rounded the confessional box in which the cardinal sat. Several valets preserved order, and made the crowd approach and disappear as rapidly as possible Some five or six would kneel at once. He touched in silence their heads lightly, and as rapidly as one could count, with the tip of a long brass rod, and the ceremony for them was over. A woman brought up two daughters of six and four years of age. At first he declined putting the rod to their heads; but the children, who evidently had been taught to consider that some mysterious good was connected with the operation, refused to budge. The cardinal at last impatiently gave the elder the required tap; while the younger, who kept bowing and kneeling, was thrust aside unabsolved to make way for fresh sinners. Perhaps he considered her as "one of the little ones" who need no absolution from man The interval between Palm-Sunday and Wednesday-eve is not without its catalogue of sights to the profane or pious who are moved to attend. But there are enough grand ceremonies to weary both soul and body, without giving heed to the lesser offices of the Holy Week. The great rush is to hear the three Misereres in the Sistine chapel. The first is on Wednesday. The office is called the tenebræ, or darkness; though why, no one knows. At the "epistle side" of the sanctuary there is a large candlestick, surmounted by a triangle, on the ascending sides of which are stuck fourteen yellow candles, with one at the apex. There are various conjectures among the Roman Catholic writers as to what these mourning candles are intended to typify. Some say the Apostles and the Three Maries; others, the patriarchs and prophets; but the plain truth is, that as no one knows any thing about the original meaning of the ceremony, any one has the right to conjecture what he pleases. These lights are gradually put out during the office, this extinction testifies grief. The uses of many of the articles that find such conspicuous positions in Roman Catholic worship are an enigma to the most enlightened Papists themselves. They are retained because custom has made them venerable, and they add to the show. But the reasons which ecclesiastical ingenuity invents to justify many palpable absurdities are quite worthy of the era which originated the learned discussion as to how many angels could dance at one time on a needle's point. For instance, the large fans, or flabelli, made of peacock's feathers, which were originally nothing but fly-brushes, are now exalted into monitors for the Pope. The brushing away of insects from the altar is considered as typical of the endeavor to banish the distractions of idle thoughts from the mind of him who approached to offer the holy sacrifice. Being formed of peacocks' feathers, and even now, when eyes are seen in the plumes, it admonishes the Pontiff that a general observation is fixed upon him, and shows the necessity of circumspection in his own conduct." My quotations, when not otherwise mentioned, are from Bishop England's "Explanations of the sustained in great part by ladies in our rear. Some do faint, and it is with the greatest difficulty that they are borne out. Dresses are torn and jewels lost as a matter of course. More serious accidents have occurred on these occasions. A gentleman had his leg broken, and a young girl was killed not long since, or rather died from the effects of the injuries she received. Ceremonies of the Holy Week." I consider it necessary to mention this, lest some of my readers in their simplicity should accuse me of satirizing what I can not commend. I go to Rome to view the Papal Church, because it is there, in the city of its choice and power, that we expect to find it in its purest forms. I quote its doctrines from its own historians and clergy, so that my authorities shall be above impeachment. If either fact or faith appear too strange to be true, reader mine, make a pilgrimage of doubt to the Eternal City to relieve, through the me-ness, delicate females will submit to for the gratdium of your own eyes and ears, a skepticism excusable, it must be confessed, but without foundation. From what I saw, I should say that there is no place equal to the Sistine Chapel for testing what amount of danger, inconvenience, and even rude ification of their curiosity. The excitement seems to develop in them a spirit of ferocity toward each other-cf course, I refer only to the exceptions to their general amiability—but the curious will observe stout ladies slyly making their way by sticking pins into those in front, and slipping by as they turn to discover the aggressor; others seize hold of gentlemen, or make use of them to aid their progress, as if the idea "delicacy" had become obsolete; while one powerful French girl, who wished the situation of an Italian lady of my acquaintance in front of her, abruptly demanded it. Being respectfully declined, she, by a process well known to schoolboys, knocked the lady's legs from under her by striking her in the hollow of her knees, so that she fell as suddenly as if she had been shot. Before she could recover herself, or her presence of mind, her place was gone. Hours before the commencement of the "Mattutino delle Tenebre," as the Italians call this impressive service, the royal staircase of the Vatican, which leads toward the Sistine Chapel, is crowded with the impatient multitude of both sexes, who have the right of entry. Until the doors are opened they have no resource but to remain quiet, forming queue, as at the French theatres. But the moment the head of the mass finds itself in motion, there commences a rush and scene of confusion frightful to witness and dangerous to experience. If the salvation of each individual