world, when animated by sentiment, without which the world itself were but a desert![3] Ah, Corinne! what is to follow these the sweetest days that my fate and heart e'er granted me?"--"All sincere affections come direct from Heaven," she answered, meekly. "Why, Oswald, should it not protect what it inspires? It is for Heaven to dispose of us both." At last they beheld St. Peter's; the greatest edifice ever erected by man; even the Egyptian Pyramids are its inferiors in height. "Perhaps," said Corinne, "I ought to have shown you the grandest of our temples last; but that is not my system. It appears to me that, to perfect a sense of the fine arts, one should begin by contemplating the objects which awaken the deepest and most lively admiration. This, once felt, reveals a new sphere of thought, and renders us capable of loving and judging whatever may, even in an humbler quality, revive the first impression we received. All cautious and mystified attempts at producing a strong effect are against my taste. We do not arrive at the sublime by degrees, for infinite distances separate it even from the beautiful." Oswald felt the most extraordinary sensations when standing in front of St. Peter's. It was the first time the effort of man had affected him like a marvel of nature. It is the only work of art on the face of the globe that possesses the same species of majesty which characterizes those of creation. Corinne enjoyed his astonishment. "I have selected," she said, "a day when the sun is in all his splendor; still reserving for you a yet more holy rapture, that of beholding St. Peter's by moonlight; but I wished you first to be present at this most brilliant spectacle--the genius of man bedecked in the magnificence of nature."