question of the messenger, and directed the attention of his readers to the truths that he was commissioned to present. Montanus mainly insisted upon unimportant matters of external life and order. Swedenborg, on the other hand, unfolded important principles of spiritual philosophy. Montanus sought to sway the world by means of trifling alterations on the mere fringe of existence. Swedenborg went down into the deep mysteries of existence itself.

Swedenborg presents us with his credentials in the form of new and grander conceptions of God, the Word, and Human Life. He lays no claim to the rôle of a prophet. He is a SEER—a seer of truth. And we find in the writings of Swedenborg just such an improvement upon old forms of thought in relation to spiritual things as devout believers in the promises of the Lord Jesus Christ have a right to expect.

The essential fact of Montanism was Montanus; the essential fact of Swedenborgianism is the spiritual sense of the Divine Word. And it is to this unparalleled exaltation of the sanctity and the power of the Word that Swedenborg ever appeals in proof of the genuineness and the authority of his mission.

Montanism flourished bravely for a short period, and was finally condemned and excommunicated as its tendencies were more plainly discerned. Swedenborgianism, on the contrary, has been condemned at the very outset, but it has lived through the long winter, and if we read the signs of the times aright, there is every prospect of its growth and prosperity in the days to come.

ERRATUM.-Page 215, line 13, for serenaded read venerated.

FROM LONDON TO TOLEDO AND BACK.

NO. IV. FROM MADRID TO ARANJUEZ, TOLEDO, ZARAGOZA, PAMPLONA, AND RETURN TO FRANCE.

INDISPOSITION having somewhat interfered with the due continuation of my papers, I must ask my readers to forgive a delay arising from a cause so imperative, and to favour me with their attention while I describe my journey further in those interesting portions of Spain which I visited after leaving the capital.

I departed from Madrid at seven in the morning of October 21st

for Toledo, where I arrived at half-past ten. We passed through Aranjuez, where there is a royal palace, which I determined to notice on my return, and continued the journey to Toledo, the ancient Moorish capital of Spain, which is at present the chief point of attraction. The station at Toledo is about a mile from the town, to which, however, there is a very good road. Toledo stands boldly up, having for its base a rocky hill, with the Tagus going half round the city. It is surrounded by walls, having many towers and gates, but all evincing the ruin of extreme age. Old statues here and there occur on the road without noses and hands-poor stumps, maimed and weather-beaten, the forlorn relics of human glory. Toledo was the Gothic capital of Spain, then the capital of the Moors for seven hundred years, and afterwards the Christian capital until Philip II. founded Madrid. Formerly it contained 200,000 inhabitants, now it has only 13,000, and is a quiet, very quiet, but clean place. It is called the navel of Spain, indeed of the universe. It has a good marketplace, a noble governor's castle called the Alcazar, and many ruins of churches, monasteries, castles, and other buildings in all directions, including two ancient synagogues, the Jews formerly having been numerous in Toledo as in other parts of Spain.

The Tagus is here a spirited river, and with a moderate amount of engineering might be made navigable for more than 300 miles to Lisbon, enriching the country immensely with commerce and abundance of every kind; but, like the other great rivers, scarcely a boat is anywhere to be seen upon it. All is the quietude of laziness and helplessness. Any sensible diligent government that would promote the planting of the country with trees, make the splendid rivers available, and adopt free trade, would increase the comfort and wealth of Spain beyond measure. The wilderness and solitary places would rejoice, and the desert would blossom as the rose. Twice the number of the present population might exist in abundance, and brown barren wastes might be covered with plenty.

Toledo was and is the ecclesiastical capital, the Canterbury of Spain. In Philip II.'s time the archbishops were considered next in pomp to the Pope. They were great in peace and war.

The cathedral, the glory of Toledo, is indeed a magnificent Gothic building. In majesty, in variety of beauty, in richness of decoration, it seems to me to surpass the cathedral of Seville, but this is a point on which great authorities differ. It was begun in 1226 by St. Ferdinand on the site of a mosque which he pulled down to make room for his cathedral, but which the ecclesiastics say had formerly been a Christian church erected to the Virgin in her lifetime, and

which afterwards she often came from heaven to see, accompanied by Peter, Paul, and James. There is a pillar in the cathedral shown where she stood on these occasions, and which pilgrims have seriously impressed with their kisses. This pillar, a pedestal four feet high, in imitation of the one at Zaragoza, was being shown to an Anglican clergyman and his party as I approached. I said to the guide, "Do you really believe the Virgin bodily came down and stood on that pillar?" He crossed his arms and looked very solemn and said, "I am a Christian, and of course I must believe it." In one corner of the cathedral there is a chapel made off from the rest by iron railing where twice a day the service of the Old Liturgy of Spain, called the Mozarabic, differing in many respects from the Roman Liturgy, is still used, about thirty priests taking part. It is much simpler, more scriptural, said to be the oldest liturgical form in Christendom, and there is no instrumental music accompanying it. The Roman Liturgy, with double the number of priests and grand organ accompaniments, is going on at the same time, with scarcely any one to take part but the priests in either one or the other. The Romish Mass was introduced by the French in 1086, and met with great resistance. There was a duel fought to determine which was the right prayer-book, and the Popish champion was defeated. The conquered side, however, were not content, and it was determined the two should be put upon a fire, and the one not consumed should be esteemed sanctioned by the Deity. The Roman again was found wanting. It was partly consumed, and partaking somewhat of the levity of its French supporters, leaped out of the fire; while the Mozarabic or Spanish Liturgy remained and was quite uninjured. However, Rome and France continued their treachery and perseverance, and ultimately prevailed. In the time of the Reformation, Carranza, the Archbishop of Toledo, was strongly inclined to lean to the side of Luther and the Bible, but the Inquisition arrested him, and worried and wearied the poor man with eighteen years of persecution. One or two of the popes were favourable to Carranza, but at length Gregory XIII. decided against him, and passed sentence of suspension for five years, and to perform mass in several churches by way of penance. Sixteen days after, the sufferer

died of a broken heart.

