his task, and in turn they fell under his sword. Their blessed souls were committed to the Lord.

Thus these martyrs of Christ ended their lives on the seventeenth day of July, and passed into His presence, whom their souls had loved even unto death, and from whose hands they have received the crown of life (James i. 12).

We do not desire to weaken by further remarks this simple account, extracted from old and reliable sources, which is not wanting in its effects upon the sensitive reader. We cannot avoid making one remark. It is the reason why the martyrs of Scillita deserve a place of honor in the Evangelical Calendar. It is because of the simple, clear perception of pure, unalloyed doctrine, the deep, heart-felt experience of the consolation and power of a world-overcoming faith, which were found by them in Christ during life, and especially of their complete satisfaction even in the severest afflictions. But whence came this light, this power, this life? The Holy Spirit had called them through the gospel, enlightened them with His gifts, blessed them and upheld them in the right of faith. They knew the living and powerful word of God; they had eaten and drunken of the bread and water of life. When questioned as to the grounds of their religious doctrine, they acknowledged that it rested upon the everlasting word of the living God. From the answers of Speratus and his companions, there is established in the clearest manner a fact, which is also attested to by Church History, that, in those centuries which immediately followed the apostolic era, all Christians were acquainted with and relied upon the Holy Scriptures and especially the New Testament. The exhortations in the sermons and writings of the blessed Church-fathers to the congregations, that all Christians should read the word of God diligently, prove that the Church in the days of its health never forbade, but rather encouraged the distribution of the Bible. Aud as a solace for many a grievous manifestation of the present, there have not been wanting, God be praised, many true evangelical witnesses to the blessings of the distribution of the divine word, even among prominent persons of the Catholic Church in modern times!

Would that in our time the Church of the Lord through all its confessions might recognize in this day of its visitation what is needed for its prosperity. Would that we, amid the strictest fidelity for the special questions which have been confided to the different Confessions by the Lord of the Church, might never forget the common source of all our knowledge! Then in all the Confessions there would never be any want of Confessors, who should be ready, whenever the Lord required it, to imitate with joy the blessed Speratus and his eleven companions, and even in view of death to show a good confession before many witnesses. "Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."

L. H. S.

"TRUTH is like light: visible in itself, not distinguished by the shadows it casts. There is a something of a God in our souls, which corresponds with what is of God outside of us, and recognizes it by direct intuition; something in the true soul which corresponds with truth, and knows it to be truth. Christ came with truth, and the true recognise it as true; the sheep know the shepherd."-Robertson.

A CHRISTMAS AT ROME,

BY THE EDITOR.

For a week past the streets of Rome had been unusually lively. The Corso, the Broadway of the "Eternal City," swarmed all day long. Stores and shops were thronged with a motley crowd of people from "every nation under heaven." Sellers of antiquities, mosaics, carved work, jewelries, and works of art generally, carried on a brisk trade. On the 24th of December the great street was at times almost impassable. It is only wide enough for two coaches abreast. Two lines of vehicles kept moving through the crowd-one east and the other west. Lords and ladies rolled along in splendid equipages, dazzling with an abundance of polished plating. On the rear of the barouche stood a liveried footman; on a high seat sat the driver-both arrayed in medieval hats and scarlet coats, cut somewhat in quaker style, bordered with all manner of gaudy fringes. Almost at every shop and store stood a group of coaches, while their owners were making purchases.

Roman streets have no pavements, in our sense. Narrow side-walks from one to three feet wide. The vast stream of less fortunate walkers, had to thread their way among this confusion of horses, coaches, of princes, buyers and beggars, as best they could. Many a lady saw I on that day, with a fortune on her back; bedecked with costliest satins, diamonds, and jewels. Her apparel so gorgeous, her bearing so proud, that one felt surprised, that she should be willing to breathe the same air the beggar did, who asked her for alms. A painful contrast did these filthy, ragged beggars form to the great ones, rolling in luxury Above the rattling of coaches, and the impatient shout of footmen and drivers, you could hear the whining cries of Rome's horde of paupers, hailing you on every side with "pauverino." One lacks a leg, another an arm, one an eye, another both, women holding blind, scabby, scrofulous children, covered with a few rags and much filth, right before our face. In between the slow-moving lines of coaches, they limp after alms, all the while holding the putrid arm, or the eyeless sockets and ulcerous features of a child before the open carriages of gay ladies. "Pauverino, Signora, Pauverino!"