depended upon being first within the chapel, greater and more desperate efforts nature could not make to win that goal. It is no vulgar mob that writhes, pushes, pants, and struggles, like a knot of impaled worms, within those sacred walls. There are there the distinguished of all countries-noblemen and noble ladies the curious traveler and the pious pilgrim -the delicate invalid, who would die despairing-ceeds, one by one, the candles are extinguished, ly without hearing those more than mortal notes; and the gallant soldier, whose brilliant uniform gives him precedence over the black vails of women and the dress-coats of men--all push for The first portion of the service is the ordinary chant, a long and drowsy performance, including the Lamentations of Jeremiah, severely trying the patience of the standing spectators. As this pro except that which typifies the Virgin Mary, who alone of the household of Christ is supposed, in his hour of trial, to have retained her faith unshaken. As the day declines, the gloom of the chapel, unrelieved except by the hidden lights of the choristers and the soft rays of twilight, becomes exceedingly impressive. The faces of those severelygrand Prophets, and the speaking Sybils of Mi from the lofty ceiling, as if from out of the firmament of heaven; while high up on the distant wall, amidst the shadows of evening, the awe-struck spectator beholds the terrible outline of the avenging Judge, hurling the damned to endless woe. Beneath, amidst the fires of the bottomless pit, grinning devils savagely seize their prey. The Virgin-Mother pleads with the stern Son, whose mercy has now turned to justice. Saints and martyrs, bearing the instruments of their earthly tortures, are arising from their graves, and floating upward to the glory that awaits them. At this hour, and with such music subduing the soul to breathless silence, the Last Judgment stands forth as the greatest triumph of earthly in one selfish effort to secure the coveted position within those narrow precincts. In the mêlée, the stalwart Swiss guards that endeavor to control this living torrent into something like order and respect for the sanctuary, are not un-chael Angelo, look down with supernatural force frequently roughly borne back, and obliged to exert no slight violence to disengage themselves. They are often more rude than necessity requires, and I have heard fierce words exchanged even during the service, between them and visitors whose tempers were not proof against their insolence and roughness. In general, however, they are assiduous to protect the weaker sex, and to keep the two sexes as distinct as possible, for the papal rule, like the Jewish, is, that they shall not mingle during these holy offices. To speak together, whatever may be the necessity, is promptly rebuked by the presiding officers. The ladies are rapidly hustled into their reserved seats. The gentlemen and the superfluous 'adies remain standing, wedged firmly together, in the restrict-art. Human strength at times faints beneath the ed limits below the tribune reserved for royal families and embassadors. I had literally in my arms a lovely English girl, who threatened every moment to faint from the heat and pressure, while, I am quite sure, our double weight was emotions produced by the combination of such powerful appeals to the fears and sympathies. The chords of the heart and imagination vibrate in unison, and many vainly struggle to suppress their distress as the Miserere proceeds. After pauses of silence, which, like utter darkness, seems as if it could be felt, a hundred accordant voices, as one, sue Heaven for pardon to a guilty world, in strains such as human ears might well conceive to arise from penitent spirits; solitary voices of wonderful sweetness and power, in alternate verses, continue the lamentation, all mingling in the last passages, when the full choir again is faintly heard in notes that die away like the expiring wail of lost humanity, but end in one final burst of choral harmony, which sends its thrill through the very soul. music is now exhausted; neither art nor sympathy could bear more. The effect of this service varies, of course, according to individual temperament. Many do not consider it worthy of the fatigue and exertion it requires. But no one would consider Rome as visited unless he had heard the Miserere, by the Pope's choir in the Sistine Chapel. It can be heard in perfection nowhere else, because there alone are those wonderful associations of art that contribute so greatly to its effect. There is no accompaniment to the voices. Holy Thursday is the busiest day of the sacred seven. The mass is, if possible, more tedious than usual. There are endless shiftings of vest Previous to the Miserere of Allegri, the Pope comes down from his throne, and kneels while two treble voices sing, "Christ was made for us obedient even unto death," and the Lord's Pray-ments, the yellow candles of the altar are changed er is silently repeated. After the singing, the Pope reads the closing prayer in an inaudible voice, and the service is concluded by the choir's imitating the confusion of nature at the death of the Redeemer, and the fear and grief of the attendant soldiers and spectators. The pathos of for white, and the ornaments covered with white instead of purple, as indicating a less degree of mourning. The bells, and even the clocks, are all tied up until Saturday noon, or after the Resurrection, which is then announced by all the uproar they can make. The Pope blesses the incense which is used to perfume the altar, and then submits to being incensed himself by the senior cardinal priest. This is by no means a pleasant operation, if the incense