tion and manner, as almost disturbed our gravity; indeed, we think we shall never forget the strange manner in which he pronounced his inductory words, Quando o figliuoli miei," &c. The subject of the discourse was an eulogium on S. Carlo, and very inadequate was it for that adorable character; it was a mere "thing of shreds and patches," taken from the life of the saint, and pillaged from musty chronicles, and stale eulogies, with which the Catholic clergy have thought it expedient annually to address some of their incalculable host of saints. We observed, that a very small portion of the audience had the patience to stay and hear the oration; the far greater part dispersed when the music was finished. The discourse, though stupid, had at least the merit of being short: when it was finished, the multitude began to re-enter in crowds; we put ourselves in the living stream, and were carried by it to a grated bronze door in the left aisle of the church, which, we were informed, led down to a vault where lay the body of S. Carlo. After waiting there a few minutes the bolts were drawn from within; the door opened, a murmur was uttered by the multitude, and they rushed in. We were soon carried onward; we descended a flight of steps, and found ourselves in an illuminated chapel, to the right of which, and just under the Altare Maggiore of the cathedral, was a large glass case, with rich carved and gilt frame work; this case enclosed the body of the saint, lying on his back, dressed in his fine robes, with his mitre on his head, and his crosier by his side. We were soon admitted to a closer inspection; some three or four steps led up to the case, which the crowd were permitted to approach, a few at a time; we ascended in our turn, and by the strong glare of the light saw the dried face and hands of the holy man. The head seemed pretty well preserved, but still we fancied it was of a browner hue than the many bodies we have seen kept in a similar waysome of them even for a longer period. The sight of the benevolent, the pious, the devoted Carlo of Borromeo (who deserves much higher and better distinction than a place in the

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Catholic calendar) lying before us, a hollow dried case, was not to be seen without emotion-there was also wherewith to promote feelings of awe and devotion in the circumstance of place, and in the deep peals of the organ in the church above, which reverberated through the vault. It was impossible, however, to maintain these long; a dapper priest caught hold of us familiarly by the arm, and told us, in a business-like manner, that we must pass on and let others see the sight. We accordingly descended the steps, and stood aside a minute or two to observe the crowd as it passed in succession before the body; the groups were motley in the extreme, and in general their behaviour was as careless and irreverend as possible-here, for example, a tittering Miss, attended by a smirking beau, hastened up the steps, had a glance, and ran down again-there a dirty, grinning mechanic, just escaped from his shop to have a peep, hurried by, and was followed, perhaps, by a scented, priggish, talkative advocate, conducting some country cousins" to see the show,-there a group of indifferent priests was succeeded by a group of just as indifferent opera dancersin short, we were struck by a deal of confusive noise, and idle curiosity; by a great deal that reminded us of a show at a fair, but by hardly any thing partaking of religious solemnity. We only saw the streaming eye and clasped hands of devotion in two or three miserable wretches, and a few decayed devotees.

We soon abandoned our observations, and ascending a flight of steps opposite those by which we had descended to the chapel, we found ourselves again in the cathedral. It was full of people, some repairing to the subterranean chapel, some returning thence, and others gazing round the church at a number of ill-painted pictures, representing the life of the saint.

The vulgar assert that the preservation of S. Carlo's body is the consequence of a particular miracle: the fact is, that the intervention of very little of the miraculous is required: we have seen, in the catacombs of a monastery near Palermo, the bodies of a number of monks, standing up

in niches, in quite as good preservation as S. Carlo's; and many of them have been dead as long. In the vaults of the church of *** at Naples, (in which the dead of many of the noble families of that city are deposited) we have seen bodies, some dead upwards of a hundred years, in excellent preservation.

These awful receptacles, with others in the same capital, are opened once a year, the of September, "Il giorno dei morti," to the public, who flock to them as to every other sight: inscriptions, much in the style of our tomb-stones, are placed by each niche; the sombre vaults are lighted with torches and hanging lamps; the little chapels are opened; and masses are said, and fresh flowers are placed by the altar, and by the tombs. We once accompanied a lady there, who discovered several old acquaintances and relatives by their faces: she made us observe one of her uncles who had been dead many years, and she said she saw instantly the resemblance he bore to her father. It must be curious for a living being to walk through these dark galleries, and see a long line of his ancestors and friends, and mark the niche which he shall one day occupy, as mute and hollow a thing as the rest!

But to return-the want of solemnity, and even of decency, which we remarked, is not at all peculiar to this fête, or to Milan. In every city of Italy that we have visited, religious festivals are frequented (except by a small number) merely as amusive shows: we have witnessed scenes, in the cathedral at Naples, as burlesque as we ever saw in the booth of a wandering conjuror: even the famed festival of St. Peter's at Rome, has little solemn or imposing in it, except what is produced by the music, the grandeur of the edifice, and the sun-like brilliancy of the illumination.

When the crowd had dispersed, we devoted half an hour to the examination of the interior of the cathedral. It is a pity this is not finished; for, in architecture, every deficiency, however small, rivets the eye and diverts the attention; it is also curious that so very little is wanting to complete at least the

pavement, which, in its present state, is a considerable deformity. On the whole, however, the interior is grand: the lofty dome, the painted windows, the massy columns, and the long twilight aisles, produce a fine effect. We next ascended the dome and the slender spire, and were every moment struck with the absurdity of detail, and the immensity of labour and materials completely thrown away; thousands of statues are placed where no eye from below can see them; finished figures, three or four feet high, are ranged where even bold figures could produce no effect; a forest of small spires, all laboured with true Gothic minuteness, rises from the roof; the building is fretted and carved, and loaded with ornaments up to the very top; even the inside and corners of the stair-cases are sculptured-indeed there seems a quarry of marble, and a century of work, very unprofitably employed.-. As we ascended the spire with two or three other curious visitors, it shook much; and we were almost alarmed when, standing on the top, we saw its narrow base, the immense height at which we were held up in the air, and felt it vibrate as we moved; it fairly seemed to nod with us. The view which it commands is very extensive. The whole city of Milan lay at our feet; we saw the wide and fertile plain of Lombardy, so often the object of contest, and the scene of battle, irrigated by a hundred streams, and speckled by hundreds of towns and villages: on one side we perceived, afar off, the commencement of the Apennines, and on the other, the snowy heads of the distant Alps.

After our descent, we observed for awhile the exterior of the edifice. The front is the finest part: it is bold and striking, and at a little distance, in the square facing it, the minutia and details mass well together; the grand door is spacious and noble; and the fine wide flight of steps forms a good base. Neither of the other sides is finished; scaffolding is hanging in many parts, and the deformity of detail, and lost labour which we have complained of, are very visible. The spire, seen from below, has a very grotesque appearance. What could have tempted the