« AnteriorContinuar »
the young folks for five miles round. About eight o'clock she rose and said, "Now, ladies, I must go and see that my John's supper is ready. Ann sometimes forgets it, and he will be home soon, I expect. He's bad a long day over the hill getting in the oats.
"We had better think of returning, now," said Hary, when she had gone. "Old Day and his wife go to bed at half-|iast eight; and we will not infringe on their habits. William, will you see about the ponies; and you, Richard, will you bring the children to the house?"
The children grumbled a little, after their childish fashion, at being obliged to go away so early. They are wont to believe that pleasure will or ought to last for ever. Before we left, John Day came home; a hale, fresh-coloured old man, with a steady, pleasant countenance. He greeted us all heartily and respectfully, said he was "glad we had kept his old woman company while he was away;" that " the days was long and lonesome to her, biding all day in the house by herself."
"But I don't bide in the house all day, John," replied his wife; "or how would we have such a garden?" and she looked at her flowers with pride.
"Ah! that's true; she's a fine hand at a garden,
isn't she, Mr. Charles? She's so uncommon fond of
it, tuat I mind one day last summer, coming home,
as I have now, after a tired day, she'd been trimming
. tint shite rose-tree, and she had clean forgot my
supjso. But that's the only time she ever neglected
1 ter dutj to me," and he smiled and looked at her
affectionately. Mrs. Day turned away with a pleased
J smile, and gathered one or two beautiful roses from
the said tree,—Little Alice, as she called it,—and gave
cat to each of the ladies, with a kind "God bless
you!" and a whispered word, "If ye ever have a
little one, put the dried leaves of this flower under its
first pillow, and think of Sarah Day, of Comb Hill.
ft may bring you good luck, and can do you no harm."
"What a singular request!" I said to Mary, as we went through the dark wood on our way home. "She i= not at all a person I should have suspected of taring strong feelings, a poetical temperament, and a pe* superstition. She looks so quiet, calm, and jogtrot If I had not seen her in the churchyard, and afterwards in her own garden, and in the midst of taese children, I should have said she was nothing at «11 remarkable."
"Do you think her remarkable now?" inquired one of the young men.
"Ye3,1 do; and I begin to think the Linley Valley and the surrounding hills have none but remarkable ^habitants. I have seen only a glimpse of Mrs. Day, and oat of that glimpse Wordsworth could have made a poem. She is a strong, pure, gentle woman. How far superior to a dozen women of her age who pass through my mind at this moment! votaries of the world, whose only object in life seems to be to keep »p a semblance of a foolish youth! who have done nothing useful—whose mind is frittered away in
vanity—and who would probably look down upon Mrs. Day as upon an inferior. Yet they go to church on Sundays as she does. Oh! not as she does. She goes there to look on the face of the living God, and she sees it; they go there to look at the congregation and hear the preacher; and that is all they see and hear."
Charles Chester quoted from George Herbert's "Temple"—
"He that desires to see
"That is it," I said. "It is because she has led an active, useful life in the sphere in which she was born; and in her religion is 'sincere, entire, constant and humble;' it is on this account that she is better than many women, than most women; it is on this account that she gains love and honour from all; for, indeed, virtue is the only noble, honourable, and lovely thing."
"There are not many Mrs. Days in the world!" exclaimed Carey, as we emerged from the wood upon the open space on the top of the hill, and looked down upon Linley village, half hidden in mist.
"No; but that is the very reason why we should all do our best to increase their number. Precept and example have not lost their efficacy in human nature," said Charles, gravely.
"We may increase the number of women like Mrs. Day, perhaps; but we cannot iucrease the number of hills like this, Charles," said I. "As i have been here once, and seen both Mrs. Day and Comb Hill, you may be sure I shall find my way up hither again."
"See how slowly the mist is curling up from that end of the valley, and how fast the sun seems to be going down," said Mary. "We must not linger, or it will be dark before we get home."
"Come, children, now for a run," cried Richard; and away they all went down the hill, leaving Mary, Kitty and me with Charles. We went on slowly but steadily, and talked of Mrs. Day and her unassuming character, and her uneventful life, nil the way home.
Ever since that evening, when I read or hear of simple goodness in a woman, which makes itself fell in the mere presence, and brings a blessing with it, on all occasions, I remember Mrs. Day of Comb Hill, and try to recall her still eyes and her peaceful, unworldly look; and I say to myself, "So looked this or that woman" whose goodness has become famous. She is sister in spirit to Mrs. Day of Comb Hill.
