for ever, an Indulgence of forty years, and one thousand six hundred days, applicable also to the dead, for every time that they visit, during Lent, the Churches where there are stations in the manner prescribed. Furthermore, he conceded to all who have made such visits three times in three distinct days, a plenary Indulgence. In the index referred to, there are the days, the Churches, the Stations and Indulgences, carefully arranged thus. "On Jan. 1, the circumcision of our Lord Jesus Christ, a Station at S. Marie in Transtevere, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days. "On Ash Wednesday, at S. Tabina, &c., an Indulgence of fifteen years and six hundred days. "On the following Thursday at S. Georgio in Velabro, &e., an Indulgence of ten years and four hundred days. "On the fourth Sunday in Lent, at Santa Croce, an Indulgence of fifteen years and six hundred days. "On Palm Sunday, at S. Giovani in the Laterno, an Indulgence of twenty five years and one thousand days. "On holy Thursday at S. Giovani, a plenary Indulgence. "On holy Friday, at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days. 'On Easter Sunday, at S. Marie Maggiore, a plenary Indulgence. "On Easter Monday, at S. Pietro in Vaticano, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days. "On Thursday, Ascension-day, at S. Pietro in Vaticano, a plenary Indulgence. On Saturday, the Vigil of Whitsunday, an indulgence of ten years and four hundred days. "On Wednesday at Pietro Vaticano, an Indulgence of thirty years and twelve hundred days. "Thus much will be sufficient to illustrate the system. There is scarcely a day in the year in which these Indulgences are not attached to some one or more churches." There may be no royal road to learning, but here is, at all events, a primrose path to paradise. Here is a religion fit for a gentleman as Charles the Second used to say; one exactly suited to the Sir John Falstaffs of their day. Here is free trade, great bargains in spiritual things-Heaven secured at the price of old rags-a plenary Indulgence for kissing a cross! nothing can go beyond that. We should like to see a "Pilgrim's Progress" got up in this style by a holy friar or a learned Cardinal. Christian's path, in place of being an inconveniently narrow one, would be so broad as to admit a "banner'd host" to pass "in loose array;" and he himself would be a merry mad-cap, well filled with the spirit which is not from above; or would prowl about with not the most virtuous intention-taking care, however, to confess to his priest, and replenish his pockets with the Church's treasures, that he may be always able to clear off old scores. But from the exhibition here given of the facilities afforded for eluding Purgatory, we do not believe that there is, after all the fuss made about masses, and prayers for the dead, a single one to be found within its bounds. But supposing that there are numerous sufferers there, what a hideous idea, that the Pope and his Cardinals should be enjoying themselves over their delicious wines, whilst all these poor wretches are suffering, not that heaven so wills or desires it, but mainly for the purpose of giving importance to the offices of the Church. How can their spirits repent and improve under such circumstances? Their sole feeling must be boiling indignation against their unfeeling jailors. If Pio Nono could remit one hundred years of suffering, he of course could remit suffering for all time to come. There is no evading this conclusion. Our author treats also of the following subjects-Relics, Inscriptions in Churches, the use of Holy water, the use of pictures, the use of images. THE SNOW-DROP. Emblem of purity! I hail Thy silent coming here, When moans departing Winter's gale, When clouds are dark-when things are dead On mountain-side and plain, Lo suddenly appears thy head To bid us hope again. To me, pale visitant! thou'rt worth A thousand gayer flowers, That take their nourishment and birth From Summer's sunnier hours. The smiling friends of smiling years To memory these recall: With thee, pale bloom! a friend appears The friend who shares our Winter's woe, Sweet snow-drop! when I see thee blow, Go! let the heart that never bled, Ah! many a sad yet soothing dream To them that seek, by grove and stream, And in the silent fields, For emblems of the life they lead Types of the ills they bear Unheeded wrongs by which they bleed-- Pale Innocence-forlorn-opprest― Yet pure amid the storm Lays, kindly, in her sister-breast The snow-drop's fragile form. The unconfessing Grief, that hides, In winter's houseless child confides, For oh! 'tis like a breathed prayer, With humblest things our pain to share, Hope lighting up a mourner's cheek-- Their own bright images may seek Thus, snow-drop! thou art still to me Dearer than any flower, That haunts the shade, or paints the lea- For other flow'rets call to mind Past happiness or grief, Whilst thou, by nature, art designed To tell the stricken and opprest The thousand sons of woe "Amid the winter of the breast The holiest blossoms blow." Mute Preacher! thou hast chosen well All hearts are then accessible No rival shares thy power. When leafless woods forget to praise Lo! like a spirit from the bier, We hail thy sacred presence here, 'I come obedient to a Mind That slumbers not nor sleeps." Emblem of Purity! I hail Thy silent coming here, When moans departing Winter's gale Through hedge and forest sere. THE RIVER. It sprung from the green mountain's side, And often by its mossy brink The timid fawn would pause to drink -PETER LELY. And wand'ring birds would stoop to lave Murm'ring like music in a dream Now rippling with the gurgling sound Impatient of th' impeding stone- 'Midst laughing gardens of delight, Now with a wild impetuous force Now sparkling where the sunbeams glanc'd, Now dreamily it glided bye, Like youth in love's sweet reverie. With power increas'd for good or ill, Where smiling hamlets crown'd the hill, Here it would aid the peasant's skill, And cheer'ly turn the village mill; There bursting o'er the accustom❜d bound, It carried ruin all around, Like op'ning manhood's fitful day Of virtue's effort-passion's sway. Where nobly rising by its side, Fair to the sight from shore to shore, Ten thousand argosies it bore, While hid beneath its glitt'ring wave, Love, hope, and joy had found a grave; Like the brave front bold manhood wears, Again, beyond the city's roar It held its lonely way, Where radiant landscapes cheer'd no more, Solemn and sad its dreary surge Moan'd like some wretch's fun'ral dirge, And sullied since it left its source By all 't had gather'd in its course It sunk into the boundless sea Sidneyfield. AGNES SMITH. Having tarried so long in the physical and geological departments, our visits to the remaining sections must be very brief. We next introduce our readers to section G, devoted to mechanical science. This has hitherto proved a very unmanageable section; and the reason is very obvious. In this utilitarian age, when science is regarded, not as the handmaid of a lofty devotion, but of selfish interest, it cannot be wondered at that a 66 gross utilitarianism," to use Chalmers' favourite phrase, should rear its head within the very precincts of the temple of science. The mechanical section affords greater facilities for utilitarian practice than any of the others. As it embraces all those mechanical arts which minister at the altar of Mammon, it is but natural that the votaries of Mammon should be glad to seize the opportunity of giving publicity to their wares. A widely-reported discussion on the merits of any mechanical contrivance supplies a cheap and effectual mode of advertisement. Advertising seems almost to be a science of itself, and its recent advances have been very remarkable. The very dog has been impressed into its service, so that he is to be seen gravely walking the streets of London with placards upon his back. Recently, the metropolis was also astonished by a shower of handbills descending from the clouds. When the passenger hastened to pick up the celestial scroll, he was not at all prepared for its treating of such sublunary matters-as tea gardens or magic strops. Advertising has attained such a pitch of refinement, that it is almost altogether independent of any real entity as a substratum; or to use the jargon of transubstantiation, the species may exist without the substance. It has been averred by competent authority, that for a man possessed of a thousand pounds of capital, with somewhat of the genius of George Robins, and with a conscience not inconveniently tender, |