The persecutions in Spain were perhaps the most terrible and cruel of all which the bigotry of the fallen Church inflicted upon the nations of the earth. And yet there are persons who fail to see that these cruelties, the result of false principles, come from the dark world, and lead only to darkness and death; fancying that perhaps figs can be got from thistles, and grapes from thorns. The opposition of Spain

to the light has kept that kingdom behind all the rest of Europe, and in seditions, insurrections, wars, and miseries of every kind, inflicted upon her incalculable loss.

In the market-place in Toledo, on the market-day, there was a sight I regarded with great pleasure. It was the Bible colporteur's stall surrounded with inquirers. He earnestly harangued the people, and invited them to buy the Gospels and the whole Word of God. I looked over his Bibles, Testaments, and tracts, and bought something to encourage him. I told him I knew Rev. Mr. Jamieson his employer, and was charmed to see him at his work. The energetic little man's heart leaped towards me, and he asked me to come to his chamber and see his stock. In that chamber, very bare, he held a meeting in the evening for prayer and inquiry, and he said quite a company came. He was evidently the right man for his work, and was sowing seed which in good time would bear fruit. Several priests marched backward and forward, but took no notice further. There was a rival bookstall some fifty yards away, but it seemed only to have very old books, and was dead alive. Having familiarized myself with Toledo, I inquired where the arms manufactory was which had made this city famous for its renowned sword-blades. I was shown the royal works from the ramparts, about a mile away on the Tagus, and was told there was no difficulty of entrance. I soon reached the extensive pile of workshops and found the gates open. I inquired for the chief office, and having stated my object, obtained a guide at once. I followed my companion from shop to shop, and found him desirous that I should see every portion of the works, and explain everything I wished to know. Except the grinding-stones, which were driven by water-power derived from the Tagus, on the bank of which the arms manufactory is situated, everything is worked by hand. There is no machine or steam-power there. The smiths, turners, filers, and polishers were just going on as they did three hundred years ago. All seemed very slow and very dull. The arms finished in the storeroom and in the museum were respectable, but there was nothing remarkable. I left with the impression that however Toledo might have deserved admiration for its work in past times, it was greatly behind the times now.

Toledo altogether is a relic of the past. The people are friendly and courteous, the language pure Castilian. My host, Don Pablo, an old gentleman of perhaps sixty, the proprietor of a nice little hotel, was very attentive to me, and made me very comfortable. He seemed pleased to entertain me, but was troubled that I did not eat enough for him. He was quite disappointed that I could not despatch more grapes, and more of a small melon they call petrilla, at breakfast, but

he hoped I would behave better at dinner. He would give me another trial. The mozo, boy of the hotel, as Don Pablo explained to me, was a withered old fellow of seventy. The situation of Toledo is lofty and pleasant, but in all things it seems unconscionably old, broken down, and dry. The cathedral, the gorgeous gem of the city, is decaying, although it has never been completed. It is the Canterbury of Spain, but compared to it, Canterbury is a brilliant, modern, active, dashing city. After leaving Toledo, I stayed at Aranjuez, half way to Madrid, for I must needs return to Madrid to take train to Zaragoza.

Aranjuez is a royal residence, a sort of Windsor, for a portion of the year, with a large and splendid palace, erected by Charles IV., in the French style, with ornamental gardens at the back. The gardens had been well laid out, but were covered with weeds. Two camels with hampers were assisting, but there seemed few hands, and they very inactive. A third of the royal residence has never been completed. There it is, one storey above the ground for probably two hundred yards, and remaining unfinished as it has done for a hundred and fifty years, illustrating the old proverb, "The Spaniards are late to begin, and they never finish." The rest of the town consists of wide streets of wooden houses one storey high, and with probably 6000 inhabitants. There is also the palace lately inhabited by Christina, the sister of Louis Philippe and mother of Isabella II. Here there is an English garden or park, laid out a hundred years ago by an Irish gentleman named Wall. It has long and fine avenues of noble trees, elms, oaks, beeches, as tall, lofty, and well grown as they would be with us. It is the same at the Alhambra in Granada, where they were planted by an Englishman. The trees in both cases are not only magnificent, splendid in foliage, giving delightful shade to the people, but the chosen home of whole bevies of nightingales, filling the air, in spring, with their songs.

I was glad to get on to Madrid,
Zaragoza, for so the Spaniards

Toledo seemed old and dull, but Aranjuez was far worse. It was a squalid desert. You scarcely saw a person in five minutes, and all appeared poor, dreary, and neglected. and thence by train again to Zaragoza. spell the name, is about seven hours' journey from Madrid, fifty-five miles. It is the ancient capital of the kingdom of Arragon. It has a population of about 70,000, and a substantial, solid, business-like air. The river Ebro goes sluggishly by, and is crossed by a good stone bridge. Zaragoza is Cæsar Augustus blended by time into that form. The houses are firmly built and lofty. The streets are many of them spacious and occupied with good shops, others are close, narrow, dusty alleys. The inhabitants seem strong, independent, and energetic.