In the sciences every one has so much as he really knows and comprehends; what he believes only, and takes upon trust, arc but shreds; which, however well in the whole piece, make no considerable addition to his stock who gathered them. Such borrowed wealth, like fairy money, though it were gold in the hand from which he received it, will be but leaves and dust when he comes to use it.—Lode on the Understanding, book i. c. iv. § 23.
LEGENDS OF THE MONASTIC ORDERS.1
Mrs. Jameson has written much and ably on ancient Art,—on that portion of it, at least, which is associated with the past ages of Christianity; her knowledge has been acquired by very extensive reading, and she has become intimately acquainted with the most curious and tiie best works of art, by frequent visits to the most famous collections throughout Europe. She writes not only learnedly, but eloquently; takes a broad, comprehensive, and liberal view of the subject in hand, and irresistibly compels her readers onward in the pursuit of a theme, which, under less pleasant and skilful guidance, would possibly possess little attraction, even in these days of almost universal erudition.
Aud when we consider the intimate relationship that formerly existed between Christianity and Art,— how, notwithstanding the obscurity which surrounded both, they progressed together, and, we will go so far as to say, assisted each other through a long period of darkness, till the light of the Reformation showed a new starting-point for their future career, and each pursued a course distinct from, and independent of, the other;—when this, wc say, is considered, it does seem strange that men should regard the records of those periods, even with all their superstition and fanaticism, as little better than "old wives' tales," and unworthy the notice of thinking and rational beings. It should, however, always be borne in mind, that, in the days when the followers of a pure religion— debased as it undoubtedly too often was by ignorance and imposition—evoked the aid of art to promulgate its tenets and enlorce its practice, there was scarcely any other channel through which this object could be attained: education was restricted to the cell and the cloister; books were unknown beyond the walls of the monastery and the convent; oral leaching, even when exercised, hud little power to convert, because the minds of the multitude were unprepared for its reception; there remained then no other means by which they could be so effectually taught the charities of life, and see exemplified the virtues of the religion they professed, as by symbolical representations; for the eye may be easily made the medium of communication to the understanding and the heart, when they can comprehend and feci no other. Hence the priesthood of former ages were glad to avail themselves of the assistance of the artist in working out their objects; and hence their churches and ecclesiastical edifices were filled with pictures of saints, and martyrs, and holy men, undergoing the trials and afflictions which gave them a title to the crown of immortality. It was just the same spirit that led the most polished nations of antiquity—the rulers of Greece aud Rome—to place their heroes on the roll of heathen mythology, and summon the worshippers to temples reared to the honour of mortal divinities;
(1) "Legends of the Monastic Orders as Represented in the Fine Arts. Forming the Second Series of Sacred and Li'gcndary Art." By Mrs. Jameson. London, Longman &: Co.
where the deeds of the mighty were sung in preans, and offerings were exultingly laid on the altars of sacrifice. And thus the ministers of the simple, unostentatious religion of Christ, while openly rejecting Polytheism, unquestionably favoured its practice—in many cases without any unworthy or insincere motive —by appealing to the senses of a rude and credulous people, aud "making them gods who are not gods."
We trust to be acquitted of all superstitious and irreverent feeling,—of all sympathy with the absurd uses and doctrines of the Romanists,—if we express our agreement with Mrs. Jameson's opinion, that the poetical and traditional saints of the early ages of that church ought to have, even for those who dissent from it, a deep and lasting interest. For, she says, in speaking of them as they are represented in art:—
"Where the information has been, through ignorance or incapacity, most imperfect and inadequate, it is still consecrated through its original purpose, and through its relation to what wc hold to be most sacred, most venerable, most beautiful, and most gracious, on earth or in heaven. Therefore the angels still hover before us with shining, wind swift wings, as links between the terrestrial and the celestial; therefore evangelists and apostles are still enthroned as the icpositaries of truth; the fathers and confessors of the Church still stand robed in authority as dispensers of a diviner wisdom; the martyrs, palm-sceptrcd. show us what once was suffered, and could again be suffered, for truth and righteousness' fake; the glorified penitents still hold out a blessed hope to those who, in sinning, have loved much; the virgin patronesses still represent to us the Christian ideal of womanhood in its purity and its power. The image might be defective, but to our forefathers it became gracious and sanctified through the suggestion, at least, of all they could conceive of holiest, brightest, and best. The lesson conveyed, either by example or pictured parable, was always intelligible, and, in the hands of great and sincere artists, irresistibly impressive and attractive. To us, therefore, in these later times, such representations are worthy of reverent study, for the sake of their own beauty, or for the sake of the spirit of love and faith in which they were created."
