Chapter XIII

The deacon--A lost shirt--Grossa island--The Quarnero--Pola-Istrian
coast--Trieste--Venetian steamer--Venice--Russian artist--Il
Fanatico--Rome--St. Peter’s--High mass--Don Miguel--Congregation--
Roman monarchy--Gregory XVI.--The Vatican hill--Gardens of Nero--The
elevation--Christian triumph.

In one respect the Doctor was right. He assured us that the water-spout predicted stormy weather; for in a few hours after, the gale did come on, sure enough, and continued to blow the whole evening from the south-east. We had only a single sail out--the parroquete, as the Austrian seamen called it--the second largest sail of the vessel, which about six o’clock was shivered into mere shreds. At the moment it was thus shattered, the _Vigilante_ was almost on her side; and, to my inexperience, it seemed that if the sail had not thus yielded to the sudden burst of the tempest, she would have been blown over. The damage was speedily repaired, as all hands were on-board, and at ten o’clock the storm was suddenly hushed, like a passionate child that has cried itself to sleep. The night was clear and tranquil.

♦ THE DEACON ♦

It was agreed amongst the sailors that they had never made so long and so disagreeable a passage before from Corfu to Trieste, though they had been for some two or three years on that station. They, one and all, imputed this misfortune to the presence of the deacon, whom they looked upon as a harbinger of evil, and as such, treated him with very little ceremony on all occasions. Numberless were the quarrels which the captain had to compose between this man and the sailors; he talked to them in his voluble French, which they did not understand, and which for that reason the more provoked them. He allowed no rudeness to go unrepelled, and even became engaged more than once in regular combat for his bed, or his pillow, or his mug, or his shoes, or something or another of which they attempted to deprive him, in order to pick a quarrel with his reverence. The slightest encouragement on our part would have been accepted by them as a sufficient warrant on theirs to throw him into the sea!

♦ A LOST SHIRT ♦

Whatever was the state of the weather, the deacon was sure to be employed, when not eating or sleeping, in one or two ways; either he was writing his journal, which I observed he persevered in with great industry, or he was washing his only shirt in sea-water, which he then hung on the cordage of the sails to dry. It so happened that the said shirt was blanching in the wind during the late gale; and that just at the moment the parroquete was torn into tatters, the shirt was seen like a witch riding on the element, filled in a balloon shape, and borne off to a watery grave. The sailors absolutely cheered it on its departure, and exclaimed, that as the deacon was thus blown overboard in effigy, we should have no more bad weather! The sudden lulling of the tempest satisfied them soon after that their prediction was verified, and they became more complaisant towards the original, who was, however, by no means reconciled to the loss he had sustained, and imputed it to their knavery.

December 10.--In the morning we found ourselves opposite the long and lofty island of Grossa, whose high cliffs sheltered us in a great measure from a stiff breeze which blew from the north-east. The immediate neighbourhood of this island affords what the sailors call a port with the sail up: that is to say, the waters are too deep for anchorage, but a vessel may ride up and down, under the protection of its mountains, when the north and east winds blow too strongly. We had good reason to deem ourselves fortunate in having arrived within its protecting influence, as our mainsail was also opening in some of its seams; and the sea in the distance, towards the Italian coast, was one vast sheet of foam. We accordingly tacked up and down before the island the whole day.

♦ GROSSA ISLAND ♦

December 11.--Still before Grossa; the wind blowing violently from the north; the air excessively cold; the mountains of our friendly island mantled in snow. We replaced our mainsail and parroquete.

December 12.--We attempted last night and this morning to venture out to sea, but found the experiment too dangerous to persevere in it. Accordingly we continued riding up and down as before in our island-harbour. A merchant brig joined us, which had been thirty-six days on her voyage from Alexandria, bound for Trieste.

♦ THE QUARNERO ♦

December 13.--It was of the more importance that we should remain before Grossa while the wind was in the north-east, and blowing so violently, as we were then near the little Quarnero, as it is called--that is to say, the “devourer of men” on a small scale; the larger Quarnero being somewhat higher up the Adriatic. These are by no means agreeable sounds to a voyager. The _Adriatic_ mariners have, however, not at all exaggerated the dangers of the two gulfs in bestowing upon them these appellations, as a year seldom passes without witnessing eight or ten wrecks of their ill-managed country boats in the larger Quarnero, and perhaps half the number in the smaller one.

