Italy, set up in little road-side chapels;

"And where, within some deep shy wood, And seen but half through curving bough, In silent marble Dian stood,

Behold! a holier Virgin now
Hath sanctified the solitude;

And thou, meek Mary-mother! thou
Dost hallow each old pagan spot,
Or storied stream, or fabled grot."
-Shrine of the Virgin, Poems by JOHN
KENYON, 1838.

What traveller in Italy has not seen these little chapels, with kneeling worshippers before them, and, seeing a peasant population not ashamed of their religion, felt even a reverence for a superstition, and indisposed to interrupt it with feelings of meddling controversy ? Had he nothing but poetry, which has, or ought to have in it, an ingredient of tender charity in his heart, he would do this, and join in the sentiment so well expressed by the author of the Shrine:— "The traveller, passing unawares,

Shall stay his step, but not too nigh, And, hearkening to those unforced prayers, Albeit the creed he may deny, Shall own his reason less averse, And spirit, surely not the worse." -Ibid.

Protestant reader, be not alarmed; we attempt not to change your creed, nor our own; but be sure it will do neither of us much harm to step aside into some cool and quiet shade, afar from the burning glare of controversy, and even with a religious patience, or with a poetical sentiment, if you please, that may not be the worse for its softening influence, look upon a superstition, with a blessing upon its gentleness, and a hope that it may contain something more.. We love not the torch of truth itself, if it burst upon mankind like a firebrand. There are quiet spirits in the world that must turn away from such a light. We are quite aware of the evils of Popery, and that the setting up the mother as Divinity above the Redeemer-Son, blessed though all generations shall call her, is an evil-in fact, though denied as an intention, obliterating more or less the doctrine of the one intercession; and, controversially, we cannot too strongly oppose it. Yet, be it remembered, we are not discussing religion, but superstitions, in this review of the Legends of the Virgin;

and in the commencement we showed that there are characteristic differences in superstitions, and that they are not all in their nature alike odious. We love and would encourage the child's superstition that spares the robin-redbreast, because he covered the babes in the wood with leaves, and detest the religiously assumed cruel superstition of the boy who filipped a cockchafer, stuck through with a pin and a thread, in order that he might make him "preach the gospel." This is no fabrication. But if any choose to receive it as a fable, it may be worth while to ask if there be not a moral in it as good as any to be found in Æsop. There are superstitions of Suttees and Juggernaut that should be treated as crimes, and there are superstitions that are of the nature of gentle instincts, and impose a horror of cruelties. We should fear to catalogue some of the superstitions growing up among ourselves, religious and politicoreligious. Rationalism, Communism, and Mormonism, are no very light superstitions.

But to return. The painters bringing down, as we have shown, the sacred to the domestic scenes, have particularly delighted in the subjects of "The Repose." Every one is familiar with the innumerable pictures of this class, but they do not date earlier than the sixteenth century. It must be confessed that variety in treatment was not very easy. The attempts, however, led to a strange lowering of the subject, as if painting also would claim with poetry the power of bathos, or the act of sinking. We may instance pictures where the infant is learning to read. In one, we have the mother mending a little coat, while the infant, without it, at her feet is playing with a bird. We know not that the following treatment has been undertaken in art: "I remember," says Mrs Jameson, "reading a little Italian hymn, composed for a choir of nuns, and addressed to the sleeping Christ, in which he is prayed to awake; or, if he will not, they threaten to pull him by his golden curls until they rouse him to listen." There is, however, one scarcely less objectionable. Mary is seen washing linen at a fountain (which, according to a legend, miraculously springs up near the village of

Matarea); "the little Christ takes the linen out of a basket, and Joseph hangs it on a line to dry." The wellknown picture by Correggio, wherein the Virgin dips a bowl in this fountain, (one of his most beautiful works), if it is deficient in the sacred and divine, does not descend to the vulgar.

