for consideration, and they,
too, were cheered with the hope of pardon. The preamble of the decree of
amnesty, all in the Pope's own handwriting, bore the following words:

"At the time when the public joy occasioned by our accession to the office
of Sovereign Pontiff caused us to experience in our inmost soul the most
lively emotion, we could not avoid entertaining a feeling of sorrow when
we remembered that a great number of families amongst our people could not
take part in the general rejoicing, deprived, as they were, of domestic
happiness.... On the other hand, we cast a look of compassion on the
numerous and inexperienced youth, which, although carried away by
deceitful flatterers, in the midst of political troubles, appeared to us
guilty rather of allowing itself to be led astray, than of deceiving
others. On this account it was that, from that moment, we cherished the
thought of extending a friendly hand, and offering peace to such of these
dear but misguided children as should come to us, and give proof of their
sincere repentance."

Night was drawing on when the decree was posted on the walls of Rome. It
was observed, however, amidst the growing darkness; and no sooner was the
word _amnesty_ read than a cry of enthusiasm was heard. People hastened
from their houses in all directions, the passers-by stopped in crowds to
read, by torchlight, the cabalistic words. Among the fast-assembling
masses there was but one feeling. They embraced and even wept for joy. In
the depth of their emotion, and whilst yet, as may be said, intoxicated
with delight, they sought how to express their gratitude. The cry was
raised, "To the Quirinal!" Arrived there, they hailed, with loud and
united voice, the beneficent Pontiff--"Vivat Pius Nonus!" "Long live our
Holy Father!" Crowd after crowd thus approached the person of the Pope. It
was now late, and Pius IX., much fatigued, overwhelmed by his emotions,
had withdrawn to the silence of his Oratory. Meanwhile, fresh crowds of
overjoyed citizens were pressing forward. Ten thousand men, at least, were
now waiting, with respectful anxiety, under the walls of the Quirinal
Palace. The French Ambassador to Rome, Count Rossi, was a witness of these
events. He became also their historian. He wrote thus to M. Guizot:

"Suddenly the acclamations are redoubled. I had not yet understood on what
account, when some one called my attention to the light which was shining
through the window-blinds