sorrowful mysteries; and the third, bearing yellow roses, the five glorious mysteries.'

It is a sort of tableau vivant, commemorating the memorable apparition of the Rosary Queen to Dominic in the grotto at Toulouse, when she came, escorted by a hundred and fifty virgin saints, to give him the precious Rosary. The members of many sisterhoods encircled the assembled orphans, with three hundred white-robed children.

'The procession moves on again down the Via Sacra,' amid the cheering crowds, and between houses whence clouds of roses and violets and other sweet-scented flowers, mingled (alas for Italian taste!) with artificial flowers, too, continually descend on it. At last it reaches the Piazza d' Armi, and halts. This public place has been so richly adorned that it seems one vast basilica; it is set with forest trees, wreathed profusely with greenery, garlanded with flowers; its walls bear eight great pictures, some testifying how, under Pius V., by the grace of the Rosary Queen, the great fight was won at Lepanto over the Turks; some bearing witness to the zeal of Leo XIII. for the Madonna of New Pompei, and to the various acts by which he proclaimed himself her votary and defender. Here, in leafy, flowery chapel, the Madonna is placed for the greatest function of the day. All her devotees the world over have been bidden to concentrate their thoughts on New Pompei at this moment, and join with their hearts in the great supplication that is to go up to her at mid-day. After the hundred orphans, with clasped hands and lifted eyes, have chanted their Ave, Regina Coelorum, the world-prayer begins:

“O august Queen of Victories, O Virgin Sovereign of Paradise, at whose mighty name the heavens rejoice and the depths tremble" (the multitude confusedly repeat the words), ""O, from the throne of clemency where thou sittest, O Mary, cast pitying eyes on us, on our families, on Italy, on Europe, on the Church. . . . We merit the sharpest scourges. But remember how on Golgotha thou didst gather the last drops of the blood Divine, the last testament of the dying Redeemer. And that last testament . . declared thee to be our Mother, the Mother of sinners. Thou art our Mother, our Advocate,

our Hope. We stretch our suppliant hands to thee, crying, Have mercy!

""We confide fully in thee; we fall at thy feet; we throw ourselves, helpless children, into the arms of the tenderest of Mothers, and now await thy longed-for mercy.

""O blessed Rosary of Mary! we will never more leave thee. Thou shalt comfort our last hours; the latest kiss of our dying lips shall be given to thee; our last breath shall call on thy name, O Queen of the Rosary of Valle di Pompei, O dear Mother of mine, O only Refuge of sinners, O Comforter of the sad. Blessed mayst thou be evermore, everywhere, on earth and in heaven !" "

The world-prayer ceased at New Pompei, only to be taken up by the votaries of its Queen in long succession the world over, as the shadow on the dial pointed to noon.

Need we point the moral of the scene, thus described in the very words of its enthusiastic organizer? That vision of the Rosary Queen flashing with gems, that prayer poured forth at her feet by the Roman hierarchy and people, with fullest Papal pomp and sanction-need we better proof how completely Rome to-day has identified herself with the great apostasy which is blotting out everywhere the name of Christ, the Divine Saviour, and substituting the name of Mary?

It were as needless as tedious to dwell on the later scenes of the festa: the solemn benediction of the Sacrament on the piazza, when the officiating Bishop of Nola utters the mystic words that, as he and his believe, transform the wafer bread into very Christ and God; the return of the procession to the Sanctuary, followed all the way by a long wave of cheering; the reading of the solemn Papal blessing (with annexed plenary indulgence) on those present, by the Pope's own representative; the long discourse pronounced in the name of the Pope; the solemn benediction of the founder and his wife; the general, stormy recitation by the great assemblage of the confession of sin, and the final blessing thereafter pronounced, to which thousands of voices respond with loud 'Evviva Maria !' (Long live Mary!). Finally, the discharge of five hundred rockets-for no Neapolitan religious festival is

complete without fireworks-the liberation of countless captive doves and larks, and the chanting of the Magnificat, bring the long day's pageant to a close.

Bartolo concludes his narrative of the great day's proceedings with these words, which he tells us constitute his lifemotto: 'The Rosary is the star guiding the voyaging of a cross, which seems ready to sink in a stormy sea; but that cross is not entirely submerged, being supported by the Rosary of Mary.'

Here is the true inward meaning of Pompeian religion! To us, and doubtless to our readers, Bartolo's chosen motto appears as false in imagery as in its theological teaching. Neither could well be worse.

XX

THE MIRACLES THAT I WANT TO SEE, BUT DO NOT FIND, AT NEW POMPEI

WH

HAT we look for in the innumerable accounts of wonders wrought by the Madonna's power, but cannot trace, are the mighty moral miracles that transform the soul of man, making homes happier and the great world better. In the long lists of miracles of healing published monthly in the Rosario we never read of drunkards reclaimed, of victims of lust restored to purity, of despairing souls filled with the peace and joy of heaven-wonders of mercy and blessing that, happily, are familiar incidents of every day to the workers in the great city missions of Protestant England, who never invoke the aid of the Madonna.

Once, as I sat waiting for the train at Valle, I saw a wretched-looking man led off to prison by two guards. In all likelihood he was wearing a picture or scapula of the Madonna of Mount Carmel ; for these are worn by the brigands, and, it is said, are always to be seen in houses of ill-fame; there is safety and protection in them. Sitting by the stall of a poor woman who sold lemonade and biscuits, and who was looking sorrowfully after the poor man, I said to her: How is it that the Madonna, who, they say, is always working miracles of healing for the sick, does not save her votaries also from theft and murder, from crime and prison?'

'Ah, sir, do you believe in all those miracles?' said she, looking wistfully at me. 'I do not do not believe in them !'

A warning notice, printed by Bartolo himself, shows how vainly we may look for moral miracles at New Pompei.

According to the founder, his New Jerusalem' is no holier than Old Jerusalem in the days of our Lord. It has its thievish traffickers in holy things also. He warns the pilgrims to buy their sacred souvenirs only at his own authorized emporium, in 'the first hall of the Sanctuary.' Shops have been opened outside for the sale of these souvenirs, but they have not been blessed in the Sanctuary,' and, though sold at a lower price, they are not genuine. Six or eight pages of Don Bartolo's Calendar are devoted to warnings. 'If you want your legacy to be duly applied, you must make it payable direct to Signor Longo himself—not “ to the Sanctuary," which is not "a moral entity."

'Beware of pseudo-orphans, false children of convicts, who go about begging; give no heed to professed guides or porters; direct to the Sanctuary.'

go

'Leave no offering in the church or the sacristy-neither is safe; pay your gift into the Hall of Offerings.'

"Trust no person who presents himself as a collector of alms for the Sanctuary or for the orphans-no, not though such collectors wear the dress of priest or monk or nun; not though they declare themselves messengers of the Avvocato Bartolo Longo.'

The last warning is very significant.

Perhaps, in view of the long-continued struggle between Bartolo and the Dominican Order for the right of administering the Sanctuary, he may some day be driven to print yet another warning- Beware of the monks of the Rosary!'

ONE THING LACKING.

Once in my travels I found myself stranded at the lonely junction of Metaponto. While waiting for the train for Naples, I was delighted to meet an American friend, travelling for a firm of agricultural implement makers. Though born of Roman Catholic parents, and reared in that faith, he was now a true Evangelical Christian, and an ardent student of the Scriptures.

Together we resolved to spend the hours of waiting in