conceive it possible that it was part of a divine plan that this great Egyptian creed should, by its very persistence, and by its resistance to Christianity, have been the means of ultimately preparing a way for the better reception of that blessed doctrine which was to follow it? One thing at least we may be certain of. Though this ancient religion, with all its pomp and grandeur, with all its numberless rites and ceremonies, and its millions of worshippers, has long since passed away, forgotten and silent as the swathed mummy in its sculptured tomb, still whatever was true, whatever was holy in the creed that is dead and gone, has survived through all the long centuries, and still lives to find a lasting and final resting-place in the faith which we now profess, and by which we are saved here and hereafter.

VOL. XXVI.

THE CHURCH IN MEXICO.

BY AN AMERICAN CHURCHMAN.

IT is most surprising and gratifying to any one visiting our neighbouring republic to witness the vital hold which the truths of Christ's gospel have acquired upon the people; and when their natural dispositions are considered, the quick, hot blood of the Latin and Indian races, and their education for ages in the Roman school of superstition, a clearer idea is conceived of the grandeur and sublimity of the motive power that can so completely mould over their hearts and lives to diviner uses. I have heard of this remark being made,-" We are aware that quite a religious reformation is going on in Mexico; but are they really Christians down there?" To the writer, who has realized their living, glowing, steadfast faith, who has seen heads among them prematurely grey with the frosts of sorrow, and youthful forms borne down, as if by age, beneath their fierce afflictions and the hallowed memories of their martyred ones, this question has come like the grating rasp of a discordant note in music, and he has restrained himself to return the calm reply, " Yea, verily, Christians are they indeed-Christians of the old martyr stamp, too, that forbear not nor turn aside before persecution and the grave!" They are forming a church-though national in every characteristic, a sister church to ours in her faith and order, already brought under a wise and efficient organization, and to which we are bound in a solemn, apostolic covenant, signed by seven of our bishops. As rich in faith as she is poor in purse, she is in addition, through the liberality of Mexican and American friends, possessed of church buildings which give her a commanding position in the republic. One of these, the cathedral church of St. Francis, has only recently been sufficiently repaired so as to be opened on Ash Wednesday last for public worship. It is one of the old historic buildings of Mexico, having been built, it is calculated, about two hundred and fifty years ago. As it is now the cathedral of the Mexican Church, so it was at one time the cathedral of the Roman power

in Mexico, and even after the great cathedral was built in the "Plaza de Armas," it was still the favourite church of the Romanists; and up to the time of the secularization of the convents and monasteries, all their great sermons were delivered there in preference.

Let me endeavour to present to your mental vision a few graphic sketches of this and other buildings and institutions of the Church in Mexico. First, please to imagine you are standing with me on the north side of a street in the very heart of the Mexican capital, called the First Street of San Francisco. Like nearly every other street in Mexico, it is only one block in length. At about the middle of this street, on the opposite side, we see a massive wall of masonry, some fifteen feet in height. In the middle of this wall there is a wide entrance, overarched with beautifully carved stonework. Beneath this arch there are two massive gates, which admit to a lovely garden within. This garden is about fifty feet in width and some one hundred feet in length, and is filled with stately trees and a pleasing variety of flowering plants and vines. Through the middle of this garden of sweets there runs from the entrance a broad, handsome walk about twelve feet wide, which terminates at the intricately carved portal of the chapel of St. Francis. façade of this chapel, which is of grey stone, is of itself a great curiosity, and, indeed, quite a study, for the mass of peculiar sculpturing it presents to the eye. Passing inside, we find the chapel to be, in length and width, as large as most of our Episcopal churches at home, but much loftier, and lighted from above by the cupolas of two handsome domes. (Let me observe here that all these old Mexican churches are of solid stone, and no woodwork is found in them except the doors and windows, and sometimes the floors.)