Both these perilous parts of the Adriatic are gulfs, the first of which extends from the sea towards the Dalmatian coast, formed by a number of small islands, from around which a very heavy sea is accumulated in one body, and rolled with tremendous force by a north-eastern wind. We ventured from our island about ten o’clock last night, and though the ship rolled a good deal, we passed the mouth of this gulf in two hours after, and then proceeded quietly under the protection of the islands, which are thickly strewed along the Croatian coast, until ten o’clock this morning, when we entered the mouth of the larger Quarnero, an extensive gulf formed by the north-western coast of Croatia, and the eastern coast of Istria.

♦ POLA ♦

The wind was blowing due north, almost a gale, so that we must have encountered the dangers of the scene in their worst form. The waves that rolled from the interior of the gulf were large, but regular, and much rounded, and really the most picturesque undulations I ever saw. Our vessel, steering direct for the promontory of Istria, in order to turn the Cape, leaned of course with a north wind on her side, her edge and part of her bulwarks being under water, and the parroquete itself occasionally kissing the waves. Two or three angry billows splashed the deck, but by noon we were round the point without any kind of difficulty. We then made our way rapidly along the Istrian coast, towards the Gulf of Trieste.

As we passed near Pola, we had a good opportunity of exploring with our glasses the remains--indeed I should have said the complete shell--of the ancient amphitheatre, which still records the extension of Roman luxury and taste to that region. It seemed to be in excellent preservation. The towns and villages spread along the coast are prettily situated. The wind being still in the north when we approached towards Rovigno, we were obliged to anchor in that harbour at four in the afternoon. The town is of considerable extent; its magnificent church forms a striking object from the sea, and it possesses also a monastery, apparently capable of containing three or four hundred monks. Behind the town the country rises gradually in green well-cultivated hills, and then farther away into lofty mountains, whose ridges were covered with snow. Just as we let go the anchor, the wind, which had blown so violently during four days, almost without intermission, was succeeded by a dead calm. The evening was beautiful, but cold--the moon nearly full.

♦ ISTRIAN COAST ♦

December 14.--Proceeded at seven o’clock in the morning with a light wind along the coast of Istria, the scenery of which strongly resembles that of the Campagna of Rome--mountains still in the distance crowned with snow, and declining gradually in undulations towards the sea. The green declivities were here and there occupied by villages and hamlets, and dotted by separate cottages and villas. The picturesque effect of the scenery received not a little improvement from the circumstance of the snow on the mountain-tops being occasionally streaked by sandy ridges which had already absorbed it. The sun shone the whole day in an unclouded sky. At noon we beheld the Alps of Friuli and the Italian coast round the head of the gulf as far as Venice. We made way, however, very slowly, by tacking, and anchored for the night at Omago.

♦ TRIESTE ♦

December 15.--Passed the point of Salvori--the morning splendid--vessels tacking about in the gulf of Trieste in all directions, of all qualities and sizes--the Alps topped with snow--the waves just agitated enough for a sea picture--Trieste distant about fifteen miles--the wind still northerly, and scarcely allowing us to make any advance towards our destination. At noon, finding it impossible to combat with our enemy, and the evil stars of the deacon, we anchored at Pirano.

December 16.--We were engaged nearly seven hours in tacking from Pirano to Trieste, a distance of twelve miles. At length, however, we reached the harbour at two o’clock in the afternoon; but although we were entitled to pratique at once, having exhausted the whole of our quarantine at sea, the officers, it seems, had gone to dinner, and were not expected to return to business till to-morrow! So we were obliged to remain on-board. The port was crowded with shipping. An Austrian brig of war was preparing to sail for America, having on-board a number of _Polish exiles_. A steam-boat was also in the harbour, named the _Sophia_, one of those which ply between Trieste and Venice.

December 17.--We obtained pratique at eight o’clock in the morning, having been thus detained nearly three weeks on the voyage from Corfu to Trieste. Before we quitted the _Vigilante_, we had the mortification to see another of the Austrian packets come in from Corfu in three days, having had a south wind the whole way. But, on the other hand, the passengers by the latter vessel had still the whole of their quarantine to perform, and we did not at all envy them their station in the lazaretto.

