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THE CATHEDRAL OF MILAN.

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"Milan Cathedral. After a rapid survey I entered by the western door. The people who paced the nave served to illustrate its vast proportions, such pigmies did they The effect was very imposing; by degrees I allowed myself to advance-gazing above, around, and forwards; and of a truth I felt that there could be religion expressed in a building. It is one of the few temples made with hands' that seem to be at all adequate to the conceptionthe dim light, the gigantic pillars, the heavenward bearing of all—shall I say the mystery and indefiniteness of the edifice?—all pointed to that faith which is sublime yet lowly, revealed yet hidden. I was solemnised, tranquillised, awed, encouraged. . . The structure is vast, and of solid marble-a quarry having been bequeathed for the purpose by one of its founders. Although so massive, it rises very clean from the ground, and has an air of particular lightness and elegance beyond all I have ever seen: no doubt this is greatly owing to its vast number of tall, sky-pointing minarets.... Each of these is surmounted by a full-length figure, angel or saint; and the effect of this in white marble, seen against a clear light-blue sky, is altogether indescribable. . . . From its foundation till now it has never been without scaffolding in some quarter or other, having been brought thus gradually to its present state, which is not even yet that of completion. Is not this fact, which applies to so many cathedrals, significant of the religion itself, which so far from having yet completed its part in the world and being now effete, has not yet, I verily believe, reached the climax of its wonderful and awful destinies ?"

...

Both in Britain and America, it has been remarked that young theologians have often lost their spirituality and fervour whilst studying at Continental universities. It would appear, however, that Mackintosh lost little, whilst

"It

gaining much. From Geneva he writes to a friend :would be difficult to give the result of my winter's residence here in so many words; for it consists more in an enlarged horizon, mentally, theologically, and spiritually, than in definite acquisitions. Still my mind has gone through a process in many points, which must have been useful, even though it has only brought me back, I am happy to say, to what I held before, but which I now hold more intelligently, more thankfully, more humbly. I speak especially with regard to the evidences for the truth of Christianity, and the inspiration of the Sacred Record. I do think it is well for certain minds, and especially those which are to guide and guard others, to be shaken out of traditions, and brought to accept and welcome the truth as though they were the first to whom it had been presented. It becomes then a living element in our minds and hearts, and every after detail, as well as every action of our lives, must feel this influence commonplaces, unreal opinions, unreal words vanish, and we feel the freshness of the truth, and diffuse its savour all around."

The following letter to his biographer shows how carefully he observed and how deeply he reflected: "May it not be said that the movement of our age is towards life? I sometimes fancy that I can discern three epochs in the Reformed Churches, corresponding in the main to those three weighty epithets,-via, veritas, vita. The Reformers themselves, no doubt, laid the stress chiefly upon the first (via). It was on this Popery had gone most astray, obscuring the doctrine of justification by faith alone. The epoch following was essentially dogmatic (veritas), when the Doctors drew up 'systems' of the truth. It was now, indeed, Christ as veritas; but the dogma taken alone led to coldness, dogmatism, sectarianism, and formality. Happy will it be for the Church, if, not forgetting the other two,

she shall now be found moving on to the third development of Christ as vita,—the life, which will regulate the two former aspects, while it consummates and informs them This life must develope the individual, and on individuals the Church depends; for in God's sight it is no abstraction." In the same spirit he writes to another friend : "There is first the kernel to be possessed and held fast in the adorable person of the Lord Jesus-God historically manifest in the flesh, and profoundly adapted to all the wants of our spiritual being; then there are the Scriptures which set Him forth in His person, character, and teaching. I feel we very much require to get back from doctrines and systems crystallised, into a more living and life-giving form of the truth. In other words, we must know, love, and have constant intercourse with Christ as our God, Saviour, Friend, and Brother; and all the rest must and will emanate from this. We must begin at the centre, and not at the circumference, --which all systems are liable to do. Religion is love even more than light. I believe a more diligent study of the Scriptures, with the Spirit and prayer, will eminently lead to this." And to the same effect he concludes a letter to his mother: "My Lord and my God.' Yes, it is to address Christ thus as if seeing Him face to face, conversing with Him as a man with his friend; it is this that overpowers our souls, humbles us in the dust, under a sense of unlimited love and kindness, and makes us daily taste of heaven upon earth. What majesty, what beauty, what purity, what compassion, what grace, what tenderness, what strength! Ah! yes, He is our all in all. Without Him, undone; when we come to Him, vile; when we are with Him, vile, but not despised, not abhorred, not cast off-no; welcomed, washed, clothed, justified, sanctified, presented with a new heart and new affections fitted to reflect His own image, and to live and do something for His glory. Alas! that we

should ever leave His feet, and be content to live without hearing His voice, and experiencing His sweet regard."

Such was the life which he strove to realise. It was not only in teaching his Sabbath-class and attending the Students' Missionary prayer-meeting, and visiting his district of the West Port, that he felt himself the servant of Jesus Christ; but in writing a College theme, or reading a work of philosophy, he would not be content unless he felt that he had the approving eye of his Master; and amidst Alpine grandeur and Italian enchantment his rapt spirit seldom rested till it bore its exulting tribute to their wonderful Creator. On the top of Highland mountains, and in spots of surpassing beauty, he would read chapters of the Bible, and so give to them a reciprocal enhancement,setting the Revelation in a frame-work of created loveliness, and brightening the landscape with beams from the upper sanctuary; and, although on a different principle, we find him under the dome of St. Peter's reading through Paul's Epistle to the Romans.

In the fatigue of a pedestrian journey, he brought on a pulmonary hemorrhage, which ended in a quick decline. His afflicted relatives found him at Tübingen dying, but for a few weeks it was their privilege to enjoy his society and hear his testimony to the Saviour's preciousness. "Love Jesus," was his last charge to each of the friends who stood around his dying bed; and on the 11th of March, 1851, he went to be with that Saviour, "which is far better."

AN OCTOBER EXCURSION TO THE SALÈVE.

I LOVE regularity. All that divides time, all that serves as a frame-work to life, has for me the greatest charms. I love to convert into a law occupations the most insignificant; they become thus, in my eyes, chains to keep back the progress of time, or, at least, landmarks to direct its course.

It is with this feeling that, every year towards the end of October, I make a little excursion to the Salève.* I go to salute thence the last fine days, the last verdure. I go to gather up poetic stores; and though I carefully abstain from venturing a rhyme on "Autumn Leaves," these dead leaves, whether motionless in the road, or tossing at the north wind's pleasure, fill my soul with a mild melancholy, with a sadness exquisitely sweet. I contemplate, with anxiety, those that are still struggling. I interest myself in their last efforts. It seems as though they leave, with regret, the branch which gave them birth! Now I would strengthen their tottering stalks; now I laugh within myself at this useless compassion; I approach the tree; I shake it; and before the poor leaves are at my feet, I am shocked at my barbarity.

In 1835 my annual excursion had new charms. It was the year of the Jubilee.† In all the festivals of that grand epoch, one idea had pursued me, and, in my eyes, hovered over all those rejoicings,-the sublime and sombre idea that,

The Salève consists of two mountains, the Great and the Little Salève. It is two leagues from Geneva, and is a favourite resort of the citizens, on the same principle that Hampstead is a resort of the Londoners and Arthur's Seat of the inhabitants of Edinburgh.

†The commemoration of the Reformation in Switzerland.