y their priest, and who present
themselves before him, are touched with his golden wand, in token
of confirmation of the absolution, and here again that quality
which I have so often remarked as one of the peculiar characteristics
of the Catholic religion is very striking. Men and women, beggars
and princesses, present themselves indiscriminately; they all
kneel in a row, and he touches them in succession. In the
churches there seem to be no distinctions of rank; no one,
however great or rich, is contaminated by the approximation of
poverty and rags. But to return to the Confessional. There are
some crimes of such enormity that absolution for them can only be
granted by the Pope himself, who delegates his power to the Grand
Penitentiary, and he receives such confessions in the chair in
which he was seated to-day. They are, however, very rare; but
this evening, after he had finished touching the people, a man,
dressed like a peasant in a loose brown frock, worsted stockings,
and brogues, apparently of the lowest order, dark, ill-looking,
and squalid, approached the Confessional to reveal some great
crime. The confession was very long, so was the admonition of the
Cardinal which followed it. The appearance of the Cardinal is
particularly dignified and noble, and, as he bent down his head,
joining it to that of this ruffian-like figure, listening with
extreme patience and attention, and occasionally speaking to him
with excessive earnestness, while the whole surrounding multitude
stood silently gazing at the scene, all conscious that some great
criminal was before them, but none knowing the nature of the
crime, it was impossible not to be deeply interested and
impressed with such a spectacle. Nothing could exceed the
patience of the Cardinal and the intensity with which he seemed
absorbed in the tale of the penitent. When it was over he wiped
his face, as if he had been agitated by what he heard. It was
impossible not to feel that be the balance for or against
confession (which is a difficult question to decide, though I am
inclined to think the balance is against) it is productive of
some good effects, and, though susceptible of enormous abuses, is
a powerful instrument of good when properly used. I have no doubt
it is largely abused, but it is the most powerful weapon of the
Romish Church, the one, I believe, by which it principally lives,
moves, and has its being. That penitence must be real, and of a
nature to be wor