mpulsion of a bribe. But how stands the fact?
I passed three Sabbaths in Rome; I worshipped each Sabbath in the
English Protestant chapel; and what did I see at the door of that
chapel? I saw two gendarmes, with a priest beside them to give them
instructions. And why were they there? They were there to observe all
who went in and out at that chapel; and provided a Roman had dared to
climb these stairs, and worship with the English congregation, the
gendarmes would have seized him by the collar, and dragged him to the
Inquisition. So much for the liberty the poor Romans enjoy to change
their religion. The writer of that letter with the same truth might have
told the people of England that there is no such city as Rome in all the
world.

I was much taken with the ministrations of the Rev. Francis B. Woodward,
the resident chaplain, on hearing him for the first time. He looked like
one whose heart was in his work, and I thought him evangelical, so far
as the absence of all reference to what Luther has termed "the article
of a standing or a falling Church" allowed me to form an opinion. But
next Sabbath my confidence was sorely shaken. Mr Woodward was proceeding
in a rich and sweetly pious discourse on the necessity of seeking and
cultivating the gifts of the Spirit, and of cherishing the hope of
glory, when, towards the middle of his sermon, the evangelical thread
suddenly snapped. "How are we," abruptly asked the preacher, "to become
the sons of God?" I answer, by baptism. By baptism we are made children
of God and heirs of heaven. But should we fall from that happy state,
how are we to recover it? I answer, by penance. And then he instantly
fell back again into his former pious strain. I started as if struck,
and looked round to see how the audience were taking it. But I could
discover no sign that they felt the real significancy of the words they
had just heard. It seemed to me that the English chaplain was outside
the gate for the purpose of showing men in at it; and were I the Pope,
instead of incurring the scandal of banishing him beyond the walls, I
would assign him one of the best of the many hundred empty churches in
Rome. The Rev. Mr Hastings, the American chaplain, conducted worship in
the dining-room of Mr Cass, the American Consul, to a little
congregation of some thirty persons. He was a good man, and a sound
Protestant, but lacked the peculiar qualities for such a sphere. He has
since passed from Rome and th