There is, wc should presume, nothing in this argument to excite controversy, and yet we can readily imagine it might prove a cause of offence. But the religious faith of any community, however, in one's own opinion, removed from the right path, is entitled to respect, simply because it is a religious faith, aud therefore an acknowledgment of a superior Being whose attributes arc wisdom and goodness. We may reject their creed, we may deplore their errors, we may deride their mummeries, we may labour earnestly for their conversion; but wc have no right to doubt the honesty and sincerity of their hearts, nor should we refuse them the testimony of admiration for their zeal, though that zeal be "without knowledge." It must moreover be borne in mind, that if the outward religious ceremonies of the Romish church glittered with vain and empty pageantry so as to become almost a religion of sights and sounds, there were, at the successive periods of which Mrs. Jameson writes, thousands who knew little of its outward show, and worshipped at lowly and very humble slirines. These had little else to support them in their faith than the testimony of their consciences to truths taught by men as humble as themselves, and as far removed from the pomp and splendour of vast ecclesiastical establishments. What would be the purpose here of imposition? And is there nothing to be learned from the examples which have come down to us, of their patience, and meekness, and gentleness, and purity of life? It seems a great pity that writers of the present day—a day whose watchword is "liberty " in all things—should be called upon to defend themselves from the charge of discipleship, even when writing a history of facts almost without a comment. Mrs. Jameson's former work on "Sacred and Legendary Art"—to which, by the way, the volume now under review is a necessary sequel— has subjected her to the accusation of having spoiled her book by making it Roman Catholic. This is her reply:—
'•' Bat I am not a Roman Catholic:—how, therefore, teald I honestly write in the love of thought, feeling, WDTiction, natural and becoming in one of that faith 1 1 hare had to tread what all will allow to be difficult sad dangerous ground. How was this to be done safely, iad without offence, easily given in these days 1 Not, sarely, by swerving to the right and to the left;—not by tit affectation of candour;—not by leaving wholly aside specu of character and morals which this department of the fine arts, the representations of monastic life, Hrtssrily place before us. There was only one way in vluch the task undertaken could be achieved in a right sprit—by going straight forward, according to the best iigau I had, and ssiying what appeared to me the truth, ju'oras my subject required it; and my subject—let srspeat it here—is artistic and aesthetic, not religious. Ha is too much of egotism, but it has become necessary '•'ifoid ambiguity. I will only add that, as from the '-.Sinning to the end of this book there is not one word al« to my own faith—my own feelings; so I truly hope i»re is not one word which can give offence to the sanest and devout reader of any persuasion :—if there W, 1 am sorry;—what can I say more 1"
Mrs. Jameson's volumes have been written, not with the view of offering an apology for monacliism, but to show how the works of the great masters of art who owe their fame to this often vilified system may be rightly interpreted. Painting, as we have before observed, was one of the means employed to bring the mind of man into obedience to the rule of faith, and i powerful engine it became, when proceeding from a Eind enthusiastically imbued with the spirit of its tieme. Every one knows, by his own experience, 'bat impression a fine picture, whatever its subject, saves on the memory, and how the recollection of it wiU eiing to us—imperfect it may be, like some flitting siadow—long after it has passed before the eyes. It B not to be wondered at then, that nations who were sating in comparative darkness while yet removed but * short distance from the great fountain of light which broke forth at the Christian epoch, and whose -ars had heard some faint echoes of the miracles then performed, and of the persecutions and martyrdoms which the intervening periods had witnessed, should regard with awe and veneration the pictured representations of those who had "fought the fight of Uilh," and of their actions. And if monacliism had
done nothing more than record these deeds, and preserve them from perishing, it would be entitled to the gratitude of every succeeding generation of Christian men—certainly of every lover of art. But monacliism did more than this: there is not a. blessing which we of the enlightened nineteenth century enjoy —there is nothing of which we are proud—that we do not owe, either directly or indirectly, to it. We are no apologists for this system; we should grieve — heartily—to see it prevailing again; but we cannot shut our eyes to facts, and wc must speak justly of these facts. The mental darkness which covered the civilised world after the barbaric hordes of Alaric and Attila had passed over its surface, might have existed until now, had not the few followers of Christianity, forming themselves into monastic institutions—at first "no bigger than a man's hand," but afterwards swelling and spreading over the earth—kept alive some sparks of intelligence and vitality. True, they were for a long period concealed ; the gems lay hid in obscure and far-away places; there was "neither voice nor language," for many years, to tell of their existence; the Goth and the Hun, like the lava from the fiery mountain upon Herculaiieum, had overspread all that was beautiful, and bright, and excellent; but they were still living, and ready to come forth with renewed splendour when the fitting time had arrived for their reappearance. Let us sec how eloquently Mrs. Jameson writes on this subject.