The

Passing through the chapel, we push open two huge foldingdoors at the other side, and enter the old historic cathedral church of San Francisco. I do not know how better to describe the impression it has made upon me every time I have entered it than to term it, as I have in another communication, "a church of magnificent distances." The main dome is nearly a hundred feet from the floor, and the lesser domes about eightyfive feet, the length about 275 feet, and the width admirably proportional, with the chancel of the full width and height of the nave. As is the case with all triumphs of artistic skill, the eye never tires of contemplating it, and a continued study only reveals

new beauties and creates a keener appreciation of its grandly correlated proportions. According to an ancient tradition it was declared to have been built for the worship of Christ and the preaching of the gospel; so that now, centuries after its completion, when for hundreds of years the smoke of sacrifices, mingled with superstition and ignorance, has floated up beneath those glorious domes and arches, at last the verification of the avowed object of its erection has come, and the pure incense of prayer and praise now arises morning and evening, awakening the echoes to the reverent tones of a heartfelt worship, or to the inspiring strains of sacred song. The heartiness with which these people enter into the spirit of prayer and praise is a feature which strikes a stranger very forcibly, and shows at once how strong a hold this national Church has already obtained in the affections of the Mexican people; while the opening of this cathedral of St. Francis has entwined their national feelings yet more closely about their Church, which they feel belongs peculiarly to them, and calls for their best love and hearty loyalty. And these people are working bravely to help themselves, too; there is nothing of the Micawber stamp about them, waiting for something to turn up; they are vigorously endeavouring to turn something up for themselves all the time, though it is but little they can do, for the Church is made up of those who are very, very poor. One of those poor workers is giving five dollars out of his monthly salary of forty dollars for the poor children of our orphanages, and is working hard in gathering little monthly subscriptions of from ten to twenty-five cents, in hopes that we may not be compelled from lack of funds to send these poor children again into the street, away from the Christian care and education they are receiving, down to lives of degradation and crime. But I am digressing from the sequence of my subject. A few more words about this grand old cathedral church, and we will pass to other points of interest in the capital. We pass through the nave to the chancel, to which we ascend by four broad steps extending its whole width. In the middle, according to primitive usage, is the communion table, covered with a simple white cloth, and forward of this, on either side, a lectern. Turning about, we take in from a new point of view the beauty of nave and transept, and at the further extremity of the former behold the spacious choir, where we dream of some day seeing a grand organ worthy of so magnificent a temple. At present only a little reed organ, placed in the transept to the right, furnishes all the

instrumental music, sounding like (pardon the exaggeration) a penny whistle in the immensity of space. We retrace our steps by transept and nave, and pass out again through the chapel, and thence through the sweet-scented, bright-hued flowers beyond, and feel that this heroic effort of the ancient Spanish Church to throw off the fetters of Rome is second only in its grandeur to the like effort in old England so many hundred years ago, and that this old historic Church is claiming the prophetic words of its builders, and is being gloriously redeemed to diviner uses. The prayer rises spontaneously to our lips that this struggling sister may not, by the neglect of Christian friends, fail of that progress which will carry it to as far-reaching results for the cause of Christ as those of the English Reformation. But here we are again in the noisy street of St. Francis. From this point, a little more than a block distant, in opposite directions, are two combined Church schools and orphanages of this Mexican Church. We will pass first to the one superintended by Mrs. Hooker, relict of the late Rev. Herman Hooker, of Philadelphia memory. Going east to the end of the block, and also to the end of the street-for the streets there are only one block long, we turn to the left into the "Calle de Bellamitas," and passing through that street, at the corner of the next, which is called Xicotencotl, find ourselves at the orphanage. Here Mrs. Hooker has isolated herself in a strange land, far from her home and friends, and is devoting herself to these needy children, now about seventy in number, with a zeal and self-sacrifice which ought to awaken the liveliest sympathy of every Christian heart. Here these poor waifs, who otherwise would be on the streets begging, or in the paths of shame, are receiving a thorough Christian education, the blessed effects of which are quite marked in their deportment.

Retracing our steps to our starting-point, the church of St. Francis, we proceed west to the opposite end of the street of St. Francis, and turn to the left into that of "San Juan Letran." Here, on the right, is one of the fashionable Roman Catholic churches of the city-Santa Brigida, or St. Bridget, which I remember gratefully, because its bell, not unlike the sound of an old kettle, upon which I developed an early talent for music when a boy, waked me up every morning at five, ringing for early mass. From this street we turn to the right into the 'Segunda Calle de Independencia" (Second Street of Independence), and midway of the block, on the left, pass through an