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We read in that old cherished book, " Bunyan's Pilgrim's 

 Progress," how Christian, as he journeyed, " lifted up his eyes 

 and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name 

 of which was ' Beautiful,' and it stood by the high-way side." As 

 we too journey on in life's pilgrimage, that stately palace rises 

 before us in its hushed and solemn beauty ; it stands now as of 

 old by the highway-side, and its lofty portals are thrown open 

 ■wide, that who.-;o will, may enter there. 



"We go to the city to study the picture gallery, when every 

 window we look from gives us a picture, which, if we would but 

 study it, mocks the painter's poor imitation, a picture which was 

 never, and can never be painted. Every tree, every green shrub, 

 every graceful bough, as it waves in the sunshine, will give lessons 

 in coloring and form which laugh at the artist's brush. We go to 

 Italy, to see the beauties and wonders, and mysteries of another 

 age, while around us lies the true Italy which we should study. 

 One of the most wonderful monuments of Rome is a stately 

 obelisk, which has its OAvn strange history. Far back in the dawn 

 of time it sojourned in Egypt. In the sacred City of the Sun it 

 lifted its red granite shaft, pointing beyond the earth, beyond 

 the stars, the silent witness of the splendor and decay of mighty 

 empires, now^ lost in oblivion. When imperial Rome sent her iron 

 legions beyond the pyramids, they brought this wondrous column 

 to Italy, as the proudest trophy of their conquests. No ordinary 

 power was worthy to bear such a costly gift to Rome. The sacred 

 Nile itself was turned from its channel, and sought it far away 

 amid the silence of the sands — sought it in its home in the ancient 

 City of the Sun, and bore the heavy burden to the Mediterrane- 

 an ; the sorrowful tribute paid to the Tiber by the conquered Nile. 

 It was carried in festal triumph to the seven-hilled city, as the 

 very seal of her imperial splendor, but it bore its own dark omens 

 and evil destiny with it, over the blue Mediterranean, and became 

 only the prophetic witness of Rome's decay. Now, as of old, it 

 stands amid ancient ruins, the chronicle of a vanished religion, a 

 buried civilization. Its tapering sides are carved with hiero- 

 glyphics, which record the history of ancient dynasties, the wars, 

 the conquests of Egypt's forgotten kings. At its feet is buried 

 all that made Rome great in those old days of valor and conquest, 