We do not attempt to follow the divisions of the subjects relating to the life of the Virgin Mary, nor to discriminate the dogmas supposed to be conveyed in the representations. A complete knowledge of them doubtless will greatly assist the collector of works of art, and enhance his pleasure; for it must be true of pictures that those will please most whose intentions are visibly carried out. The Legends of the Virgin are not so numerous as might have been expected, when we take into account the fabricating spirit of the days of legends, and that historic outlines were given as tasks to be filled up ad libitum, as the taste, or the want of it, might direct. Perhaps less license was given, as the sanctity may have been thought most honoured by being less approachable. It was necessary to the idea of the Immaculate Conception that the parents of the Virgin should appear in a peculiar character in the legend of the life. The revival of letters supplied the Franciscans with the legend of Epaphus, born of the immaculate Io. "The Franciscans, those enthusiastic defenders of the Immaculate Conception, were the authors of a fantastic idea, that the birth of the Virgin was not only immaculate, but altogether miraculous, and that she owed her being to the joyful kiss which Joachim gave his wife when they met at the gate. Of course, the church gave no countenance to this strange poetical fiction, but it certainly modified some of the representations." We confess we do not see the distinction between immaculate and miraculous. Nor do we see how the church can give countenance to the one without admitting the other. If the Church of Rome has enthroned the Virgin, ascribed to her divinity, erected to her an altar, side by side with the Father and Son; and if, practically, the greater worship is paid to her-in short, if the Immaculate Conception is to be an established article in the

creed of that church, as undoubtedly the present Pope means it to be, we do not see what can be done with the existing creeds. In fact, with that dogma, the Romish Church must be a Quaternian, not a Trinitarian Church at all; and then the Redeemer, and the one Intercessor, is removed farther from sight. The new creed interposes a veil between the people and his glory-which is thus shrouded, if not denied-not as with the veiled prophet, to conceal his humanity, but to pass a cloud over divinity itself.

"Here (in the church of the Annunciation at Florence), in the first chapel on the left as we enter, is to be found the miraculous picture of the Annunciation, formerly held in such veneration, not merely by all Florence, but all Christendom-found, but not seen, for it is still concealed from profane eyes, and exhibited to the devout only on great occasions." Nothing among the many strange mysteries strikes us as more strange than the credit which seems to be at this day given to miraculous pictures, the very materials of which may be so easily tested-and therefore, perhaps, "found, but not seen." So recently as about a year since, a miraculous picture has been exhibited in Roman Catholic chapels, and been made the text of the preacher's (a convert's) sermon, sent to this country to obtain contributions from the faithful. The story was of this kind: That a poor woman, somewhere in Italy, was desirous or instructed to build a church; but her means failed her, and only a few feet of wall were erected. To her surprise one morning, a miraculous picture of the Virgin was found upon the wall, and to this the faithful flocked with their contributions. There is a pertinent episode in the tale, of two priests who suddenly found themselves transported from Jerusalem or some distant country (for the certainty of place does not affect the story) to Italy, who appeared to attest the miracle of the picture, which they were commissioned to recognise. We refer by memory to a report of the sermon, as it was given in a highly respectable paper, as a fact of which the writer was witness. It is the practice of new converts to make up for their

previous want of faith; and it is a wily wisdom in that church to put them forward when anything very extraordinary is to be advanced; and, as if to punish the converts for old scoffing and obstinacy, the fables they promulgate seem made for a double purpose of gaining greater credence to the greater absurdities, or, failing in that, to inflict upon the new preachers a general ridicule. Should a new book of "Aurea Legenda" be wanted for the better promulgation of Popery in this country, there is doubtless many a tale that may easily be turned to good account; nor need, as we have shown, any be rejected for supposed absurdity. We can furnish Cardinal Wiseman with one for his own province of Westminster, which may, like a net, draw all the watermen over. Josephus tells of a river in Judea which runs swiftly all the days of the week, but stands still all the Sabbath. Let this be applied to the legend of Chelsea Reach. The water at Chelsea Reach is always agitated, the watermen say, because many years ago a set of fiddlers were drowned there, and the waters have been dancing ever since. There will be little difficulty in fitting, if not all, at least the principal performer with a saintship. Should the Cardinal fail to persuade the Protestant or the old Roman Catholic population-and both are ready to believe much-he may at least impose upon his own converts, and merit the applause which Voltaire bestowed upon Mahomet. The philosopher said he despised his miracles, but respected him for being able to impose on his own wife.