"Monachism in art, taken in a large sense, is historically interesting, as the expression of a most important era of human culture. We are outliving the gross prejudices which once represented the life of the cloister as being from first to last a life of laziness and imposture: we know that, but for the monks, the light of liberty, and literature, and science, had been for ever extinguished; and that, for six centuries, there existed, for the thoughtful, the gentle, the inquiring, the devout spirit, no peace, no security, no home but the cloister. There, learning trimmed her lamp; there, contemplation pruned her wings; there, the traditions of art, preserved from age to age by lonely and studious men, kept alive in form and colour the idea of a beauty beyond that of earth—of a might beyond that of the spear and the shield.—of a divine sympathy with suffering humanity. To this we may add a stronger claim on our respect and moral sympathies. The protection and the better education given to women in these early communities; the venerable and distinguished rank assigned to them when, as governesses of their order, tbey became in a manner dignitaries of the Church; the introduction of their beautiful and saintly effigies, clothed with all the insignia of sanctity and authority, into the j decoration of places of worship and books of devotion,— did more, perhaps, for the general cause of womanhood; than all the boasted institutions of chivalry."
There is, however, a dark side to this glowing pic- | ture, but wc do not care to hold it up; nor is our authoress, with all her respect for these institutions and the dwellers in them, slow in acknowledging their errors and failings. She relates a legend to show how eager the monks often showed themselves to be—in a sly way too—to exalt their own particular Order, and to advance their own objects, more than those of the religion or the morality they professed. It is, as she
says, " a specimen not unworthy of Julm Bunyan, if John had been a Dominican friar instead of a Puritan tinker:" —
"A certain scholar in the university of Bologna, of no good repute, either for his morals or his manners, found himself once (it might have been in a dream) in a certain meadow not far from the city, and there came on a terrible storm; and he fled for refuge until he came to a house, where, finding the door shut, he knocked and entreated shelter. And a voice from within answered, ' I am Justice; I dwell here, and this house is mine; but as thou art not just, thou canst not enter in.' The young man turned away sorrowfully, and proceeding furtner, the rain and the storm beating upon hiiu, he came to another house; and again he knocked and entreated shelter: and a voice from within replied, * I am Truth; I dwell here, and this house is mine; but as thou lovest not truth, thou canst not enter here." And further on he came to another house, and again besought to enter; and a voice from within said, 'I am Peace; I dwell here, and this house is mine; but as there is no peace for the wicked, and those who fear not God, thou canst not enter here.' Then he went on further, being much afflicted and mortified, and he came to another door and knocked timidly, and a voice from within answered, •' I am Mercy; I dwell here, and this house is mine; and if thou wouldat escape from this fearful tempest, repair quickly to the dwelling of the brethren of St. Domiuick; that is the only asylum for those who are truly penitent.' And the scholar failed not to do as this vision had commanded. He took the habit of the Order, and lived henceforth an example of every virtue."
With the exception of the last, the extracts we nave made have been selected from the introduction to the volume, in which is traced the rise and progress of monastic institutions from their earliest establishment, till the period when they may be said to have covered the whole of Christian Europe, and to have had no small inliuence in the political affairs of every country where they prevailed. It was about the seventh century after the death of St. Benedict, or in the tliirteenlh of the Christian era, that the spirit broke forth which has left us—mouldering, and timeworn, and despoiled as they are—some of the grandest productions of human genius that the world ever saw, or most probably will see;—cathedrals, abbeys, monasteries, massive in their proportions, exquisite in their rich and delicate carvings;—sculptures, rude perhaps in comparison with the finished works of the classical epochs, but noble, nevertheless, and full of dignity;— pictures, produced indeed in the twilight of art, yet evincing the depth of human feeling and the fervor of human faith. To understand fully the character of these conceptions, it is necessary to know something of the causes and results of the state of spiritual excitement at the period referred to.