Trieste exhibited every appearance of being a highly prosperous port. Signs of active and increasing commerce were visible in every part of the town. Many capital houses and extensive magazines have been recently erected there, and no doubt can be entertained that when steam-navigation shall become more familiar to the shores of the Mediterranean, Trieste will rise to a rank equal to that which once belonged to Genoa. The Hotel Grande, at which we stopped, is as good as any thing of the kind to be met with in England. The shops and the markets were abundantly filled with every description of goods, and fruits and vegetables, and thronged with customers. The sale of bread seemed principally confined to one street, where country-women were sitting down by their baskets on each side; the said baskets, and the pavement all around them, being occupied by cakes and loaves of remarkably fine bread of their own baking. We gave the officers of the _Vigilante_ as good a dinner as the Hotel Grande could furnish, in return for the uniform attentions which they showed us during our protracted voyage, and the same evening I proceeded on-board the _Archduke Charles_ steamer bound for Venice.

♦ VENETIAN STEAMER ♦

This vessel is very handsomely fitted up--indeed much more tastefully than any I had ever seen at home. The principal cabin is splendid, and the berths all round remarkably convenient. We had nearly fifty passengers on-board. We did not quit our moorings until near one o’clock. As soon as the first light of morning came I was on deck, and found that the wind, having been right in our stern, a sail had been hoisted, and the spires and towers of Venice were already visible above the sea. As we advanced towards it rapidly, it would have been no poetical phraseology to describe Venice as a city rising from the waters, for that was literally the appearance which it presented. We entered the harbour at eight o’clock, having performed the voyage of seventy-two miles in seven hours.

♦ VENICE ♦

The first views of Venice, however, from the sea, were not so imposing as I had expected; although I beheld it under the gradually increasing lights of the rising sun, yet as those lights were coming from behind me, and revealed only the more prominent edifices in front, leaving the more distant spires and buildings still hidden in the vapours of the night, the prospect wanted those characters of perspective and magnitude which had exhibited Constantinople to so much greater advantage. But when I entered the grand canal, and the sun disclosed the long lines of palaces and churches to view--above all, when we approached St. Mark’s, and began to mingle with the gondolas, and to feel the singular effect which these gloomy-looking caiques and numerous other boats produced, moving about in all directions through numberless canals, where they were soon lost to the eye, and never present to the ear, all the associations of past renown, of chivalry, power, crime, and the contrasts of visible bankruptcy and meanness with the gorgeous opulence and pride by which this queen of the seas, at no very remote period, was raised to pre-eminence, swept through the mind in rapid succession, soliciting for Venice those heartfelt impulses of indulgence and compassion, which render it almost impossible ever after to remember her desolate appearance without the deepest emotion.

I had had no sleep during the night, as our steamer, however beautiful in its decorations, was very creaky, and the paddles very noisy. But I forgot all these things, when, after breakfasting at Daniel’s Hotel Royal, I posted off towards the Place of St. Mark, passed between the pillars of granite brought from Greece, beheld the Campanile, the Corinthian horses!--explored St. Mark’s well-known church, and the ducal palace, its splendid libraries and picture-galleries; its chambers, once the scenes of the most despotic oligarchical power ever known to mankind; its prisons and dungeons--its “bridge of sighs!”--traversed the porticos of the great square, and stood on the Rialto!

The next day was devoted to the principal churches, where preparations were already going on for the celebration of the great festival of the Nativity. Every thing has gone to decay at Venice except its churches, and these are unquestionably without rivals, even at Rome, St. Peter’s and St. John Lateran only excepted, and perhaps one or two others. The paintings, the frescoes, the marble altars, and columns and pilasters, the mosaiqued floors, the statues, and monuments by which the numerous sacred edifices are distinguished at Venice, can only be sufficiently appreciated by the visitor who has ample time to meditate on all their excellence. To me, before whom they passed as in a panorama, they are but a dream--a dream indeed full of luminous recollections, to which I never look back for a moment without wishing myself at Venice again.

The weather was extremely cold; but as the moon was at its maturity, I nevertheless felt a singular gratification in rambling through the streets at night, observing the picturesque effects of the lights and shadows in which the canals, and gondolas moving on them in silence, the towers of the churches, the palaces and squares, were exhibited. The finest shadow, I presume, to be seen in the world, is that of the Campanile, when thrown by the position of the moon quite to the extremity of the Place of St. Mark.

