seen busy at their employment. I like not the meagre mess of soup, nor the greasy maccaroni placed before me to appease my hunger. I like not the sour, stale bread, the miserable wine, the continual arrivals of noisy voituriers, nor the stinging mosquitoes that are trumpeting around me. O England! Would that Italy, with all her works of art and balmy climate, had half thy comforts! Terni is the birth place of Tacitus the Roman historian; but the waterfall is the great lion of the place, and to it I must go. Shall I hire a calêche? No! I am a pedestrian perambulator; on foot will I visit the cascade. The winding footpath, the feathery heath and grateful verdure are delightful; violets and columbines abound. The towering chestnuts under whose branches I have passed, and the orange grove that I have just entered, are lovely in extreme; but hark! I hear the fall? I see it! Beautiful! Beautiful! But beautiful is a poor word at best, when applied to a scene where all is wondrous fair, strikingly romantic, and inexpressibly sublime. This is of its kind an incomparable cataract! The voiceless sweep of the water above the falls, and the gracefulness of the leaping flood are both arresting. So are the descending crystal mass, the shower of frosted silver, the rising spray or watersteam of the boiling abyss, and, more than all, when the sun shines, the everchanging, yet ever-abiding iris that crowns the brow of the fairy fall with a glorious diadem. But the cascade of Terni cannot be described. Away for Naples ! * If you happen to know Naples, imagine that, passing through goodly orchardry of vine and olive, I have arrived at the Dogana, or custom-house. You cannot for a moment fancy me alone. Oh no! Beggars, as clamorous and wretched in appearance as hunger and rags can make them, are crowding around me. Such bundles of rags and tatters are not to be seen elsewhere. In vain I try to keep them away; in vain the sentinels assist me with their naked bayonets. If, for an instant, a little space appears in the crowd, it is soon closed up again, and I am hemmed in by the lame and the blind, the boy and girl of fourteen, the hoaryheaded man, and the beldame of fourscore. Some make their appeal with impassioned gestures, and others vociferate, "Carita per l'amor di Dio," (Charity for the love of God.) After this, never can I complain of English beggars. Well! There is the Bay of Naples, and full in view is Vesuvius; not vomiting forth fire and ashes, but emitting a light-coloured, curling smoke. How different was the scene in 1794, when the burning lava covered and destroyed five thousand acres of vineyards and rich lands, driving the inhabitants of Torre del Greco from the town. Even this wide-spread ruin was surpassed by the eruption of 79, when Herculaneum and Pompeii were buried by the stones, lava, and ashes flung from the crater of the mountain. The Villa Reale is a fine promenade garden. The Studii, or Royal Museum, has one of the costliest collections of sculpture in the world; and the Bay of Naples is, as I was going to say, but I will not, the most lovely aquatic scene that eyes ever gazed on. The lazzaroni here astonish me by their number, their rags, and apparent wretchedness; and yet they have among them joyful faces, for rags of themselves cannot make man miserable, neither can robes of purple and crimson, though united with a glittering diadem, render him happy. This abject class of mankind, without trade, calling, or occupation, have the open air for their place of abode, the clear sky for their covering; and thus thousands have lived and are living, from generation to generation, the offspring of want, denizens of the public streets, and dependants on the outstretched hand of precarious charity. Of course I have lingered my way through the museum, and examined what Capua, Pompeii, and Herculaneum have contributed to its goodly stores. I ought to think that the statue of Aristides the Just is the finest in the world, for Canova thought so; and that the head of the mutilated Psyche is, if possible, still finer, for such it is affirmed to be by many men of genius. Groups, statues, and busts, Amazons, Cupids, fauns, and Mercuries, paintings, bronzes, coral forms, cameos, lamps, terra-cotta, and curiosities are endless; but one cannot look at these things for ever! I have attended the carnival. What follies are abroad, and what children men make themselves! I have ascended Vesuvius, and visited Pozzuoli, the Puteoli of Scripture; once a maritime town of importance, but now a miserable place. The figure of the apostle Paul seemed to rise up before me. The wonders of Pompeii and Herculaneum have been drunk in greedily by my astonished eyes. The Street of Tombs, at the former place, is just outside the city, for the Romans rarely buried their dead inside the city walls. I have walked through the narrow, disinterred streets and houses, where, eighteen hundred years ago, my fellow beings were suddenly surprised with death. Alas! how sudden! Oh may it ne'er Intrude unwelcome on a mispent hour! This bringing to the light of day what has so long been buried, forces upon us the consideration of that awful hour which is coming, in which "all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come forth;" for "there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust," John v. 28, 29; Acts xxiv. 15. How striking the contrast in the word of God between the humiliation of the body when committed to the grave, of a servant of Christ, and when raised again. "It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body."-"When this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. -O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ," 1 Cor. xv. 42-44. 