the morrow with the bitter words, "Adieu, O city, where everything is
permitted but to be a good man!" Ten years later he burnt the Bull of
the Pope in the public square of Wittemberg, and all Europe rang with
the tocsin of the Reformation. I never passed that venerable monastery
without thinking of the austere German monk and his glorious work; and
the old well-known motto of the Reformation which had been his
battle-cry in many a good fight of faith received new power and
meaning from the associations of the place. To the enlightenment
received there, paving the way for religious and political liberty
throughout Christendom, I owed the privilege of preaching in Rome.

The Presbyterian church--I speak of the past, for since my visit the
church has been removed to a more suitable site within the walls--is
a little distance farther on, on the opposite side of the street. You
enter by a gateway, and find yourself in an open space surrounded with
luxuriant hedges in full bloom, and large flowering shrubs, and
commanding a fine view of Monte Mario and the open country in that
direction, including the meadows where the noble Arnold of Brescia was
burnt to death, and his ashes cast into the Tiber. The church is a
square, flat-roofed eastern-looking building, in the inside tastefully
painted in imitation of panels of Cipollino marble; and on the neat
pulpit is carved the symbol of the Scotch Church, the burning bush and
its motto, nowhere surely more appropriate than in the place where the
Christian faith has been subjected to the flames of pagan and papal
persecution for eighteen hundred years, and has emerged purer and
stronger. In that simple church I had the privilege of preaching to a
large but fluctuating congregation, each day differently composed of
persons belonging to various nationalities and denominations, but
united by one common bond of faith and love. At stated intervals we
celebrated together the touching feast that commemorates our Saviour's