♦ RUSSIAN ARTIST ♦

The Academy of Painting necessarily occupied the greater part of a day. I need hardly have noted my ascent of the Campanile, as the summit of the tower affords one of the finest prospects in existence, including the lagoons, the islands and seas round Venice, and the Tyrolese Alps. My three Venetian suns and moons vanished like a moment, and at midnight on the 20th (December) I found myself in Mestre on my way to Rome, where I hoped to arrive in time for the Christmas high mass at St. Peter’s.

Padua, the Enganean hills, Albano, celebrated for its hot baths, the Adige, and the Po, Ferrara and Bologna, successively led me on to the Appenines. At Bologna I fortunately procured a seat in the courier’s carriage, for the “eternal city.” I met with a most interesting companion in a Russian by birth, who seemed altogether devoted to the art of painting, in which he had already acquired some celebrity. He had a touch of “Il Fanatico” about him upon every subject connected with his profession, which was to me excessively amusing. He talked of the people of Italy with rapture. The fact was, he had been recently exhibiting at Bologna a picture of Herculaneum, which had procured for him the highest eulogies from all quarters, the Italians knowing scarcely any limits to praise when once they commence the offers of their incense. He was overflowing with delight, as it was his first grand work; he had, as he said to me with much _naïveté_, made a name; his was one of the great names of the day, that would soon be on every tongue!

♦ IL FANATICO ♦

His usual residence was at Rome, the only part of the world, he thought, in which a man of taste could live. The climate was to him inspiration, a sort of Paradise, in which his genius revelled incessantly. That of Naples was still more exciting--“Indeed, whenever I visit Naples,” said he, “I become a fool, so ungovernable is the sense of happiness, the wild joy, the rush of noble thoughts that fill my soul!”

I could not keep up at all with this man’s torrent of ideas; and then turning plaintively upon me, he would lament the uninflammable materials of which all Englishmen, indeed, all northerns, were composed! They knew not what genius was; they were a very good sort of people, very rich and well-informed, and all that; but they were too _civilized_, too frigid; they were so many marble statues in a shop, compared with the artist who idolized his profession, and followed it under the skies and amidst the inexhaustible models of the Vatican, and the teeming associations with which the “genius of the place” was pregnant.

♦ ROME ♦

We travelled rapidly by the Pesaro road, and as there was as yet scarcely any snow or ice on the Appenines, they offered no obstruction to our speed. Early on the morning of the 25th, we arrived within view of the Sabine hills. St. Peter’s soon after was within our horizon; and at half-past seven A.M. our horses galloped through the Porto del Popolo. I was put down at the Hotel d’Allemagne, under the recommendation of my Russian friend, and at ten o’clock I was among the crowds of all tongues and nations, ascending the portico of the noblest temple ever dedicated to the worship of the true God.

♦ ST. PETER’S ♦

I had never experienced in England any thing like the rigours of cold which I had felt hitherto in Italy. At Rome they were intense. Nevertheless, when I entered St. Peter’s, I felt as if I had been suddenly transferred to a genial climate, from which the surrounding atmosphere had been altogether excluded. I, of course, imputed this sudden change to the use of artificial means for heating that immense edifice, as the number of persons already assembled within its precincts, though really very considerable, seemed so diminutive as to be altogether incapable of producing by their presence any effect upon its temperature. But, to my surprise, I afterwards learned that there was no such thing as a flue or a pipe of any sort used for the production of artificial warmth in St. Peter’s. The temperature of its interior, owing to the vastness of the space comprehended beneath its matchless dome and roof, never varies at any season of the year. Like the ocean, it is warm in winter, cold in summer, cool in the spring and the autumn; but these changes are felt only in relation to the external atmosphere; the atmosphere of the world within, itself partaking of the attributes of an element in nature, never knows any alteration.

The first thing that struck my eye with singular surprise when I found myself under the dome of this great temple, was the apparent insignificance of the human figures congregating towards the high altar from all the entrances. We seemed a race of pigmies, of children, of insects, blackening the marbled floor, but scarcely rising in relief above it. This feeling was humiliating, but it gradually wore off as the ceremonies of the day commenced, and the occasion on which we were assembled raised the mind to other objects than those of personal interest.