"There had been nearly a hundred years of desolating wars. The Crusades had upheaved society from its depths, as a storm upheaves the ocean, and changed the condition of men and nations. Whole provinces were left with half their population, whole districts remained uncultivated; whole families, and those the highest in the land, were extinguished, and the homes of their retainers and vassals left desolate. Scarce a hearth in Christendom beside which thero wept not some childloss, husbandless, hopeless woman. A generation sprang up, physically predisposed to a sort of morbid exaltation,
and powerfully acted on by the revelation of a hitherto unseen, unfelt world of woe. In the words of Scripture, 'men could not stop their cars from hearing of blood, nor shut their eyes from seeing of evil." There was a deep, almost universal, feeling of the presence and the burden of sorrow; an awakening of the conscience to wrong; a blind, anxious groping for the right; a sense that what had hitherto sufficed to humanity would suffice no longer. But in the uneasy ferment of men's minds, religious fear took the place of religious hope, and the religious sympathies and aspirations assumed in their excess a disordered and exaggerated form. The world was divided between those who sought to comfort the afflictions, and those who aspired to expiate the sins of humanity. To this period we refer the worship of Mary Magdalene, the passion for pilgrimages, for penances, for martyrdoms, for self-immolation to some object or some cause lying beyond xelf. An infusion of Orientalism into Western Christianity added a most peculiar tinge to the religious enthusiasm of the time, a sentiment which survived in the palpable forms of art long after the cause had passed away. Pilgrims returned from the Holy Land, warriors redeemed from captivity among the Arabs and Saracens, brought back wild wonders, new superstitions, a more dreamy dread of the ever-present invisible, enlarging in the minds of men the horizon of the possible, without enlarging that of experience. With a more abundant food for the fancy, with a larger sphere of action, they remained ignorant and wretched. As one, whose dungeon-walls have been thrown down by an earthquake in the dead of night, gropes and stumbles amid the ruins, and knows not, till the dawn comes, how to estimate his own freedom, how to use his recovered powers,—thus it was with the people. But what was dark misery and bewilderment in the weak and ignorant, assumed in the more highly endowed a higher form; and to St Francis and his Order wo owe what has been happily called the mystic school in poetry and painting: that school which so strongly combined the spiritual with the sensual, and the beautiful with the terrible, and the tender with the inexorable; which first found utterance in the works of Dante, and of the ancient painters of Tuscany and Urnbria. It has been disputed often wheiher the suggestions of Dante influenced Giotto, or the creations of Giotto inspired Dante: but the true influence and inspiration were around both, and dominant over both, when the two greatest men of their age united to celebrate a religion of retribution and suffering; to solemnize the espousals of sanctity with the self-abnegation which despises all things, rather than with the love that pardons and the hope that rejoices; and which, in closing ' the gates of pleasure,' would have shut the gates of mercy on mankind."
But it is time that we passed on to the immediate subject-matter of this highly interesting volume, and among the numerous " legends " therein narrated we could extract, did our limits permit, many equally beautiful, affecting, and characterised by the noblest motives that actuate humanity. Mrs. Jameson arranges her book into three divisions, according to the founders of the three great monastic Orders, including under each head the various minor Orders that sprung from them. The Benedictines, as the earliest, are placed first on the list, with their followers, the C:\maldolese, the Vallambrosians, the Carthusians, and the Cistercians: next come the Augustiucs, with their off-shoots —mostly of minor importance; and then the Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, and Jesuits, each of which claims its own separate and distinct founder, whose laws and precepts were implicitly obeyed by their respective disciples, so far at least as to avoid Set separation or secession. The founders of these various religious establishments were all remarkable nea—men of genius, of deep insight into human character, of determined will, of large sympathies, of high aspirations, and of unquestionable piety; differing as Dach from each other in character, as their respective communities differed from each other in aim and purpose. The Benedictine Order, as the earliest, the most interesting and important—the great civilisers, in fart, of the modern world—claim a few words at our hands. The pictured effigies of the saintly personages of this renowned and widely-spread Order offer to the infective mind associations of no common interest, and ire suggestive of a multitude of thoughts,—some painful and humiliating, such as wait on all institutions springing out of the temporary conditions of society and our imperfect human nature; yet, predominant orer these, feelings of gratitude, sympathy, and admiration; if not in all cases due to the individual represented, yet belonging of right to the community whose sre*t and glorious privilege it was to raise up the Uif-saTage serfs of Europe to a sentient and intelligent being, and to build and endow a new world, of comparative order and beauty, out of the ruins of the old. Tie post of honour thus assigned to them they are entitled to,—
* First, as the earl; missionaries of the north of Earspt, who carried the light of the Gospel into those
.1 Tu4i «f Britain, Qaul, Saxony, and Belgium, where tssttauan still solemnized impure and inhuman riles; —who with the Gospel carried also peace and civilization, aid became the refuge of the people, of the serfs, tie dares, the poor, the oppressed, against the feudal s/ranis and military spoilers of those barbaric times.
