to mention this. For Christ must be the first-fruits of them that slept. The Passover sheaf must first be lifted up before God, and then the harvest could be begun. That is a long time ago now, dear friends; and the angels have made indeed a long, long pause. Nevertheless they do but await His word Who can tell, what we cannot, when the fields are white for harvest, and Who, though He seem to tairy, yet is not really, as it seems to us, creatures of a day, tarrying, for He inhabiteth eternity, and to Him a thousand years are as one day.

But the time is at hand, and when it is full come, then, ‘In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.' The Son of Man shall send forth His angels;' and what shall they do? For one moment we must let a cloud overshadow the sunshine of our Easter thoughts. They shall, the Son of Man saith it, 'gather together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them.' Ah, beloved! let us watch and pray earnestly, that of God's mercy through Christ Jesus we may be found-we and those we love-of the wheat in that day; yea, of that wheat which has brought forth an hundred fold! There is yet time for all who will seek the Lord in earnest, yet time to find Him and to be saved.

To be of the wheat, then; on that day to meet the sweetness of angel faces, as they gather us together for the storehouse of God, even for the happy, happy Land. Ah! what will that be? All the pain and crucifixion, all the watching and warring over; the death left behind us; and before us the joy of the everlasting Easter Day! The journey's end reached; the toilsome days ended; the tears about to be wiped away. The seeing that Head which was crowned with thorns, and that Face which was spit upon for us. The living no longer by hearsay and by faith; the entry upon the Home where we shall live by sight, and shall be with Him in whose company we even here delighted ourselves. Then shall those be re-united who here parted in tears; then shall there be welcomes and greetings, and some of the tears to be wiped away will be surely tears of joy. The loved, the lost, the dear; they shall meet, and meet to part no more.

'Then glory yet unheard of shall shed abroad its ray,
Resolving all enigmas, an endless Sabbath day.
There then from his oppressors the Hebrew shall go free,
And celebrate in triumph the year of jubilee;

And the sunlit Land that recks not of tempest or of fight,
Shall fold within its bosom each happy Israelite.

The Home of fadeless splendour, of flowers that fear no thorn,
Where they shall dwell as children, who here as exiles mourn,

Midst power that knows no limit, and wisdom free from bound,
The Beatific Vision shall glad the saints around.

The peace of all the faithful, the calm of all the blest,
Inviolate, unvaried, divinest, sweetest, best.

Yes, peace! for war is needless;-yes, calm! for storm is past;-
And goal from finished labour, and anchorage at last.

O happy retribution! short toil, eternal rest;

For mortals and for sinners a mansion with the blest!'

CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO.

HE ancient Mausoleum of Hadrian, now known as the Castle of St. Angelo, is one of the grandest of the many massive and imposing remains of Imperial Rome. Standing apart from other buildings, it rears its great towers like a guardian protector to the city, lying just across the river at its base; and here it has stood-this wonderful and renowned edifice-for nearly eighteen centuries, resisting all the assaults of time, unshaken in its massive masonry, in spite of the ravages of war and the violence of earthquake. What varied scenes have been enacted both inside and out of these old walls! How sad and terrible a history they might reveal of baseness, cruelty, oppression, and misery! What crimes they have seen committed, what sufferings endured! Underneath the soft Italian skies, how often has the clash of arms and the horrid tumult of war been heard all around the stately pile. . . . and worse than this, in its secret cells, how many men, and women too, have been strangled, starved to death, or brought to a bloody end! In its horrid oubliettes recently, or at least of late years opened up to the shuddering gaze of the visitor, how many an agonised captive has been thrust into the outer darkness, and then forgotten! For this massive building has been alternately a tomb and a fortress, a palace and a prison, Although this mausoleum was the work of the Emperor Hadrian, it seems to be doubtful whether it was completely finished during his lifetime; here, however, his ashes were laid, and after him succeeding Emperors, until the time of Severus, to receive whose remains the mausoleum was opened for the last time A.D. 211. After this date, history reveals nothing of this great building for several succeeding centuries; then, again, it comes, to the front, a tomb no longer, but a fortress. But before proceeding to this part of its history a word must be said as to the building itself. As far as anything can be really known of its original appearance, this mausoleum was constructed of brick-work and squared blocks of stone, laid with such precision and care, that no attack by man, or convulsion of nature, has succeeded in shaking its perfect solidity. Inside and out it was faced with Parian marble. The basement was a square of 340 feet each way, and about 75 feet high. Above this rose a huge circular tower, divided into stories, and ornamented with columns. Between these columns were statues, executed by the first artists of the period; and there can be no doubt that the sculpture adorning this splendid structure must have been among the noblest works in Rome. Above the circular tower was a dome, which must have risen to the height of about 300 feet, and was probably crowned by a colossal group of Hadrian in a chariot, drawn by four horses. On each of the sides of the square basement was a massive door of gilt bronze, and at each door four horses of the same material. Large tablets were fixed on the walls, on which were inscribed the names of the Emperors who lay buried within.