♦ HIGH MASS ♦

The Pope was borne to the great altar in his chair of state, attended by a host of cardinals and bishops, and the representatives and many members of all the regular orders of the church. The variety, and elegance, and splendour of ecclesiastical costumes thus brought together, produced a most imposing effect. The gorgeous vestments of his Holiness in his jewelled tiara--the mitres and crosiers, and mantles of the bishops, the red robes of the cardinals, formed a remarkable contrast with the poor Carmelite’s white garb of flannel, and his ruder sandal. The Swiss papal guards, in their antique dress, covered over on the breast and back by the steel cuirass, with a hat turned up on one side, and decorated by a ruby drooping plume on the other, reminded one of the days of the crusades; while the newest fashions of Paris and London, crowding the tribunes in another quarter, gave a different charm to the scene, substituting (when the eye turned downward from that airy dome) real beauty for the visions of tradition.

♦ DON MIGUEL ♦

Amongst the remarkable personages who were present at this great festival, I observed Don Miguel, the ex-usurper of the throne of Portugal. He was in a tribune on the left hand of the Papal throne, and appeared to attract very general attention. He was dressed in blue uniform, decorated with some orders, obtained I know not how, or where, or when, as there has been scarcely any period in that prince’s life when he merited, in my judgment, any such distinctions. He looked, however, extremely well--indeed, I should have added, even a remarkably handsome man, had his character not been tainted by his proceedings in the Peninsula. His _moral_ physiognomy detracted not a little from his external appearance, and his devotion was somewhat too sanctified to be sincere.

♦ CONGREGATION ♦

The great aisle of the church was lined by soldiers on each side, who kept a space open in the middle: behind the skreen the sacred edifice was densely filled by the lower orders of the people of Rome, and I must say that I never beheld so large a concourse of people conduct themselves with such perfect propriety. I wish I could bear a similar testimony to the demeanour of the better-dressed groups, who had the privilege of the tribunes which were arranged at each side of the high altar, as well as of the intervening spaces. The greater number of these groups consisted, I regret to say, of English families, who seemed to think that they came to “be seen” and to attract notice to themselves by their loud remarks and their intrusive manners, appearing to think that St. Peter’s was a theatre, and the sacred solemnity an opera, at which they were to display their superior taste in music, and their progress in the French or Italian language. The thought that they were attending divine service seemed never to occupy them for an instant. I must add, at the same time, that other foreigners, and especially the French, rivalled the English in this most improper conduct.

The high altar, as every body knows, is immediately under the great dome. The Pope’s throne was erected at the western extremity of the temple, and thence to the altar the distance was considerable; but it scarcely appeared so, as benches extended on each side were occupied by the cardinals and bishops, and other ecclesiastics, who usually attend on such occasions. His Holiness commenced the mass at the steps of the altar, after which he returned to his throne and proceeded with the Introit, the Kyrie Eleison, and that beautiful expression of human joy and benevolence, “Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis!” “Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to men of good will!”

Never did the concluding words of that angelic address to the Deity seem to me to come more meetly from the lips of man, than they did at that moment from the successor of St. Peter.--“Quoniam tu solus sanctus--Tu solus Dominus--Tu solus altissimus!” “For Thou only art holy--Thou only art the Lord--Thou only art most high.”

♦ ROMAN MONARCHY ♦

Here was a sovereign of a monarchy the most ancient now flourishing in Europe,--a monarchy seated at Rome--the mistress of the world in all that relates to intellectual pre-eminence--a kingdom which has already existed longer than the Roman empire--appealing for mercy to the Redeemer;--surrounded by many men of the greatest acquirements, by the highest dignitaries of the church, whose unaffected humility and devotion outshone their gorgeous vestments--by large masses of the undoubted descendants of the ancient Roman people--by individuals from almost every nation under the sun--appealing to “the only Lord,” the “Most High God,” in his own name and in that of the great assemblage thus gathered together beneath a dome worthy of the Majesty of Heaven! It was, indeed, a spectacle which he who once had seen, never can think of without exulting that the Meek One who, when born, was received in a manger--whose very name was spat upon where that unearthly pile is raised, was the God now hailed by the representatives of all nations, as the “Solus sanctus Dominus, altissimus Jesus Christus!” Glory indeed be to that God on high!

