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Finally, a frescoed ceiling over the nave and transepts, and a
dome rising high above the central part, and filled with frescos brought
to such perspective illusion, that the edges seem to project into the
air. Two or three persons are kneeling at separate shrines; there are
several wooden confessionals placed against the walls, at one of which
kneels a lady, confessing to a priest who sits within; the tapers are
lighted at the high altar and at one of the shrines; an attendant is
scrubbing the marble pavement with a broom and water, a process, I should
think, seldom practised in Roman churches. By and by the lady finishes
her confession, kisses the priest's hand, and sits down in one of the
chairs which are placed about the floor, while the priest, in a black
robe, with a short, white, loose jacket over his shoulders, disappears by
a side door out of the church. I, likewise, finding nothing attractive
in the pictures, take my departure. Protestantism needs a new apostle to
convert it into something positive.


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