"Secondly, as the sole depositaries of learning and lii arts through several centuries of ignorance; as the collectors and transcribers of books, when a copy of the Bible was worth a king's ransom; .... we are ledebkd to them for the preservation of many classical remains of inestimable value; for instance, of the whole or the greater portion of the works of Pliny, Sillnst, and Cicero. They were the fathers of Oothic irehitecture; they were the earliest illuminators and iianers; and to crown their deservings under this head, 'ie inventor* of the gamut; and the first who instituted i school of music, was a Benedictine monk, Guido •i Arezzo.
* Thirdly, as the first agriculturists who brought L3i«Hectaal resources, calculation, and law to bear on 'is cultivation of the soil; to whom we owe experistntal farming, and gardening, &c; wherever they car-\-A the cross, they carried also the plough."
Of the Carthusians it is remarked:—
"The sumptuous churches and edifices of this selfi=nying Order date from the sixteenth century; about '.bat period we find the first application of their increas'■:■■? foods to purposes of architecture and artistic decorat'toa. They had previously been remarkable for their fine libraries, and their skill in gardening. They were '■be first and the greatest horticulturists of Europe; of tbem it may be said, ' that wherever they settled they tj-Ie the desert blossom as the rose.' When they built ;.ar first nest amid the barren heights of Chartreux, •iij converted the stony waste into a garden. When ■atr were set down amid the marshes at Pavia, they inined, they tilled, they planted, till the unhealthy iwamp was clothed for miles around with beauty and
fertility: it is now fast sinking back to its pristine state, but that is not the fault of the few poor monks who, after years of exile, have lately been restored to their cells, and wander up and down the precincts of that wondrous palace-like church and once smiling garden, like pale phantoms come back to haunt their earthly homes."
But we must bring both our quotations and our remarks to a close, trusting that we have shown and said enough to induce a perusal of Mrs. Jameson's learned and interesting volume;—learned as regards the research and artistic knowledge she displays in it; interesting in the tales and facts related of those whose names figure therein. Making every allowance for the fictions with which many of these histories arc surrounded, there is nevertheless a large portion of truth at the foundation; and a sensible reflective mind will be able, easily, to separate the gold from the alloy. It is astonishing how ignorance, or prejudice, or indifference blind the uudcrstandiug and warp the judgment: men wander over the earth to seek out and admire the works of their fellow-men, but they know little, generally, and care less, for those who created them. They gaze upon the noble ruins of some old abbey or monastery, heedless that secluded monks caused those grey columns to rise and those lofty arches to spring, and that other generations of studious men were silently employed within their walls in working out the regeneration of mankind. They pace up and down the aisles and cloisters of some cathedral, yet standing in its beauty and its power, forgetful that it was reared to the honour of God by these self-same devoted ministers of his temple. They admire the varied hues which the sunlight sheds through painted windows, from apostles, and saints, and martyrs,—too often regarding the pictured representations as only handing down to us the memories of fanatics and imposters. They stand before a portrait of a St. Boniface or a St. Clara, ignorant that the one abjured the world on account of its wickedness; and perhaps associating the other—one of England's earliest martyrs to the faith—with much that is sensual. Let us not, however, be misunderstood; we are no advocates for saintworship or image-worship, but we would that the lives and characters of those who are designated as " saints" should be well understood ere they arc passed by as unworthy of notice, or subjected to ridicule. Ours is an age of reason and of realities, it ought not the less to be an age of faith;—faith in our own pure and more enlightened creeds, which have sprung from those beliefs for which the heroes and heroines, if wc may be permitted to use the term, of Mrs. Jameson's book "endured a great fight of afflictions." In closing the volume—a most valuable addition, by the way, to the art-literature of our country—wc do so with this reflection, that, while wc regard such histories and such representations as only the "types and shadows of good things," worthy of being known, and imitated up to a certain point, it ought to be matter of consolation and thankfulness to each one of us that Christian art is not now needed to enforce Christian charity or induce religious belief.