♦ GREGORY XVI ♦

In tones that touched the heart, Gregory--the sixteenth high pontiff of his name--forgetting the external splendours by which he was encompassed--poured forth these acknowledgments, these supplications--“Qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram--Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis!”--“Thou who taketh away the sins of the world, receive our prayer--Thou who sittest on the right hand of the Father, _have mercy on us_!”

♦ THE VATICAN HILL ♦

Let it never be forgotten, that the Vatican hill was once the site of the gardens and circus of Nero--the spot on which that emperor, to borrow the remarkable words of Tacitus, “inflicted the most exquisite tortures on those men, who under the _vulgar_ appellation of christians, were already branded with infamy.” “They derived,” adds the _philosophic_ historian, “their name and origin from Christ, who in the reign of Tiberius, had suffered death, by the sentence of the procurator, Pontius Pilate. For awhile this dire superstition was checked; but it again burst forth, and not only spread itself over Judæa, the first seat of this mischievous sect, but was even introduced into Rome, the common asylum, which receives and protects whatever is _impure_, whatever is _atrocious_. The confessions of those who were seized discovered a great multitude of their accomplices, and they were all _convicted_ for their _hatred of human kind_. They died in torments, and their torments were embittered by insult and derision. Some were nailed on crosses; others sewn up in the skins of wild beasts, and exposed to the fury of dogs; others again, smeared over with combustible materials, were used as _torches_ to illuminate the darkness of the night. The _gardens of Nero_ were the scene of this spectacle, which was accompanied with a horse-race, and honoured with the presence of the emperor, who mingled with the populace in the dress and attitude of a charioteer!”

♦ GARDENS OF NERO ♦

What were satin, brocade, cloth of gold, the splendid array of massive salvers and chalices, the jewelled mitre, and ducal hat, and triple crown in such a scene, and amidst such associations as these? No; I envied the supreme pontiff nothing, save the tear that glistened in his fine intelligent eye, when, remembering where he stood, he poured forth his gratitude--“Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam.”--“We give thee thanks for thy great glory!” The choir took up the anthem, unaided by the organ--“Laudamus te--benedicimus te--adoramus te”--the halleluiahs that resound for ever through the abodes of the Divinity! It was a shout of triumph, filling even that vast concave with its reverberations.

These passages of the service were followed by the epistle and the gospel, the credo, and the solemn preparations for the sacrifice. The host that was offered up was “unspotted;” it was offered to the “living and true God,” for the transgressions of all who were “present;” for “all christians of all generations;” “as a most sweet odour for the salvation of the whole world.” The “sanctifier” was entreated to bless the “sacrifice” thus “provided for the glory of his name,” and the angels and archangels, and all the elect were summoned round the altar, that by their presence and mediation the very atmosphere should be rendered holy, and the incense sacred, with which the shrine was perfumed. The pontiff washed his hands “among the innocent,” bowed down his uncovered head, turning to the immense multitude, called upon them to pray that the sacrifice might be “acceptable” to the “Father Almighty,” to “lift up their hearts,” and give thanks to the Lord God--the God of “Sabbaoth, of whose glory the heavens and the earth were full.” These appeals were answered by another burst of triumph from the choir--“Hosanna in excelsis!”

♦ THE ELEVATION ♦

The stillness that followed during the moments while the high priest consecrated and raised the host for adoration, was awful. The choir was hushed--no sound throughout that vast prostrate multitude met the ear save the notes of the higher reeds of the organ, which, floating along the fretted roof towards the dome above, tended only to unite in one cherub voice the secret orisons of the whole assembly.

♦ CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH ♦

When the high mass terminated, his holiness was borne in procession down the great aisle, preceded as before by the clergy, bishops, cardinals, and the officers of his household. He was crowned in the tiara. At each side of his elevated chair of state was raised a banner of snow-white plumes, which are said to be among the most ancient memorials of the sacred sovereignty. It was fitting that upon the spot where the blood of christians had flowed, the banners of their victory should be unfurled on such a day as this; but it was still more beautiful to observe that he who was thus exalted above the heads of the people, had no need of a slave to warn him that he was himself no more than mortal; he dispensed no blessings without striking his breast silently, preferring to all these outward circumstances of human pageantry, the self-denial and humility that should ever characterize the minister of the gospel.