54—57. Solemn thoughts arise and solemn conclusions are drawn amid the restored ruins of this long-buried city; and the things which are, remind us of those which are not. The architectural designs, the figures, the paintings, the master- | till the death-grapple ended the strife. pieces of mosaic, the baths, together with the accumulated store of domestic utensils, and works of art obtained here, now treasured up in the studii of Naples, bring the Pompeians before us as they were on that day of fearful visitation, when the convulsed mountain flung on them its fiery wrath, and the flood of burning lava overwhelmed them. A broken pillar, a ruined archway, a mutilated capital, a bridge, an aqueduct, a temple may be depicted, but who shall describe Rome? It is too vast a thing to be achieved. As well might I try to move the Monument, or lift up the cathedral of St. Paul's. The one is an undertaking too vast for the body, the other too mighty for the mind. I hardly know whether I am the more impressed, standing on the proud summit of the Capitol, and gazing at once on the desolated glories of "the eternal city," or musing in the broad shadows of the colossal Colosseum. In either case, the mighty ruins of imperial Rome overawe my spirit. The time-stricken mistress of the world lies in humiliation before me. I pay a voluntary homage to her departed greatness, And while I mark her desolated brow, Guess what she was, by what I feel her now. Let us turn away from the sickening scene, and contrast it with the merciful injunction of the Redeemer, "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another.' Morning, noon, and night, yea, seven times a-day," are not too often to express our thanks for the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. 66 I have wandered under broken arches, among dilapidated pillars, and deserted temples, and have been lost in their number, their vastness, their beauty, and their desolation. Poets and painters may well be inspired, here, with enthusiasm; scholars feel an increased desire for learning, and Christian men reflect with solemn emotions. There is enough to impart to each and to all of them an insatiable interest, and a yearning to profit from the accumulated stores of bygone ages. He who gazes on ruined Rome without gaining some useful addition to his knowledge or reflections, has, indeed, travelled in vain. Even in the heart of this Roman Catholic city a Protestant may enter an English chapel and worship God as in the land of his fathers. A Protestant cemetery is also provided. Who shall say what may be the endings of these beginnings! I have stood by the bronze statue of St. Peter, in the cathedral. It is said to have been originally a heathen statue of Jupiter. Papal consecration has changed it into what it is; and, as the image of the apostle, hundreds and thousands bend before it, pressing their lips to its brazen toe with the appearance of unaffected devotion. The rag Hardly do I know whether to let my eye rest on ancient or modern Rome; to gaze on the grass-grown Forum, with its mutilated arches, porticoes, and columns, the imposing Temple of Peace, the gigantic Colosseum, and the huge masses of the Cesarian Palace; or to turn to the immense piles of the Vatican, the magnificent cupola of St. Peter's, and the enor-ged and the well-attired go through mous dome of the Pantheon! If I remember right, there are in Rome not less than fourteen thousand columns, most of them ancient. What a forest of marble does this present to the mind! In ancient times, barbarity and power went hand in hand. This huge Colosseum now before me was but a magnificent slaughter-house! Built for the most part by the captive Jews, after the destruction of Jerusalem, no less than five thousand wild beasts were slain within its massy walls at its dedication by Titus. Five thousand! Here captive men and captive animals fought with each other. Here Christians were torn limb from limb, for the entertainment of assembled men and women. Here gladiators fought with armed hands, this ceremony, from the pope himself to the meanest peasant in his dominions who can enter the cathedral; and this is idolatry as truly as when the senseless brass was worshipped in ancient times. This stupendous temple is, indeed, one of the wonders of the world. Would that it were devoted to a pure and simple worship of Almighty God, and that incense and holy water, crucifixes and saints, were exchanged for a living faith in the Saviour of mankind. I have visited Crawford's and Thorwaldsen's scupltures; they are good. I have seen the fresco paintings of the Nozze Aldobrandini, hanging in the library of the Vatican; Guido's "Aurora," on the ceiling of an apartment in the Ruspigliosi Palace; and Raphael's "Sy byls," in Santa Maria della Pace. They are exquisite, as is also "the Cardinal Virtues," by Domenichino; and yet all of them are said to have one fault-"they do not breathe." The Vatican, the pontifical palace, is a pile of palaces. I dare not enter on the countless treasures of these marble halls, including the paintings, the transfiguration, and the communion of St. Jerome by Domenichino, two of the master-pieces of the world. The Piazzo Navona is the largest market place in Rome. I have been there, and seen the fountain with the river-gods on the rocks where it issues. The tombs of Rome are full of solemn interest. Those of Adrian, Cecelia, Metella, and others on the Appian way. The tomb of Scipio, not forgetting the Columbarium, which contained the remains of the freedmen of Augustus; reduced to ashes by fire, they were deposited in vessels of terra-cotta, with covers. The bells of Rome seem always ringing; the streets of Rome are always crowded with idle men; labourers from the Campagna, facchini, (porters,) and others. I have seen the pope, at the festa of St. Peter: let the ceremony pass, for it suits me not. Rome begins to oppress me. While gazing around me, a strange assemblage of figures from the records of