The ancient and beautiful Elian Bridge, now known as Pont d'Angelo, formed the avenue of approach, and over this came the funeral processions of deceased Emperors to their last resting-place. Such was the Mausoleum of Hadrian, the boast of Rome, and the wonder of the world.

After the death of Severus, in A.D. 211, we know nothing more of this building until A.D. 537, when, a tomb no longer, it was a fortress, assaulted with fury by the Goths, and defended with great spirit by the Romans under Belisarius. At this time it seems to have been still adorned by many of its beautiful statues and bronzes, but in the fury of the conflict these were torn from their pedestals and hurled upon the heads of the invaders below. The citadel was saved, but these noble statues, the glory of Rome, lay in fragments at its base. There they were allowed to lie, until, centuries afterwards, one was accidentally unearthed. This, the 'Barberini Faun,' now at Munich, is the sole representative of all the noble company that once adorned Hadrian's Mole.

In the year 590, Gregory the Great was elected Pope. At this time Rome was at its lowest ebb of misery and disgrace. No longer the seat of empire, its glory and wealth were gone, it was scarcely inhabited, and desolation stalked through the silent streets. Earthquakes and terrible inundations had ravaged its plains, and in the train of these came gaunt famine and dread pestilence.

In the midst of these horrors Gregory, at the head of a penitential procession, was passing before the mausoleum, when, looking up, he saw, or fancied he saw, hovering over it, the figure of the Archangel Michael, who paused and sheathed his flaming sword, while the air was filled with the chanting of angelic attendants. This vision was at once interpreted as a token from Heaven that the pestilence should cease; and as it did begin to diminish shortly after, and soon entirely ceased, a chapel dedicated to St. Michael was built on the top of the mausoleum, and received the name of 'St. Angelo,' and from this period the mausoleum has been known as the 'Castle of St. Angelo.' It would be impossible, in a limited space, even to name the various vicissitudes that befell this noble building during succeeding centuries, during which it never ceased to be a living part of the history of Rome. Invaded by the Lombardi and the Saracens, this powerful stronghold was sometimes in the possession of the enemy, at other times defended desperately by the Romans themselves.

In 846, Leo IV., a man of great vigour and courage, undertook the fortification of Rome. New walls were built, commencing at the Castle of St. Angelo, enclosing St. Peter's, and extending into the river. He also strongly fortified the castle itself, which was the key of the whole; and drew an iron chain across the Tiber. This then became the Papal city, and the Castle of St. Angelo was henceforth to become the prison of State, and the scene of secret and terrible crimes. For many centuries after this, the history of this remarkable fortress is one of constant struggle between various factions and families, and between the partisans of Church and State. No sooner was a peace at any time patched up between the contending parties, than it was again broken; indeed, nothing can exceed the turbulence of all these years, when there seemed to be no safety any

where from assasinations, and when the execution of prisoners by hanging or decapitation was of daily occurrence.

In the year 1497 a flash of lightning struck one of the powder magazines of the Castle of St. Angelo, the explosion that followed shattering to fragments the upper part of the fortress, and blowing into the air the great marble angel on the top. This was not thoroughly repaired until 1752, when a colossal model of the statue of the angel was cast in bronze and placed on the summit of the castle, where it still stands.

From an early period the castle was made the depository of the treasures of the Popes. There they kept their archives, jewels, and gold and silver coin; and the great iron-bound chests in which these treasures were stored are still shown in one of the upper rooms of the castle.

In the year 1825 important excavations were made in the interior of the castle, which led to very interesting discoveries. Among others, the great sepulchral chamber in the centre of the mausoleum, which had been choked up with rubbish, was brought to light; also the long spiral corridor leading to it, the existence of which was not known. Hideous dungeons were also unearthed, which had only an entrance from above, into which the prisoners were apparently let down through funnel-shaped openings, four of which were found. What horrors had been enacted here, who can even surmise?

The Castle of St. Angelo is still a prison, and still a fortress, well worthy to be seen, not only for the sake of its interesting historical associations, but for the magnificent view which it commands of the surrounding country, and the picturesque towers, domes, and palaces of old Rome. On the south, there rises up against the sky the massive dome of St. Peter's; and on the north, the visitor looks down upon the ruined columns and arches of the Forum, the Colosseum, and the remains of many an ancient aqueduct. There is not in all the wide circumference of view a single spot which is not historic; everything seems to speak of the mighty Past. D. B. MCKEAN.

MIGNIONETTE.

HIS popular fragrant annual, a native of Egypt, found its way into Europe through the south of France, and there obtained the name of Mignionette (Little Darling), a name so appropriate that it has been adopted in our own gardens. Its introduction to Britain, according to a MS. note in the library of the late Sir Joseph Banks, and now in the library of the Linnæan Society, is stated to have been through Lord Bateman, who, in 1742, sent seeds of it from Paris to his brother, Mr. Richard Bateman, then residing at Old Windsor. Cowper celebrates it as a favourite plant in the windows and balconies of London:

'The sashes fronted with a range Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed.'