Here and there one heeds their pitiful cries, and with an air of impatience gives them a pittance. But the great mass pays them no more attention than it would so many flies in summer time. In ordinary times, Rome has hospital accommodations for many thousand people, besides a large number of other charitable institutions. Yet her streets swarm with beggars who excite mingled feelings of horror and pity. Rome has but few straight streets, of any considerable length. The three which centre in the Piazza del Populo, and the Via de Condotti, running from the Piazza di Spagna to the bridge of St. Angelo, across the Tiber are her chief avenues of communication. The latter is not a straight line. Rome

is a network of crooked streets-fragments, which are a perpetual puzzle to a stranger. My residence was near the Piazza di Spagna, a large open square at the eastern end of the city. At the opposite end is St. Peter's. This building is one of the wonders of the world. It covers almost six acres of ground, cost over $50,000,000, and required 350 years to build it. Of course, the work of building was not carried on through every one of these years. Its erection covered the reign of forty-three popes. Some of these found great trouble to procure money sufficient for the work. Julius II. and Leo X. resorted to the sale of indulgences to get more funds. Our readers well know that the sale of indulgences was one of the evils which gave rise to the Reformation. The building is over 600 feet long, and about 200 wide. The dome, which snrmounts it, is almost 200 feet in diameter, and its top over 400 feet above the pavement.

This is the largest church in the world. It is not all in one apartment. Along the sides are many chapels, themselves as large as small churches. It is adorned with statues and paintings, works of Angelo, Raphael, and of all the greater and lesser lights of classic Art. The ceiling of the dome, and the walls every where charm the eye with the creations of genius. The immense roof, 150 feet above the pavement of the Church, is supported by a forest of columns. Several lines of these on each side run up their mighty trunks, and spread their tops in a canopy of stone, leaves and branches along the ceiling.

Adjoining St. Peter's is the Vatican, the palace of the Pope. It has become the symbolical seat of his power. Hence when the Pope issues an edict or bull of penal judgment, it is sometimes called "the thunders of the Vatican." This is the most noted palace in the known world. It was commenced more than 1000 years ago. Its length is 1151 feet, and its breadth 67 feet. It contains 8 grand staircases, 200 smaller staircases, 20 courts, and 4422 rooms. The most of these are galleries of art. Thousands upon thousands of these precious works of the great Masters, a single one of which is worth a fortune, adorn these apartments. It contains a history of the world's religion, chiseled in marble and pencilled on canvass. Adam and Abraham, Noah and Neptune, Job and Jove, Moses and the Son of Mary, David and David's son, Paul the Apostle and Apollo Belvidere, Jesus and Julius Cæsar, gods and goddesses, the Creator and the creature, are here all set forth amid their proper groups and surroundings. After studying ancient and modern religions, one views and studies the blind unconscious struggles and gropings of the human heart after a divine compassionate Father and an atoning Saviour, as here carved in stone, with intense interest. Many of the statues have been excavated from the ruins of ancient cities and palaces. You almost feel as if you could hear the marble sigh and pray for deliverance from "this body of death.”

The chief apartment of the building is the Sixtine Chapel, a church 135 by 45 feet in size. There the Pope holds High Mass on the great festivals of the year. On the ceiling is Angelo's painting of the creation. For a sketch of his great life, we refer the reader to last February's number of the GUARDIAN. Here you see what God created each day. Light and darkness; the sun and moon; trees and plants, animals and man. The fall and exile from Eden, too, he shows. Every foot of wall is alive with the works of God and the history of man. The giving of the Law,

and the breaking of it; the Hebrew Exodus and the journey through the wilderness; the birth, baptism and temptation of Christ; the scene of his sermon on the Mount, his Last Supper, and his cruel death, are all portrayed by master hands. The end wall is covered with Angelo's great fresco of the Last Judgment, 60 feet high 30 feet broad He unlocks the graves and leads the righteous and the wicked up to the Judgment bar of Christ. The righteous going up with light steps and cheerful hearts, the wicked, terror-stricken and with skulking mien, crying "to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the hills, Cover us."

All my leisure hours in Rome, I gave to St. Peter's and the Vatican. My heart was stirred within me at the sight of these gods of wood and stone. They told me of myriads of beings who felt their need of a Saviour, but knew not where to find him. Up and down the great stairways I roamed. Then for hours would I sit, half unconscious, before the Apollo Belvidere, the Transfiguration of Christ, the Last Judgment, until the whisper of some one near startled me from my revenue. Thus for months I opened my pensive heart in the presence and to the soothing influence of these great Masters, until the mighty thoughts that stirred within them, were photographed upon its canvass. They live before my spiritual vision-a perpetual study, and a life long leon-"a thing of beauty and joy for ever." What my feelings precisely were then, I cannot clearly tell. At one time very sad, at another very joyous; at another a strange confused conflict of emotions oppressed me for days. That graphic pure Creation at the Sixtine ceiling, the sad exile of Adam, the birth and beautiful life of Christ, his cruel death, his resurrection, the awful sceneof the great Judgment-their power who can tell!

