The Newtown bee., 1895-05-24

churches, there is little to save an ad- herent of another faith from ayailing himself of HObson's choice and doing in Rome as most of the Romans do; as the lot swung among the 400 Catholic churches, with unanimous consent we voted to go to the greatest and most magnificent of them all-St Peter,s. And does not that seem like dream, going on Sunday morning to service at St Peter's in Rome have all your life been reading about it, but, as to visit ing it in the body of flesh, why that had never entered your mind?
 The first sight of St Peter's is disap- pointing; think almost every visitor admits that. "Where is the dome of St Peter's?" you keep asking. ssIs that it Is that it? you inquire, as one great dome after another leaps into view while your tram-car is passing through the plazas and streets of lettering Italian life. No, you have not seen it yet; and from the level of the streets, it only appears when you reach the end of the street.car line near the broad plaza in front of the noble church. You expect something stately, graceful and divine, something far above earthly comparisons; can hardly say just how much the tourist ex- poets to see, but certainly it is not what he does see. And yet this which seems defect is the crowning glory of this most famous of Christian cathedrals.
 ALL ITS DIMENSIONS ARE so COLOSSAL, and every part of it is in such perfect harmony and keeping with the stupen- dous whole, that magnitude and space fail; you have no conception of them. "How high is that column, would you say," asked our guide, pointing to one of the four magnificent marble columns that hold 8 canopy over the Great Altar be- heath the majestic dome. 'sOh, about 45 feet would be my guess,'' was the re- ply of one of our party. "That is an ex- cellent estimate" said the guide with a smile ''for you have cut the exact height in two; that column is 90 feet high''-and we all held our breath.
 Once within the beautiful doors of the church, all sense of disappointment leaves you. It is an aggregation of sculpture, painting and architecture that oyer- whelms you with awe it is lnagnificence gone into excess, it is splendor run mad. Rome was not built in day, neither has any other. grand achievement been soon done; St Peters is the soul of Michael Angelo and the flaming genius of Canova and the nasterly stroke of Thorwaldsen and the divine touch of Bernini filling chapels, aisles and nave with the unrival- ed creations of their fancy and with their lofty raptures of soul expressed in mar ble and mosaic. Not even the grand genius of Michael Angelo conceived St Peters as it is to-day. One added splen. dor has suggested another, and one dar. ing flight of fancy has opened the vista | for wider view and so the mighty pile has grown. Saunter through this will
 derness of stately pillars. white statues
 soft-hded frescos, paneled ceilings, lofty domes; let your soul fill itself with tn.
 richness, and the sense of the infinite bic
 you be still. Stop here! See that statue
 in the first shrine on your right? It ii
 one of the master pieces of the grea master Angelo, the statue of the Madon
 na and the dead Christ. Stand before i
 in fixed contemplation though there ars
 many marvels of sculpture beyond, il
 will not do to hurry this by. That is tn. face of the mother, the true mother, al inspired artist conceived her; what love
 what grace, what beauty shine forth ! through that. marble that all but breathes! And that is the face of tn. Saviour of the world as one who hac caught the true meaning of His life con | ceived it; what tender grief,
 WHAT DEPTHS OF PITY,
 l what infinite touch of sorrow! Aye, thai is the Man of Sorrows, the One acquaint ed with grief.
 We pass arches, domes, mosaics, stat. l ues over the marble floor and blend with the multitude that are gathered in the chapel in the left transept, where morning service is to be held. In the sweeping areas of this mighty basilica there is room for statues and pillars uneounted, but no room for a bench or chair. except within the altar, where only the priests can go; so we place ourselves on the fringe of this mass of humanity and, poised on tiptoe, try to see what we can. The crowd soon is parting, and procession of white robed boys and priests, purpled bish- ops and a red-caped cardinal passes up from the nave. Soon there is a burst of music, followed by the fathers on the front benches intoning the solemn ser vice; and, as they alternate, the candles on the altars are extinguished one by one. Now and then, from chorus and response leaps clear voice far above the others, that, like the lark in it's morning flight