Among the legends there is one which includes in its dramatic effect the thief upon the cross. The Holy Family, travelling through wild places, encountered thieves, who would have maltreated them; but one of the thieves defended them, promising to his comrade forty groats and his girdle. This robber conveyed the Holy Family to his rocky stronghold; and Mary promised to him in return, that which afterwards happened to him, when he went before the Saviour into Paradise. According to another legend, the Virgin, at her assumption, bestowed her own girdle upon St Thomas; of which subject there is a fine bas-relief

by Nanni over the south door of the Duomo at Florence, representing St Thomas kneeling outside the Aureole, and receiving the girdle. After being lost for a thousand years, the relic is found by a certain Michael, of the Dagomari family in Prato, and in the city of Prato it is deposited. Henceforth the "Sacratissima Cintola della Madonna" "was famous throughout the length and breadth of Tuscany, and Prato became a place of pilgrimage."

We cannot approach the last scenes in this sacred drama, or legends of the Virgin, without an awe and reverence, arising both from the nature of the subjects, their deep and sanctified sorrows, their grandeur, their celestial termination, and the consummate genius which has bestowed upon them all the glories of art. Were these subjects totally unconnected with our religion, we should reverence them as made sublime by the highest poetry, whether the worker be poet, strictly speaking, sculptor or painter. And with such feeling, and with her heart lifted far above theology into love, and, we would almost say, sympathetic or poetic devotion, Mrs Jameson concludes "Thus, in highest heaven, yet not out of sight of earth, in beatitude past utterance, in blessed fruition of all that faith creates and love desires, amid angel hymns and starry glories, ends the pictured life of Mary, MOTHER OF OUR LORD."

But let us not imagine that the Book of Legends of the Madonna is complete. It is not finally closed. The spread of infidelity within the sovereignty of the Roman pontiff will demand a reaction of superstition. The system must be continued in the adopted line, or the populace will think the whole abandoned. There has been manifest, since this decadence of religion has been too notorious for denial, a readiness to catch hold of any delusion which particular fanaticism may commence, and to give to it as much as possible a legitimate authority. Bleeding pictures and holy coats are not the isolated miracles of modern times. That new legends of the Madonna will be fabricated, we have little doubt, since the encouragement to, if not the enforcement of, the doctrine of the "immaculate con

ception" by Pio Nono. The superstitious mind of every people in Roman Catholic countries is now more especially directed. It is true new legends will have to struggle less successfully with the common sense of this scrutinising and publishing age. But the sources of fabrication are also enlarged, and there are prodigals who, having expended the substance of their faith, are ready to devour the husks. We must expect a deteriorated manufacture.

It is but a few years since a new saint was discovered in the catacombs at Rome, and the history of the unknown relics discovered to a dreaming priest. The saintship was admitted, and in modern times, and even in Paris itself, churches have been dedicated to her. Every one knows the recent attempt to bring the Virgin within the legendary pale, in the story of her appearance to the peasant children. Were there not multitudes who believed, or affected to believe, the miracle of that visit? Had the original propagators of the tale spared some absurdities, Pio Nono himself might have adopted the legend. But the assertion that the Virgin mother did not understand the patois, was so damaging to the notion of her divinity as to spoil the legend. But we may judge by these specimen attempts of the quality of any new manufacture. The dignity, the beauty, the sentiment, the poetry of superstitions, are not likely to be revived. They began with, and were adopted by, a zealous people. They have died out long since, and any new attempts will be like the pictures of the painters of legends-will be from bad to worse. It will be difficult to make the higher personages among Roman Catholics father them. From the character of the times, there must be a necessity to take them from the worst quarters. The real charm of legends is broken.

