of the second story, the cells of the sisters were situated, each covered towards the passage by a large green curtain. These cells looked into the garden, and opposite each door in the corridor was placed a large stand of ashes, at which the nuns cooked their morning chocolate and warmed themselves. The dining room was large, and the tables were well covered with green baize. In the middle of the room there was a pulpit, from which a sister read in turn religious works during the meals, a practice which prevails in nearly all Roman convents; the word "Silentium," in large letters, was cut deep in a stone over the principal door. The kitchen was large, but dirty. In this nunnery there were three chapels, one church for summer and another for winter. I was suffered to enter the cell of the superior, who received me with great courtesy. She was sitting upon a bed, that she had not left for three years, spinning flax, and holding a large rosary in one hand. She was at that time eighty-three years of age, and had entered the convent at twelve for her education, which she had never left since that hour, having been suffered to remain during the French time. She spoke much, and with great vivacity. There were six or seven straw bottomed chairs in her little cell, a handsome, but old fashioned clock, a small wardrobe and a few religious prints. In several cells, which happened to be open as I passed, I saw books, flowers in the windows—a harpsichord, a harp and some other musical instruments. In this convent, meat is eaten four times a week, and the order of the day is as follows, much resembling that of all convents. In summer they get up at five. Prayers last an hour and a half; breakfast at seven—prayer till eight—prayers again at ten—dine at eleven—after dinner sleep—evening office at four—supper at six, and bed at eight. In the intervals of meals and offices, the sisters read pious books, talk, walk, embroider, tear lint for hospitals, or do coarse work. They confess themselves and take the sacrament every eight days; they confess themselves to a priest named by the head of the order; he is changed several times a year. The person, who conducted me, was a princess of a Roma family. She had taken the veil twenty-one years ago, but possessed perfect ease, simplicity and courtesy. She spoke of those matters, which are always subjects of conversation in drawing rooms of antiquities, carnivals, deaths of queens, &c. Her dress was coarse black, and by no means neat. She was perfectly affable, and answered with great complaisance numerous troublesome questions. Indeed, there was not the slightest tinge of gloom, or solitude, or austerity about this convent, or in the appearance and manners of the few nuns, whom I happened to see. I recollect hearing an aged Roman lady, who possessed a vast experience in courts, convents, drawing-rooms, boudoirs, and of every thing else which relates to the world, remark some time after that of all creatures she had ever seen, the most amiable in their manners, and good natured, were nuns.

Vive Seppolte.—As its name denotes, the nuns of this convent never see the face of any human being but of the inmates of it. They confess themselves to a confessor through a brass plate, pierced with small holes; they are allowed to hold converse with their friends only once a year, through a similar plate. No window or any kind of opening looks upon a street or any sort of building; all the light comes from their own courtyard. They wear woollen next their skin, which is changed only once a month, sleep in their clothes upon straw, and wear pieces of leather tied about their feet. At the restoration of the pope all returned, excepting one, who went to a similar convent at Albano. They have now fifty-four nuns, and one of them unluckily possesses a large fortune. No convent in Rome receives such abundant charity. At the head of the staircase, leading to this nunnery, a large solid barrel, girt with iron, and divided into eight parts, is fixed into the thick wall of the building, and made to turn, so that articles may be conveyed from and into the convent. We knocked upon this wall and immediately a voice answered from within, "Praise be to our Lord Jesus Christ," and said, "what come ye to seek?" We desired to speak with the abbess. Whereupon the invisible rung a bell, and turning the barrel, a key was brought to our view, that was taken by a man, who had appeared at the ringing, and who unlocked the "parlatoire," a small room, in one corner of which was a plate of copper, twelve or fourteen inches square, fixed in the wall, and pierced with the finest holes imaginable.

The abbess now spoke to us from the other side of the plate, "I salute you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." This person had a lively voice and cheerful manner, and she spoke with perfect freedom and willingness about her own concerns and those of the convent. She told us that she had taken the veil thirty-eight years ago, and had been made abbess at the restoration. She said moreover, that the sisters were happy, enjoyed good health, and that she had never seen a dissatisfied look, or heard a repentant wish. This was no doubt true; people are contented in many conditions worse than that of the Vive Seppolte, and conditions, too, which they never regard as probations or martyrdoms, to be rewarded in another world. In 1815 the Pope had permitted this convent to be re-established, and since that time not a human face, beyond those of the sisterhood, had been seen by any inhabitants of it. Judging from the sound of this woman's voice, and her rapid, pleasant, and animated conversation, it is evident that she had neither regretted nor suffered much from this deprivation. She appeared to have vast vivacity, and much playfulness of mind, and was a great talker. Still it did not often befal her to speak to foreigners through the grate, and much allowance ought to be made for the excitement which a similar situation doubtless awakened. When a small tribute was turned upon the barrel into the convent, she said "God has sent us this gift." "Those, who sent it, will be remembered in our prayers."

Having seen and heard much of the convents of Rome, I am satisfied that the inhabitants of them do not condemn themselves to many deprivations and mortifications, which they would not have suffered in the ordinary chances of a different life; that the passions, which exist there, are less active, violent and frequent, and that the carelessness of mind, health of body, and absence from all gloom and severity, utterly contradict and put to shame the theories and creeds of the world. One cannot discourse too long upon the impossibility of ascertaining the relative amount of happiness in the different courses of life to which habit, inclination, or chance, may call. A foreign gentleman, who had lived twenty years in Rome, told me that he had never heard of any scandalous conduct in any nunnery during all that time.

From the Journal of Science.

ANTISEPTIC POWER OF THE PYROLIGNEOUS ACID.

Results of some experiments made by Mr. W. Ramsay.—

A number of herrings were cleaned on the 10th of July, 1819; and without being salted, were immersed for three hours in distilled pyroligneous acid, specified gravity 1012. When withdrawn they were softened and not so firm as fish taken out of common pickle. They were hung up in the shade; July and August were hot months, but the herrings had no signs of putrefaction about them, but had a very wholesome smell, combined with that of the acid. One being broiled the empyreumatic smell was very strong. The rest, after six months, were in complete preservation.

It was afterwards found that the period of immersion had been too long. If the fish are simply dipped in acid of specific gravity 1012, and dried in the shade, it is sufficient for their preservation; and such herrings, when boiled, are