past ages appear to rise in view. Romulus and Remus, the Horatii and Curiatii, Tarquin the proud, Brutus the stern and noble-minded, Coriolanus the bold and selfish, Cincinnatus the patriotic and the humble, old Dentatus with his forty wounds, and self-sacrificing Decius, cruel Cataline, ambitious Cesar, Cicero, Titus and Trajan. Roman senators, lictors, and citizens, are strangly mingling with warriors, orators and poets, priests, augurs and gladiators, funeral rites, chariot racing, triumphal arches, glittering eagles, and imperial crowns. But enough. Popes, cardinals, carnivals and Easters, temples, trophies, porticos and columns, statues, paintings, mosaics, cameos and candelabra, with all the exhaustless stores of art and ages, must pass away, like the imaginary perambulation I have indulged in. Once more my map of Europe is folded, and once more can I say, in the land of my birth, Rome, thou hast gratified me; but keep thy glories: be it mine, with a humble spirit and a thankful heart, to look for "a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God," Heb. xi. 10. SPONGES AND ZOOPHYTES.-No. II. To the sponges succeed the zoophytes, as the older writers termed them, but to which Ehrenberg has applied the title of Phytozoa,* and professor Grant that of Polypifera, or Polype-bearers. The beings of this class are very interesting, not only to the professed naturalist, but to all who are capable of admiring the beautiful, the graceful, and the delicate throughout nature's vast domain. Infinitely varied, indeed, in appearance are the polypifera, or zoophytes; and so closely do many resemble frond escent plants, that the naturalists of the last century, almost without exception, regarded them as within the pale of botany; and even still, we continually hear them termed sea weeds, by persons ignorant of their real characters. The demonstration of their true nature is due to John Ellis, F.R.S., whose paper on the natural history of the corallines, and other marine productions found on the coasts of Great Britain and Ireland, was read before the Royal Society in June, 1754. Like most who proclaim truth he had many opposers; but truth ultimately prevails. Those who have walked along the shore of the sea cannot but have noticed, that the shells which lie scattered over the beach, are often covered with smallbranched zoophytes, while others may be seen adherent to the broad fronds of floating. sea weed, or fixed upon jutting rocks, upon stones, and water-worn pebbles. It is, however, in the warmer latitudes of the ocean that zoophytes display their most singular forms, and carry on their works on the most extensive scale. Some resemble waving plumes, some fans of network, some clusters of opened flowers, and others, branches laden with blossoms. Some build reefs and islands of solid rock work, dangerous to the navigator. Slowly and silently, millions of tiny arms, the members of a compound whole, ply the task, generation after generation, till the calcareous fabric, based on some sub-marine volcanic hill, rises to the surface. Here the sea birds repair, and uninterrupted, save by the noise of the tempest-tost billows around, rear their broods for many a returning season. Here the waves and winds carry seeds, and throw them on it; they germinate, *UTOV, phyton, a plant-Zwov, zoon, an animai· the vegetation decays, and in process of Hence, what Omnipotence alone could do, The mausoleum of its architects, Frail were their frames, ephemeral their lives; Though no rock-piling zoophytes tenant our shores, many are of the highest interest, and delight the more the more they are studied. 66 Mr. A. H. Hassall (see Ann. and Mag. Nat. Hist. June, 1841) states, that he has ascertained that all the more transparent zoophytes possess highly luminous properties. This fact he first discovered in a specimen of laomedia gelatinosa, one of the tubulariæ, and subsequently in a great variety of other species. "Imagination," he writes, can scarcely conceive a more beautiful spectacle than would be furnished, by the shining of countless myriads of those tiny lamps, lighting up the dark recesses and caves of the ocean." "I had lately," he adds, "an opportunity of beholding this novel and interesting sight, of the phosphorescence of zoophytes, to great advantage, when in one of the Devonshire trawling boats, which frequent this coast (Ireland.) The trawl was raised at midnight, and great quantities of corallines were entangled in the meshes of the network, all shining like myriads of the brightest diamonds." To give as clear an idea as possible of the nature of the polypifera, or zoophytes, we shall direct the attention of our reader to a minute fresh-water animal, termed the hydra, of which a particular notice will be found in the Visitor for June, 1840, "Notes on the Month." This animal is composed of a simple gelatinous body, with an internal cavity hollowed in its substance, to which leads a mouth, surrounded by arms, or tentacles. Possessing the most extraordinary powers of contraction and elongation, the hydra can assume various forms. It is highly sensitive, and the moment it feels its prey, it winds its arms round the captive, drags it to its mouth, and engulfs it. No nerves, no muscular fibres have been detected. The hydra is free, and capable of detaching itself from the leaf to which it adheres, and of moving to another station. Here, then, we have the example of a simple free polype. But suppose one of these polypes to expand and deposit within itself a calcareous secretion, which constitutes an internal support, or rude skeleton, and to which the expanded gelatinous base will form a sort of skin; here we have a cortical zoophyte, or polypiferous being. Such is the Fungia actiniformis, a species of madrepore. But, in many cases, the gelatinous expansion, is common to many associated po |