And here we pause; and shall add but this, in reference to remarks with which we commenced this review -indeed, to its whole tenor as regards superstitions-that, as upon some we may look not without respect, upon some with pity, and on many with pardon, so we are almost inclined to

think the greater part of them preferable to that lethargic life of religion of more than the last century, which built not, painted not, sculptured not, to the glory of God. The state of our wondrously beautiful cathedrals throughout England, shows to us even now the lamentable apathy of that period of formal and frigid worship, to enter upon the causes of which would lead now to too wide a discussion. How little was done for restoration, or even the decent keeping up of these noble edifices! We are happy to acknowledge a revival of reverence for sacred places, and would even wish that they were more accessible. We do not see why it should be looked upon jealously as a superstition, if a desire is expressed that at least our cathedrals were constantly open. We believe all who enter must feel a beneficial influence. The "religio loci" is no mean thing. We wish it were in every one's power to turn aside in their daily passage through the ways of the world's business, and to seek refuge from its perplexities in the calm-inspiring repose and solemn sanctity of the grandest edifices which piety and the genius of architecture ever raised to the worship of the Maker of us all. Were opportunity given, we believe it would not be lost upon the people; and so far from encouraging superstition, we feel assured that it would be a preservative against superstitions in general, and mostly against those so generally feared-the superstitions of Rome.

The wood-cuts and plates in this work are very interesting, and entirely illustrative. We are sorry to find that Mrs Jameson has been unable, through want of health, to employ as heretofore the skill of her own hand throughout. One word as to the announcement of the coming volume of the series: We wish we could prevail upon Mrs Jameson to reconsider the title. We do not like the word

THE coming of Lady Lee to Lanscote parsonage always shone on the dreamy impressionable mind of its occupant, Josiah, like the rising of the full moon. Stately clouds attended her pure effulgence; deep shadows seemed to lie on objects not directly smitten by her radiance; and, though not averse to cheerfulness, she could command thoughts solemn and still. In her presence familiar objects grew unfamiliar, and the Curate's world was idealised.

Rosa, on the other hand, came dancing into the household like a summer morning. Shadows fled away till everything was seen only in outline and colour, whatever it had of brightness starting into view. Her very tears, when they chanced to fall, were merely refreshing, not chilling nor melancholy; and the little thing would shine out again from behind a passing cloud like the very personification of early June.

Josiah's soul, not naturally by any means cloudy, caught, therefore, an additional beam of cheerfulness, as, looking up from his flower-bed, he beheld his rosy sister coming down the lane, her bonnet hanging by its strings on her arm on account of the heat; her hair, as usual, somewhat dishevelled, as if the zephyrs took an impudent delight in sporting there more than elsewhere; and her lips parted as her breath came through, quickened by the exercise of walking, diversified by desultory runs and rushes.

As Rosa bent over her brother's stooping form, an additional freshness and perfume seemed to him to be exhaled from the flower-bed. Her reason for so stooping was to give him a sisterly kiss. But the kisses of sisters, though capable of driving adolescent bystanders to frenzy, are among the class of sweets that waste themselves on the desert air. The prospect of kissing Rosa would have made the very owl that dwelt in the belfry of Lanscote church fly hither, and hop winking in her walk in

broadest sunshine; but Josiah (in this instance much the greater owl of the two) scarce turned his cheek to her salute. Having, therefore, touched with her lips the edge of his shirt collar (for only her nose reached his cheek), she remained looking down over his shoulder, on which her hand rested, at the flower that occupied his attention.

"What is it, Josiah?"

"Observe, my child," said the Curate, who was very patriarchal to Rosa-" observe that this flower, a native of the antipodes, which you now see unfolding itself, is perhaps the first of its race that ever saw the light of an English sun. I got the seed from the Heronry, where there are other plants of the kind, but mine has been the first to flower."

"Dear me," said Rosa, "how curious! But it's not very pretty, is it?— not half so pretty as this moss-rose, or this tulip."

"But it's very rare," returned the Curate," and has some curious qualities. Don't let your bonnet hang over it, Rosa, so as to screen it from the sun, or it will be longer in blowing."

After pretending a little more interest than she felt in the flower, just to gratify the Curate, she removed both her bonnet and herself from their neighbourhood without even asking its name, which, indeed, if told her, would have been forgotten in two minutes.

But the Curate remained absorbed in his opening flower. This was a kind of event in which he took vast interest-an event that had occupied a prominent place in his thoughts for many previous days and nights. Over this flower he had bent till his spine was getting stiffened like the joints of a Hindoo devotee, only moving as the moving sun threw his shadow on the object of his devotion.

Rosa ranged the garden after her own fashion, hopping into forbidden spots to admire, face to face, some retiring floral beauty that had caught