kind of relaxation was permitted by the usages of the European churches, both Catholic and Protestant, on Sunday. I had anticipated some modification of the common holyday. I had thought it likely, that relaxation for one part of the day, connected with religious services on the other, would possess a character of unusual decorum. And in this I am not disappointed; unless it be, that I find every where, in all the villages and cities which I have had an opportunity of observing on Sunday, a quietness and decorum quite beyond my expectation. The population is all abroad, indeed, after the hours of divine service, in the streets and the public places; but it seems to suffice the people, to take a quiet walk with their families; and there is a remarkable restraint among the multitudes upon all noise, loud talking and laughter."-Vol. I., pp. 189, 190.

Mr. Dewey evidently thinks, that the method of spending the Sabbath is a matter of expediency. He says, "I would have as many hours devoted to public worship and to promote reading and meditation, as can profitably be given;" ** * "but this done, I would give the utmost freedom to all innocent, decorous and quiet relaxation." The point to be determined, however, is, whether or not there is a moral obligation to keep the Sabbath holy. If, as most professing Christians believe, there is, then nothing is lawful on the Sabbath, which is inconsistent with the religious purposes to which it is devoted. Mr. Dewey's rule would subvert the Sabbath for the mass of the community. As each man would judge for himself what was "innocent, decorous and quiet relaxation," all the restraints, which are now ineffectual to prevent many of our citizens from devoting the day to dissipation, would be laid prostrate.

All American travellers in Europe speak of the attention which is there paid, in all the cities and villages, to providing public promenades, where the citizens can enjoy a quiet walk and fresh air. Mr. Dewey says:

"These delightful retreats, found in almost all the cities and villages of Europe, deserve more consideration than they have yet received with us. In the original laying out of a city or village, the expense would be almost nothing; and even at a later period, it may be a very narrow economy, which alleges that it cannot be afforded. The account would probably be more than settled, by the diminished bills of the doctor. When it was proposed in Parliament, to sell some of the parks in the vicinity of London, Burke, in his speech against the measure, called the parks 'the lungs of the metropolis.' That single word decided the question; for it was fact, argument and illustration, all in one.

"How much, too, might such resorts contribute to the cheerfulness of a people, how much to the spirit of society and of kind neighborhood, and thus at once to health, virtue and happiness! I say, to

virtue; for the recreations of a public promenade are not to be feared in this respect, as are those for which men resort to secrecy and darkness. I wish that the subject could be thought of in our villages and country towns, as well as in our cities."—Vol. II., pp. 19, 20.

In this country, where there is such an abundance of land, there is often a grasping avarice, which deems every inch of land wasted, that is not devoted to building-lots, or canals, or rail-roads. Boston has, indeed, a noble common; New-York has her Park and Battery; Philadelphia has three or four squares, of a few acres each; and Washington has, or rather will have, several open spaces. But none of our cities have any promenades to be compared with the spacious parks of London and Paris.* The Boston common,-the largest park, we believe, in this country,-contains about fifty acres only; while the Regent's Park, in London, covers four hundred and fifty acres; Hyde Park, three hundred and ninety-five; besides St. James' Park, the Green Park, the Queen's Gardens, and innumerable squares, of considerable extent, dispersed over the city. Of the public promenades in Paris, Mr. Dewey

says:

"Nothing in Paris has astonished and delighted me more than the magnitude, and in that respect, the magnificence of its public gardens and promenades. The garden of the Tuileries and the Champs Elysées, lying contiguous to it, or separated only by the Place of Concord, stretching along the Seine westward from the palace of the Tuileries, these gardens, together, contain not less than a hundred and forty acres,‚—a hundred and forty acres of pleasure grounds, thrown into public walks, and planted with trees, in the very heart of Paris! Nor is this all. There are other public places,-the garden of the Luxembourg, the esplanade in front of the Hospital of Invalids, and the Champ de Mars,-almost as large. These places are all crowded on Sunday afternoon; and when I came through the garden of the Tuileries to-day, and paused to gaze upon the spectacle, I did not know whether to think it more beautiful or sublime. The whole space of the gardens was almost literally filled.

* Since these remarks were written, we have seen, in a paper printed at Cincinnati, Ohio, the following paragraph:-"The subject of procuring a public square is now before the city council of Cincinnati. There is not a single open square in the city. The want is severely felt; and to supply it will become every year more and more difficult. When our city shall come to number its 100,000 or 150,000 inhabitants, with every street closely built with lofty edifices, and not a single open square on its whole area, for a breathing-place and a promenade, who will be able to stand it during the hot summer days, and who will not marvel at the want of benevolent foresight in the present generation, in failing, while practicable, to procure what is so essential to the future health, and comfort, and ornament of the city?"

Tens of thousands of people were walking here,-well-dressed, cheerful, well-behaved, quiet,—nobody speaking above the drawingroom tone, which in Paris is very low,-family groups, parents and children, old and young,—and all seeming to enjoy enough in the bare walk and conversation; all, unless it were the children, who would run around their parents, pursuing one another in sportive circles. Surely, it was beautiful,-every separate group was so; but when I looked abroad upon the countless, mighty, moving multitude, it seemed to me sublime. All the other public places, I was told, were just as much crowded; and, indeed, I saw the Luxembourg, and found it so. Our people in America know nothing of enjoying out-of-door recreations, as the people of Europe do."-Vol. II, pp. 210, 211.

This subject is connected with another. American travellers in Europe are uniformly struck with the fact, that much better health is enjoyed there than in this country. Many causes may contribute to produce this difference; but one is, that the Europeans take more exercise in the open air than we do. The ladies walk more than ours; and in all the public gardens and promenades, multitudes of children are seen playing, with a glow of health which American children rarely exhibit. It is one of the perversities of fashion, that, in Boston, it is considered to be undignified, for the wealthy classes to walk on the common; and comparatively few children are ever seen there.

