taries may outrage nature by shutting themselves up in caverns from the very sight of heaven, and denying their appetite its needful aliment; but how much fouler an outrage is this to the best feelings of the heart to worship Venus on the Hill of the Passion! You have here," he continued, turning to Rutilius, "the secret of Christian asceticism. It is not a mere sullenness against nature, or a proud belief in the merit of our actions, like the vain devotion of the Brahmins of India. But heathenism, on the one side, has polluted all creation with its low sensuality; and a suffering Deity, on the other, has exalted self-denial into an imitation of what is divine, till many a noble heart has been unable to make a compromise between the demands of his present being and the aspirations of his superior nature, and has renounced the common intercourse of life, as too contaminated for endurance. What men may do in some future state of the world, when the pollutions of the heathen are no longer so apparent, I know not; but while this fearful contrast abides, the world needs surely some great example, some splendid instance of self-denial, to convince men that the deep emotions of the heart cannot be stilled by the charms of sensuality." Rutilius next directed his steps to another eminence, which was crowned at top by a statue of Jupiter. Instead of the abrupt rocks, which were the predominant feature of the country, this hill appeared to consist of an accumulation of materials which he judged to be of artificial construction. His guide confirmed his conjecture. "In the heart of this hill," he said, "we are assured that the tomb is situate which received the body of our Lord. This heap of earth renders it invisible; and the chief of heathen deities has his place above, as though mocking the ineffectual reverence of the followers of the Crucified. Well let Jupiter look to it that he is not one day dethroned. He keeps his seat, indeed, in the lofty places of the world; but the secret influences, which are diffusing themselves through the depths of society, will one day be revealed, and then this hill likewise may discover its recesses.' So, doubtless, thought many a Christian at that period, though hardly venturing to hope that the day would so soon come, when Helena, the wife of Constantius, at that time one of the reigning Cæsars, should clear away the ruins, and the idol image should give place to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. But at present there were no signs of such a change; and near the cave whence the First-born from the dead arose was a cemetery, where might be seen the cheerless memorials of pagan burial. Rutilius passed into it; and how gloomy seemed the urns in which the ashes of the dead were consigned, as was thought, to eternal rest,-and the lacrymatories, in which were stored the tears of those who had parted from them, as they supposed, for ever, -when he compared them with those better hopes which the adjoining tomb of the Arimathæan had disclosed to mankind! He lingered for a few moments, perusing the inscriptions, in which children and parents, or those who had suffered a yet severer loss, had recorded their irretrievable deprivation; and which were often inscribed on what was meant to be a representation of those gates of Orcus, within which the dead were supposed to be committed to eternal repose. They were hung with garlands of roses, emblems of faded hopes; and inverted torches shewed that the flame of love was extinguished for ever. But a new scene greeted him, when he followed his guide into an adjoining enclosure, which was occupied by the Christians of the city. Greatly was he struck by the contrast. Here was grief, indeed, but not unmixed with consolation: the sense of loss, but not the murmur of discontent. nothing which reminded him of the complaint of the Roman rhetorician, Quintilian, "I survive the loss of my two hopeful sons, as a token that there is no Providence." He saw The figures and paintings which adorned the more ornamented tombs were very different from those which were usual on the monuments of the heathen. One was so universally present, that he asked his guide to explain its meaning: a man was issuing from the mouth of a monstrous fish. "Did this," he inquired, "refer to the history of Jonah, and how was it connected with the recollection of the dead?" The explanation he received shewed him a singular part of the Christian system. The rever |