which Macaulay alternates between the Papacy and the Christian Church,
which are not at all the same thing. The Papacy, as a European or
cosmical institution, can hardly be said to have more than twelve
centuries of continuous history on the stage of the world. The
religion and institutions of Confucius and of Buddha have twice that
epoch; and the religion and institutions of Moses have thirty
centuries; and the Califate in some form or other is nearly coeval with
the Papacy. The judicious eulogist has guarded himself against denying
in words any of these facts; but a cool survey of universal history
will somewhat blunt the edge of Macaulay's trenchant phrases. After
all, we must admit that the passage as a whole, apart from the
superlatives, is substantially true, and contains a most valuable and
very striking thought.

Passing from the thought to the form of this famous passage, with what
a wealth of illustration is it enforced, with what telling contrasts,
with what gorgeous associations! How vivid the images, how stately the
personages, who are called up to heighten the lights of the tableau of
the Vatican! Ancient and modern civilisation are joined by it; it
recalls the Pantheon and the Colosseum; it gave sanction to the Empire
of Charlemagne and to that of Napoleon, it inspired Augustin, and
confronted Attila; Venice is a mere modern foundation; the Church is
older than Hengist and Horsa, Clovis, or Mahomet; yet it stretches over
the Atlantic continent from Missouri to Cape Horn, and still goes on
conquering and to conquer. And the climax of this kaleidoscopic
"symphony in purple and gold"--the New Zealander sketching the ruins of
St. Paul's from a broken arch of London Bridge--has become a proverb,
and is repeated daily by men who never heard of Macaulay, much less of
Von Ranke, and is an inimitable bit of picturesque colouring. It is
very telling, nobly hyperbolic, no man can misunderstand it, or forget