replied, saying that he trusted the tribulation which had befallen him would be for his spiritual welfare. His excellent wife bore up nobly, and the two afforded admirable instances of Christian patience and resignation. CHAPTER VII 1854–1862 ON April 4th, 1854, I started the first time for Rome, provided with letters of introduction to Gibson, the sculptor, Penry Williams, the landscape painter, and two Roman Catholic dignitaries, one a Monseignor, the other president of the English College. All these gentlemen were polite and helpful to me. My companions were Dr. Raffles, Dr. Halley, the Rev. Spencer Edwards, and another friend. The first of them was wonderful for relating stories, which he always told _secundum artem_. He kept us awake one whole night with his amusing anecdotes; but, as we were travelling through France at a time when espionage was prevalent, he would not allow us to make any political allusions. I was surprised at the retentiveness of his verbal memory; whilst he repeated long pieces, in which the amusement consisted of odd words, connected with no rational meaning, when put together. It was Holy Week when we reached Rome. On Thursday there was the feet-washing at St. Peter’s, and the supper afterwards: the Pope, as “servant of servants,” ministering to the poor, but with great pomp on both occasions. We arranged to see the former, and found a transept on the right hand, fitted up for the occasion. Rank, fashion, beauty, arrayed in mourning, found accommodation in galleries commanding a good view. Ladies were veiled, gentlemen wore evening dress. Admission to that part of the edifice could be obtained on no other conditions. Pio Nono, a pleasant, genial-looking old man, who won a good opinion as soon as you looked at him, did his part well. He read the Gospel (John xiii.) in tones wonderfully musical and distinct, and then washed the pilgrims’ feet with grace and reverence. The whole was artistically and solemnly done. “One can laugh at these things, as described in books,” said Dr. Raffles—a staunch Nonconformist—“but _not_ when witnessed, as now, in this magnificent place.” Still, on a calm review, nothing like _worship_ appears in any part of the ceremony. Then the _Miserere_ in the afternoon! Those who did not witness it years ago can have no idea of it now; or of the gorgeous procession, amidst a blaze of light, to the altar of S. Paulo, and the prostration of the Pontiff and his Cardinals on the floor, in the midst of darkness, candles having been extinguished, one by one. The scene on the grand staircase was striking as the dignitaries returned, varying in appearance and character—an ascetic monk, a man of the world, another looking studious and reflective, a fourth keen and statesmanlike. Nobody could deny the Italian scenic skill in such matters. I have been at Rome in Easter, since then, much struck with subsequent changes. When all was over on my first Easter in Rome, I went