ll these evils was
only too truly the corruption of the heart and the perversion of the
intellect, and that this evil could only be overcome by the greatest of
miracles, which must be wrought by God and interceded from him by prayer.
After this, the Holy Father, in language which seemed inspired, as though
he were raised out of himself, exhorted all present, and especially the
young men destined to carry the faith to their distant countries."

Even amongst the audience, who all belonged more or less to the Papal
faction, the intemperate and injudicious character of this speech,
delivered in the presence of the French commander-in-chief, and the
allusions which could not but be intended for the Emperor Napoleon,
Cavour, and Victor Emmanuel, created great consternation, and was but
coldly received. The _Giornale_ however reports, that "where his
Holiness, with agitated voice, bestowed his apostolic benediction, awe
and admiration could be read on every countenance; all hearts beat aloud;
and no eyelid was left dry. The whole assembly pressing forward, bent in
turn before the august personage, touching, some his hands and some his
dress, while others again cast themselves at his feet, in order to
impress thereon a reverent and affectionate kiss."

After having examined the building, the Pope went on foot to the
neighbouring convent of the Augustine nuns, called "The Convent of the
Virgins," the whole of the religious community were "permitted to kiss
the sacred foot," and then "having comforted the virgins with paternal
and loving words," he returned to the Vatican, past the files of French
troops, through the beggar-crowded streets, amidst cold, sullen glances
and averted obeisances, back to his dreary palace, there to wait wearily
for orders from Paris.

CHAPTER XI. THE CARNIVAL SENZA MOCCOLO.

There are things in the world which allow of no description, and of such
things a true Roman carnival is one. You might as well seek to analyze
champagne, or expound the mystery of melody, or tell why a woman pleases
you. The strange web of colour, beauty, mirth, wit, and folly, is
tangled so together that common hands cannot unravel it. To paint a
carnival without blotching, to touch it without destroying, is an art
given unto few, I almost might say to none, save to our own wondrous word-
wizard, who dreamt the "dream of Venice," and told it waking. For my own
part, the only branch of art to which, even as a ch