g like the voice of a legion of angels. It was that of
thousands of children singing the hymn to Pius IX. of 1847."

"Oh!" exclaimed the mother and daughters, clasping their hands.

"That song re-echoed in every one's heart; it ascended in such a way as
to touch the most tender chords of the soul; a thrill seemed to pass
through the crowd; there was a great moving of arms and hands, as if
they wished to speak and could not. Nothing but a confused murmur was
heard. 'Holy Father'--this is what they wished to say--'look! listen!
These are our children; they are your sons who seek you, who invoke you,
who implore your benediction; they are innocent souls. Hear their
prayer; bless them; grant that their country and their religion shall be
united in their hearts. Holy Father, one word from you, one sign, one
glance from you declaring pardon and peace, and we are with you, for
you--all of us, now, always, for ever! They are our children, your
sons.' Thousands of banners waved in the air. The song ceased: a
profound silence ensued."

"Well?" they all asked eagerly.

"No response. Then arose the women's song. There was a deep tremor in
that immense voice: you could hear a something which only issues from
the hearts of mothers; it seemed more like a cry than a song; it was
sweet and solemn. The people, from the first note, remained motionless:
suddenly, after a while, they became agitated as if moved by an
irresistible ardor; the exclamations almost overpowered the song. 'These
are our mothers,' they said, 'our wives, our sisters. Holy Father, hear
them. They have never cherished hatred or anger in their breasts; they
have always loved and hoped; they believe and pray; they implore the
privilege of teaching their children your name together with that of
Italy. Holy Father, one word from you will save them many mournful
doubts and many bitter tears. Bless our families, Holy Father.'"

The listeners questioned with their eyes and gestures.

"Nothing! Then burst forth a tumultuous, rapid song, followed by a more
violent agitation: it was the soldiers. 'These are our soldiers,' all
said together--'they will be yours: they are the sons of the field and
the shops. Holy Father, they will guard your gates and escort your
steps: they, born on your soil, they who heard as children your sublime
cry of liberty, will fight against the foreign enemy with your name and
that of the king on their lips and in their hearts. Bless them. You wil