There are many rich people in Malta, while the churches--supposed emblems of charity, peace, and good-will towards men--are uselessly decorated with gold and silver candlesticks, precious stones, costly marbles, valuable tapestry, and priceless works of art, articles as foreign to any true principle of devotion as snow is to the vegetation of the tropics. No one can travel in Spain, Italy, Mexico, or South America--all Roman Catholic countries--without being brought face to face with a similar state of affairs: costly cathedrals and churches crowded with gorgeous display, upon which gold has been recklessly lavished in all possible ways, often surrounded by a ragged and starving populace steeped in ignorance. Is there any amount of sophistry which can reconcile such incongruities? On coming out of the magnificently adorned Cathedral of Guadalupe, situated a league from the City of Mexico, not long since, the author was literally dazed by the strong contrast which presented itself. Passing by a dozen steps from within this rich and gorgeous temple, upon which millions of dollars had been lavished, into an atmosphere of the most abject poverty and dismal want was like changing from brightest sunshine into the valley and shadow of death. A half-naked, starving army of beggars--men, women, and children--stared one in the face, their cadaverous features and attenuated forms, all too clearly defined, appealing for them with more eloquence than words could do. What sort of religion is that which can hoard jewels of fabulous value, together with plate of gold and silver, in its churches, while the poor, crippled, naked multitude starve outside of its towering and gilded walls? The sense of outraged humanity was too strong for words. Even the sleek, well-fed priest, who had acted the part of guide through the church, looked abashed as we pointed to this tableau of misery, and then reproachfully at the gorgeously appointed temple whose portal we had just left behind.