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for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him . . . .

"And lo! the star which they saw in the east went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.

"When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.

"And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary, his mother, and fell down and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts, gold, and frankincense, and myrrh."

The manger is raised about a foot above the level of the grotto, and lined with white marble. At the back, a tolerably good painting, in a silver frame, represents the adoration of the shepherds. It covers the bare rock. It is removed on Christmas-day, and the rock is left exposed for some time to the view and the veneration of the pious. On this occasion it is cleaned by the Father guardian, who reverently collects the little bits that drop off. I shall bring with me some of them, for which I am indebted to his kindness.

The Christian princes have made it a duty to send presents for the embellishment of the manger. It is always hung with magnificent draperies; those for this week are of white silk, sprinkled with roses, and embroidered with gold. On the spot where the wise men worshipped Jesus is an altar, with a fine painting representing the Adoration, and above it a large star.

The sanctuary of the Nativity belongs to the Greeks; the manger and the place of the adoration of the wise men, to the Catholics.

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I never enter this august grotto but with a taper in my hand, as when I visited Calvary and the Holy Sepulchre. When, kneeling before the spot where our Lord was born, I cast my eyes on these words: Hic DE VIRGINE MARIA JESUS CHRISTUS NATUS EST."Here Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary"-there arises within me a feeling totally distinct and different from that produced by other acts of Christian piety. To the believer the word Here has a charm, an attraction, a captivation, which cannot be either felt or comprehended but on the spot. The soul, the heart, all the faculties, are spell-bound by that word; you repeat it a thousand times, and, when you have repeated it for the thousandth time, you pronounce it again: it is incessantly on the burning lips of gratitude and love.

There is in fact no place in the world where the heart can be more deliciously moved than in this grotto at Bethlehem. When, calling to mind the time, the season of the year, when the poor infant Jesus was born, I add, while communing with myself: "HERE is the spot;" methinks I hear him weeping with cold and want; methinks I see Mary, his fond mother, bestowing upon him all the cares of the most ingenious tenderness; Joseph, on hearing the cry of his adopted son, hastening to take him from the arms of his mother, to clasp him in his own, and to warm him on his bosom: and these ideas fill my soul with ineffable sentiments, which my pen would strive in vain to describe. I pray, I sigh; I lift towards heaven my eyes swimming in tears; I murmur the sacred name of Jesus, and the names of Mary and Joseph; and I bless the thrice gracious God for having,

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in his mercy, given me his son for my Saviour; I bless him, too, for having given me a soul that is touched, softened, penetrated, by such incomprehensible bounty.

You know, my dear friend, with what pomp, with what joy, the festival of Christmas and the midnight mass are celebrated throughout the whole Catholic world you have had occasion, like me, to remark the beauty of the decorations which adorn our temples at the time of this great solemnity, and the immense concourse of the faithful, and their pious solicitude to go and worship the infant Jesus, and that unanimous concert of praise and thanksgiving for the happy advent of the divine Messiah, and those songs and hymns in which the general joy bursts forth. Conceive then what must be such a festival, such a service, held at midnight at Bethlehem, on the very spot where Jesus deigned to be born. I will not repeat here what you may have seen elsewhere. I will not stop to describe the holy magnificence displayed at this solemnity; I will say nothing either of the rich tapestries with which the marbles are covered, or of the ravishing strains of a music in perfect harmony with the sublimity and the soothing nature of the mystery, or of the countless tapers which burn not only upon the altar, but in the whole of the interior, or of the pomp that surrounds the reverend Father warden in the exercise of his functions, or of the ornaments sparkling with gold which attest the munificence of the Catholic princes of other days, and are worn by the numerous priests who assist in the service-but I will say a few words to you concerning one august and impressive ceremony which cannot be performed any where but here: that is a

solemn procession to the manger, with which the service

commences.

At midnight, at that hour of salvation, when, in all the Catholic churches in the world, the infant Jesus receives the homage of all faithful Christians, the reverend Father warden opens the procession, and advances with slow step, his head bowed, and reverentially carrying in his arms the infant Jesus. On reaching the very spot of the nativity, the deacon, with deep devotion, chants the gospel. When he comes to the words-" and wrapped him in swaddling clothes"-he receives the infant from the hands of the Father warden, wraps him in swaddling clothes, lays him in the manger, falls on his knees, and worships. . . . At that moment, my friend, there flashes into the soul something supernatural, I may venture to call it, judging from what I have witnessed, from what I have myself felt. Piety ceases to find a voice to express its gratitude, its love; it speaks only in the melting language of the eyes, in sighs, and in tears.

Farewell, my dear friend; I lay down the pen, hoping that my letter may impart to you some little portion of my happiness at Bethlehem: you would be, at least for a moment, in a sort of paradise. Once more, farewell.

LETTER XX.

INHABITANTS OF BETHLEHEM-WOMEN-HOUSES - COSTUMES-MARRIAGES-MANNERS-HISTORY OF A WIDOW-FUNERALS-BAWLINGANECDOTE ON THAT SUBJECT.

Bethlehem, January 15, 1832.

My last letter, my dear friend, related to the matters most interesting to my heart, and no doubt to your's.

VOL. I.

Alas! the more happy I find myself in the seclusion of the monastery, with the good Fathers-in the sacred grotto-in the subterraneous chapels-at the foot of the numerous altars raised upon a spot of prodigies and miracles-so much the more, when outside of it, am I filled with melancholy and compassion at the sight of the deplorable state in which the birth-place of my Saviour, that city which my faith renders so precious and so dear to me, is at this day.

Bethlehem was, from the very earliest times, a considerable town. Rehoboam, the fourth king of Jerusalem, enlarged and embellished it by the erection of important buildings there. Now-a-days it retains not even a shadow of its past splendour and beauty. It is but a confused assemblage of houses, or rather ruins, the abodes of indigence and servitude. These houses are square, like those at Jaffa and Rama. The staircase is outside, and the roof is terraced.

The Bethlehemites are descended from the tribe of Judah. The population is composed of eighteen hundred Catholics, the like number of Greeks, perhaps fifty Armenians, and about one hundred and forty Turks. The number is accurate: I had it from the Catholic priests, and I wish more particularly to call your attention to it, because most travellers have fallen into strange mistakes on this point: some of them have even limited the Christian population to one hundred souls.

Under any other government the inhabitants of Bethlehem would be in easy, and even in affluent, circumstances: but, as it is, they are every moment crushed by fresh impositions. I have already told you by what