Mr. Dewey's account of his visit to Rome is very interesting. He thinks, that the reports about the pope's sending money to this country, to propagate the Catholic faith, are absurd. The pope is almost a bankrupt, and finds it very difficult, even by anticipating his revenues, to raise money for his own expenses at home. But it does not follow, because the pope is poor, that no money is sent by Catholics to this country. Mr. Dewey states, that the great missionary society at Rome, the Propaganda, has a yearly income of $100,000; and it has been shown, from the official reports of this Society, that it sent $30,000, in one year, to the United States. We are not alarmed by this fact, however. The Episcopalians in England send considerable sums, to aid their brethren in this country; yet no one fears, that Episcopacy is about to gain the ascendancy.

We quote a part of Mr. Dewey's description of St. Peter's church:

"Its front is one hundred and sixty feet high, and three hundred and ninety-six feet wide; that is, twenty-four rods,—the thirteenth

of a mile. It is six hundred and seventy-three feet,-forty rods,— long, and four hundred and forty-four feet,-twenty-seven rods,—at the transept, or widest part; that is to say, it covers about seven

acres.

"With these general ideas of the building, let us enter it. But you say, at once, 'It does not appear so extraordinarily large.' True; that is because the proportions are so perfect, it is commonly said; but I think it is yet more, because we have never seen any building so large, and the visual impression is affected in its estimate by what we have seen. But we soon learn to correct this impression. We immediately observe, on the right and left of the door, statues, apparently of children, cherubs,-that sustain marble vases of holy water. We approach them, and find that they are giants, more than six feet high. We see at a little distance, on the pilasters and just above the pedestal, sculptured doves, the emblematic genii of the place, and they appear to the eye of no very extraordinary size, and we think that we can easily lay our hand on them. We ap proach, and find that we can scarcely reach to touch them, and they are eighteen inches or two feet long. We advance along the mighty central nave, and we see, nearly at the termination of it and beneath the dome, the high altar, surmounted by a canopy, raised on four twisted pillars of bronze. The pillars and canopy seem to be of very suitable elevation for the place, and yet we soon learn that they are ninety feet high.

"I have before spoken of the size of the dome, with its walls twenty-three feet thick, its own height one hundred and seventynine feet, and itself raised two hundred and seventy-seven feet above the floor of the church. This dome is sustained by four square pillars, two hundred and twenty-three feet in circumference. That is to say, each one of these pillars, or masses of masonry, is nearly sixty feet on each side, and therefore as large as one of our commonsized churches, if it were raised up and set on the end."-Vol. II., pp. 135-137.

It is said, that in the missionary school of the Propaganda, fifty different languages are read. In St. Peter's, there are confessionals for many different nations, in their respective tongues. The librarian of the Vatican library, M. Mezzofanti, is said to speak forty-two languages.

Mr. Dewey has a chapter on the Catholic system. His remarks are kind, and, on the whole, we think, judicious. He gives no countenance to the rancorous severity with which some persons assail the Catholics; and yet he is not disposed to conceal the faults of the Catholic church. He has no fears

of the prevalence of popery in our country.

Mr. Dewey quotes a striking remark of M. Sismondi, to whom he was introduced at Geneva, respecting the comparative effects of the Catholic and Protestant religions on the prosperity of a country:

"Joining his hands together, and interlacing his fingers, he said, 'There are cantons of Switzerland interlocked in this manner, and when the road carries you across the points of intersection, you might know, in the darkest night, by the state of the roads, by the very smell of the country, which is Catholic and which is Protestant.'"-Vol. I., p. 240.

The following fact, which illustrates the spirit of popery, deserves to be quoted:

"M. de Luc has a great horror of priestly domination, and gave us this pretty extraordinary fact.—In St. Jervais, not far hence, up among the mountains (of Savoy, I think), is a bathing establishment, for the use of mineral waters. The keeper of the house bad collected, for the entertainment of his visiters, a miscellaneous library of about a thousand volumes. Last summer, in his absence, two Jesuit priests visited the establishment, looked over the library, took almost the entire body of it, and burned it on the spot.”—Vol. I., p. 241.

We cannot approve his remarks on the invocation of saints: "Why should it be thought a thing so monstrous, that I should ask some sainted friend that has gone to heaven,-passed through all that I am suffering, to help me, or to intercede for me, if he knows my condition? I desire this of friends on earth,-friends clothed with the weakness of humanity. Why might I not breathe such a thought to some angel spirit, whose wings may hover around me in mid air, though I see him not?"-Vol. II., p. 62.

This, we think, savors of superstition. The Bible has nothing which sanctions it. Why ask a dead friend to help us, when we can ask God himself? Why address a request to a departed spirit, when we have no reason to suppose, that such a spirit can hear us? One cause of idolatry is found in the feeling which Mr. Dewey here sanctions. The progress was easy, from asking the aid of a deceased saint, to making an image of him, and offering to it superstitious honors. It is, also, much more natural to pray for a deceased friend, than to invoke his aid; and Mr. Dewey might, on the same principle, justify the Catholic prayers and masses for the dead.

Mr. Dewey pays a compliment to our countrymen, at the expense of our father-land:

"I came to Calais in the malle poste, and from thence in a steamboat. The first I found a very agreeable conveyance; the last, far less so than our own. The English ideas of comfort do not seem to have reached their steamboats. And, indeed, is it not very curious, that England should suffer herself to be so completely surpassed as she is by America in all water craft,—to be surpassed in ship-building, to be surpassed on her own element? I do not profess to be a judge in these matters. I only know, from constant observation,