to pray for the peace of the departed soul. The bier is borne by these hooded Brothers, while other members of the Fraternity carry tall waxen tapers, which flicker in the evening wind and throw their light upon the corpse, deepening the shadows, and bringing out every thing in bold relief. And as the solemn procession sweeps by, they chant in melancholy tones the funeral anthem— "Quantus tremor est futurus, Cuncta stricte discussurus! Turba mirum spargens sonum Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus, Cum vix justus sit securus?"* There is something indescribably touching in the whole service, as we see the glancing lights at a distance, or hear their old monastic chants floating through the long dark streets. Sometimes the voices would have about them a sorrowful wail, as if lamenting the lot of poor humanity, and crying over him they were bearing along-"Alas, for thee, my brother!" 1 Then would come a louder strain, swelling out like the surges of a far-off sea, partaking *"How shall poor mortals quake with fears, When their impartial Judge appears, Who all their causes strictly hears! His trumpet sends a dreadful tone; What plea can I, in sin, pretend? When scarce the just themselves defend?" even of a sound of triumph, as if they celebrated the Victory which one day the Dead should have over the Grave. And then, once more it would sink into a mournful note, and faintly you would catch the words of the solemn dirge they were hymning, as the wind bore to you the plaintive prayer "Miserere Domine !" There can be no life more difficult than that which passes within a Convent. Its members enter, and are at once cut off from all intercourse with the outward world, except what they can have within the limits of the highwalled garden around them. The objects of deepest earthly interest they know, are the trees and flowers whose growth they watch, and the birds which pay them a passing visit. No changes come to them, except those wrought by the gradual approach of age, as with stealthy step it almost imperceptibly draws nigh. No field of outward labor occupies their thoughts, but every thing is centered in themselves. And thus they go on through long years of solitary watching and mortification and weariness-and perpetual prayer-unvisited by any of those joys which gather around the path of social life-until at last they quietly lie down to their long sleep in the humble cemetery of the Convent. But if any have a pleasant lot, it must be the Sisters of the Convent of Santa Trinita. It is situated on the Pincian Hill, looking over the whole of Rome which rises beneath it, with its pinnacles, and domes, and towers. What a dreamy existence must its inmates pass, while every thing on which the eye rests invites to meditation! The deep blue of an Italian sky is over their heads-the luxuriance of nature is around them—while at their feet are scattered the noblest monuments of ages that are gone. We had fre quently been told that the most touching music to be heard in Rome was that of their Vesper service, but that some persons having lately misbehaved during its performance, an order had been issued to exclude all Protestants. For this of course we could not blame them. No one has a right to go into a foreign church merely to gratify his curi osity, and then by levity interrupt the worship. However he may differ from them, he should regard their feelings for the sanctity of the place and the service. But the conduct of foreigners in Rome is generally in this particular very exceptionable. They seem to regard the most solemn rites and ceremonies of the Church of Rome as merely intended for their amusement, and act accordingly. There certainly is nothing religious in their conduct, and the most wel can say of it is, that it may be somewhat classical, for they take in a degree the place of the Chorus in the ancient Greek Tragedy, by continually making their comments aloud, and giving their opinion on whatever is going forward. Some of our friends had lately attempted to gain admittance to this service, but without success. We determined, however, to make the trial, and one afternoon walked up to the Convent. The chapel was closed, so we proceeded to a side door and boldly rang the bell. In a moment, a nun in her close white cap appeared at, the little grating, and after reconnoitering us, inquired our business. We stated, that we came to attend Vespers; whereupon we were informed, that we could not be admitted, and the grating closed. We lingered about on the Pincian Hill, until a short time after seeing some persons ascend the steps who we supposed to be members of the Roman Catholic Church, we joined them and mingled with their party. Fortunately a different nun came to the grating, through which a brief conversation took place, when the door opened, and we all quietly walked in together. The upper part of the chapel was separated from the rest by a high grating, within which was the altar, while at the other end was a lofty organ gallery communicating with the Convent. In a few moments a priest with four or five attendants entered, and knelt before the Altar. Then a side door within the grating opened, and some forty scholars, their heads covered with white veils, came in, and after gracefully kneeling for a moment before the crucifix, ranged themselves on each side. In the high choir gallery we could just see the white caps of the nuns appearing above the railing. At length the service began. The organ played a few fitful notes, when a single female voice was heard from among the nuns, chanting in the most plaintive manner. It seemed indeed to wail out as if a funeral dirge. Others presently joined in, and the sounds sweetly filled the Chapel. They ceased, and instantly were heard the manly voices of the priest and his attendants, as kneeling like statues, with their faces towards the altar, they sang the response. Then came again those soft and melancholy tones from the organ gallery, and thus they alternated through the whole Evening Psalms. It was the only time in the service of the Church that we had heard male and female voices together, and the contrast was striking. I know not why it was too that the voices of these nuns sounded so plaintively, but they seemed in harmony with the service, heard in the waning twilight, and the whole effect was deeply devotional. The tones at times seemed to be almost unearthly, as if they had been purified from the frailty of this lower world-the outpourings of a spirit utterly divorced from all the cares of this wearing life This charm was Madame de Stael says-" Those who have not heard Italían singing can form no idea of music. The human voice is soft and sweet as the flowers and skies. made but for such a clime: each reflect the other. The Italians have ever devotedly loved music. Dante, in his Purgatory, meets the best singer of his day, and asks him for one of his delicious airs. The entranced spirits forget themselves as they hear it, until their guardian recalls them to the truth." And this view of Italian enthusiasm is correct. In other lands they may bring music to the highest point of perfect execution, but here they seem intensely to feel it.The sweet sounds to which they listen enter into their very souls. And when, in addition, the sentiments embodied lead our thoughts on to the solemn realities of the Future, the strains fall upon the ear with a touching power of which words can give no adequate idea. But to return to the Convent Vespers. Besides ourselves, there were only about forty persons present, all of whom were undoubtedly members of the Church of Rome, except one English gentleman, who probably gained admission very much as we did. Their deeply devotional manner, as they knelt upon the marble pavement, contributed much to the solemnity of the scene. They were evidently not mere spectators, but worshippers. As the service proceeded, the twilight deepened, the incense spread through the dark arches. above us like a thin white cloud, and the only lights being the candles about the Altar, the rest of the Chapel was gradually involved in gloom. There was an absence of all that parade and show which generally mark the services of the Church of Rome, and altogether it was the most impressive. one which we attended in Italy. For months afterwards we were haunted by the solemn melody of these tremulous, plaintive tones. They reminded us of those "spiritual creatures," whose songs, when "in full harmonic number joined," our first parents heard in the bowers of Paradise, “from the steep of echoing hill or thicket" "Celestial voices Sole, or responsive each to other's note, |