The castle of the noble rose by the same impulse which reared such majestic sacred edifices. Thus Melrose and Kenilworth, Heidelberg and Drachenfels, came into being. In France alone, at the beginning of the eleventh century, there were a thousand four hundred and thirty-four monasteries. Poverty was universal. The cottages of the peasants were mere hovels, without windows, damp and airless,――wretched kennels in which the joyless inmates crept to sleep. By the side of these abodes of want and woe the church rose in palatial splendor, with its massive walls, its majestic spire, its spacious aisles, and its statuary and paintings, which charmed the docile and unlettered multitude. The whole population of the village could assemble beneath its vaulted ceiling. It was the poor man’s palace: he felt that it belonged to him. There he received his bride. In the churchyard he laid his dead. The church-bell rang merrily on festal-days, and tolled sadly when sorrow crashed. Life’s burden weighed heavily on all hearts. To the poor, unlettered, ignorant peasant, the church was every thing: its religious pageants pleased his eye; the church-door was ever open for his devotions; the sanctuary was his refuge in danger; its massive grandeur filled his heart with pride; its gilded shows and stately ceremonies took the place of amusements; the officiating priests and bishops presented to his reverential eyes an aspect almost divine. We see the remains of this deep reverence in the attachment to their forms of religion of nearly all the peasantry of Catholic Europe at the present day. The Church, with its imposing ceremonies, hallowed to them by all the associations of childhood and by the traditions of past generations, still exerts over them a power which seems almost miraculous. The wonderful vitality which there is in the Church of Christ, and the amazing influence which the teachings of Jesus exert over the human mind, are in nothing more remarkable than in the stability with which Christianity and its doctrines survive all the ordinary changes of time. Dynasties rise and fall like ocean-waves, leaving no perceptible influence behind them; but Christianity rides over all these storms of time with immortal life. The Roman empire crumbles to dust; the Eastern and Western empires moulder away; the Gothic kingdoms appear, and vanish like a vision of the night; the Vandals and the Huns, the Ostrogoths and the Normans, flit across the scene, each with their brief span of life. Yet Christianity, like the sun struggling through the clouds of a stormy day, calmly, steadily, surely, continues on its course. Though a storm-cloud may transiently obscure its brightness, nothing can impede its onward progress; and, at the present day, Christianity, triumphant over all the conflicts of centuries, shines brighter, clearer, with more world-wide healing in its beams, than ever before.