"We will meet at my room at 7 this evening," said a Polish friend to me at parting, in the afternoon of December 24. "Be it so. Bear in mind, no later. At 8 the Pope will hold grand Mass in the Sixtine Chapel. Rarely have tourists a chance to attend such a service here. Our only chance is to-night."

Ten minutes before 7 I groped my way up a dark narrow stairway that led to his door. "Herein" he shouted, as I rapped. "Haste thee, friend; we have need to be in time, where there is such a crowd." The streets of Rome are poorly lighted. Only after long intervals met we a lamp in the Via de Condotti. Although Christmas eve, we encountered but few people on our dark and dreary way. For at night this is rather an unfrequented street. Far off, in other parts of the city, we heard the clatter of horses and rolling of carriages. Here every tread of our heavy hobnail boots echoed strangely through the night air. On the bridge across the Tiber, we joined the current of people. The great square in front of St. Peter's was crowded with coaches. Soldiers on horseback kept riding back and forward to prevent them from running over the people, or into each other. Now and then one of these men of blood would unsheathe his sword, and threaten to thrust it through some impertinent postillion. Going up the long great staircase of the Vatican, I discovered that my friend had on a neat black dress-coat. A gay brother thou art, in sooth. What a tidy coat." "Yes, and thou wilt regret not having one. A pretty garment is that for such a place and occasion. Thou hast worn it since the time we first met on that dark rainy night, crossing the Appenines on the top of the diligence. Hast not read the programme? All ladies must be

dressed in black, with a black veil; gentlemen in black cloth, the outer garment a dress coat, and nothing else. Your's is a frock, and by this time rather a shabby frock, at that."

I

Now the only coat I had in the world, was the frock-coat I wore. made it a point to travel with as little baggage as possible. I never carried more than one suit with me. When that was pretty well worn, I threw it aside and bought another. The cloth of my coat was not perceptibly worn. But alas, it had the wrong cut. It was too late now to hire a suit. For in Rome there are stores, which furnish suits for such occasions, at a fixed sum per day.

Several tall Swiss soldiers guarded the door of the chapel-members of the Pope's Body Guard. Noble-looking men they were, with heavy helmets, and a yellow and black striped gay uniform, each having a long lance in the right hand with one end resting on the pavement. A great crowd pressed around the door, impatient to enter. The guards examined each one's coat, one after the other was turned back. Alas for me! A few friends called me to one side, and advised me to use an innocent trick. "What harm can there be to tuck the front corners of your coat-skirts under? The guard will take it for a dress coat then." "No, sirs, Honestly or not at all," I replied. With strange misgivings, I presented myself, and was of course turned back. When the most had entered I approached one of the Guards. "Stranger, I am a tourist, from America, from the land of liberty, dear to all the sons of Tell. I may never have another opportunity to attend a similar service here. My unbecoming coat is a matter of accident, and not a wint of reverence for the occasion. Could you not favor me with admittance?" Waving his hand with a smile, he replied, "Stand yonder till I call you." When the rest had entered he gave me the signal and I stepped in. The chapel was densely packed. I barely found a place to stand inside the door. The congregation was of course, select. The best music in Rome is in this chapel, on such occasions. This evening it was perfectly overpowering. Not congregational singing, as you find in some parts of the Catholic service, but instrumental music, accompanied by the most select singers of Italy. High Mass was held in the presence of the Pope. The chapel was dark with clouds of incense. Through this haze the great lights shone dimly, and the Creation on the ceiling was but faintly visible, and the dead rising from their graves and going up to the Judgment at the other end, looked like living beings in the misty distance of coming ages. While enjoying all less as an act of worship, I confess, than, as an aesthetical treat, I felt guilty— thought of the man in the parable, who stole into the great supper without a wedding garment on. The services lasted till midnight. Long before this hour, I had reached my lodgings, and mused before the fire on my hearth, over Christmas Eves in happier homes. I was alone and lonely, in a strange city, one of the strangest in the world; far from the scenes of my childhood. Visions of the innocent divine Christ child passed before my mind, as they used to bless my childhood, kneeling at my little trundle bed at night, and thanking God with folded hands, that Jesus became a little child to bless little children. The kind-hearted Chriskindel hanging bags of nuts and candies on bed-posts and in chimney corners; filling baskets with blessings when we children were sweetly asleep, and filling our minds with dreams such as angels have. Waking us before break of day, and sending us skipping up and down the house