Christ's kingdom comes; art which is not a mere jugglery of colors, a gymnastic display of effects, but a solemn, inspiring poetry, teaching us to live and die for that which is noblest and truest. I think this picture much superior to its companion, the Martyrdom of Huss, which I had already seen in America.

JOURNAL-(CONTINUED.)

WEDNESDAY, August 3. Frankfort to Cologne. Hurrah for the Rhine! At eleven we left the princely palace, calling itself Hotel de Russie, whose halls are walled with marble, and adorned with antique statues of immense value. Lo, as we were just getting into our carriage, the lost parcel! basket, shawl, cloak, and all! We tore along to the station; rode pleasantly over to Mayenz; made our way on board a steamer loaded down with passengers; established ourselves finally in the centre of all things on five stools, and deposited our loose change of baggage in the cabin. The steamer was small, narrow, and poor, though swift. Thus we began to see the Rhine under pressure of circumstances.

The French and Germans chatted merrily. The English tourists looked conscientiously careworn. Papa with three daughters peered alternately into the guide book, and out of the loophole in the awning, in evident terror lest something they ought to see should slip by them. Escaping from the jam, we made our way to the bow, carrying stools, umbrellas, and books, and there, on the very beak of all things, we had a fine view. Duly and dutifully we admired Bingen, Coblentz, Ehrenbreitstein, Bonn, Drachenfels, and all the other celebrities, and read Childe Harold on the Rhine. Reached Cologne at nine.

Thursday, August 4. We drove to the cathedral. I shall

not recapitulate Murray, nor give architectural details. I was satisfied with what I saw and heard, and wished that so magnificent a conception, so sublime a blossom of stone sculpture, might come to ripe maturity, not as a church, indeed, but rather as a beautiful petrifaction, a growth of prolific, exuberant nature. Why should not the yeasty brain of man, fermenting, froth over in such crestwork of Gothic pinnacle, spire, and column ?

The only service I appreciated was the organ and chant: hidden in the midst of forest arches of stone, pouring forth its volumes of harmony as by unseen minstrelsy, it seemed to create an atmosphere of sound, in which the massive columns seemed transfused, not standing, as it were, but floating,not resting, as with weight of granite mountains, but growing as by a spirit and law of development. Filled with those vast waves and undulations, the immense edifice seemed a creature, tremulous with a life, a soul, an instinct of its own; and out of its deepest heart there seemed to struggle upward breathings of unutterable emotion.

DEAR:

LETTER XLII.

COLOGNE, 10 o'clock, Hotel Bellevue.

The great old city is before me, looming up across the Rhine, which lies spread out like a molten looking glass, all quivering and wavering, reflecting the thousand lights of the city. We have been on the Rhine all day, gliding among its picture-like scenes. But, alas! I had a headache; the boat was crowded; one and all smoked tobacco; and in vain, under such circumstances, do we see that nature is fair. It is not enough to open one's eyes on scenes; one must be able to be en rapport with them. Just so in the spiritual world, we sometimes see great truths, - see that God is beautiful, glorious, and surpassingly lovely; but at other times we feel both nature and God, and O, how different seeing and feeling! To say the truth, I have been quite homesick to-day, and leaning my head on the rails, pondered an immediate flight, a giving up of all engagements on the continent and in England, an immediate rush homeward. Does it not seem absurd, that, when within a few days' journey of what has been the longdesired dream of my heart, I should feel so that I should actually feel that I had rather take some more of our pleasant walks about Andover, than to see all that Europe has to offer?

This morning we went to the Cologne Cathedral. In the exterior of both this and Strasbourg I was disappointed; but

in the interior, who could be? There is a majesty about those up-springing arches those columns so light, so lofty — it makes one feel as if rising like a cloud. Then the innumerable complications and endless perspectives, arch above arch and arch within arch, all lighted up and colored by the painted glass, and all this filled with the waves of the chant and the organ, rising and falling like the noise of the sea; it was one of the few overpowering things that do not satisfy, because they transport you at once beyond the restless anxiety to be satisfied, and leave you no time to ask the cold question, Am I pleased?

Ah, surely, I said to myself, as I walked with a kind of exultation among those lofty arches, and saw the clouds of incense ascending, the kneeling priests, and heard the pathetic yet grand voices of the chant surely, there is some part in man that calls for such a service, for such visible images of grandeur and beauty. The wealth spent on these churches is a sublime and beautiful protest against materialism — against that use of money which merely brings supply to the coarse animal wants of life, and which makes of God's house only a bare pen, in which a man sits to be instructed in his duties.

Yet a moment after I had the other side of the question brought forcibly to my mind. In an obscure corner was a coarse wooden shrine, painted red, in which was a doll dressed up in spangles and tinsel, to represent the Virgin, and hung round with little waxen effigies of arms, hands, feet, and legs, to represent, I suppose, some favor which had been accorded to these members of her several votaries through her intercessions. Before this shrine several poor people were kneeling, with clasped hands and bowed heads, praying with an carnestness which was sorrowful to see. "They have taken