be very powerful. The officiating prelates are incensed also in their turn; a rite which strikes one as wholly pagan in its origin and application. The kissing of the robes and toes goes on as usual, but not the kiss of peace, because it is the anniversary of the betrayal of Judas. The Pope in solemn procession, bare-headed, and with incense burning before him, deposits the body of Christ on the altar in the Pauline Chapel, which is brilliantly illuminated, by six hundred wax candles, for the occasion. All kneel as he passes. Why the apparent burial should precede the crucifixion is an anomaly that the Church does not explain, except so far as it gives the faithful an opportunity to worship the Holy Wafer. The devotion now displayed is one of the most impressive features of the Roman Catholic faith No one can enter this beautiful chapel, and behold the multitudes kneeling in silent adoration before the sacrament, without feeling stirred within him the spirit of devotion. It is no graven image that they worship. They believe that before them lies the very flesh and blood of their Saviour. They prostrate themselves before their God. Protestants may wonder that faith can be pushed to such a degree; but can those who thus believe do less? I am not one of those who are surprised that the ignorant Roman Catholics resent the indifference and contempt that Protestants too often show to the Holy Sacrament. They overlook neglect of courtesy toward the Pope, and even disrespect of saints and images; but want of reverence to the body of Christ strikes them as the unpardonable offense against the Holy Ghost. The doctrine of transubstantiation is the widest of all the gulfs between the two creeds. Imagine the horror of the Italian landlord, when called upon for a dish of pigeons by an Englishman, who could make himself understood only by repeating the name given to the dove in religious processions, viz., Espirito Santo-literally, "a dish of Holy Ghost." As the papal benediction on Thursday extends only to the city gates, there is no great crowd to receive it. A portion of the Pope's prayer is as follows: "We ask, through the prayers and merits of the blessed Mary, ever virgin, of the blessed John the Baptist, of all the saints," &c.; after finishing which, he showers down "plenary" indulgences by the handful. I have met very few who knew what an indulgence was. I find the general idea among Roman Catholics to be, that the indulgence of the nineteenth century means shortening their time so much in purgatory. Upon that principle, heaven becomes simply a matter of bargain with the priesthood; the wealthy realizing, no doubt, with them as much difficulty in opening the door as did the rich man spoken of by our Saviour. But in the latter case it was the cares of the world that stopped his progress; in the former it is the tariff of the Church. The squeeze to see the washing of the feet and feeding of the pilgrims is equal to that to hear the Miserere. Thirteen priests are the selected recip The exhibition of the Cross of Fire, suspended above the tomb of St. Peter, around which burn night and day two hundred silver lamps, has been discontinued for upward of twenty years, owing to the scandalous scenes which took place among the crowd in the church, after its adoration by the Pope and crowned heads then at Rome. ients of this act of Papal humility. They are all tires. Thus ends lesson two of humility. The dressed in loose white gowns, with caps of the dinner is a good one, and all that the pilgrims same material on their heads. The object of this can not eat they carry away. When the Pope custom is to give the pontiff the opportunity does not feel in the mood for the latter ceremony, of learning and practising a lesson of humility." he delegates it to a substitute. This lesson of humility is studied in the following manner. A throne for the Pope is first placed in the hall, with the usual tokens of sovereign rank. A large retinue of nobles and ecclesiastics assist his Holiness. Two hold the Pope's train; a third bears a towel for washing his hands; while two clerks of the chamber aid him in his own ablutions, after his labors on the pilgrims. The pilgrims, alias priests, are seated on a high bench. The right foot, having been previously made most scrupulously clean, is left bare. The Pope changes his uniform for a less splendid one, and, after being duly incensed, a fine cloth, trimmed with lace, is tied upon him. Attended by his master of ceremonies and deacons, he humbly proceeds to the washing. A sub-deacon lifts the foot; the pontiff kneels, and sprinkles it with water from a silver basin. He then rubs it with the laced cloth, kisses it, and goes on to the next. A nosegay and towel, and a gold and silver medal are given to each pilgrim. This lesson of humility lasts about two minutes. Another rush, and the crowd find themselves within the "Salla della Tavola," where the pilgrims are fed. The Pope puts on an apron, pours water on his hands, hurriedly hands the pilgrims a few dishes, which are presented to him by kneeling prelates, blesses them, and re On Good-Friday the papal chapel presents its deepest tone of grief. It is stripped bare of carpets and ornaments. The cardinals wear purple stockings, and leave their rings behind them. The lessons are appropriate to the day; but the satisfaction which would otherwise arise in the heart at hearing the offices is wholly lost in the tedium and disgust attendant upon the insipid ceremonies which accompany them. Formerly, the clergy came bare-footed; now, only the Pope, and some of the superior clergy and cardinals take off their shoes during the Adoration of the Cross, from which the violet covering is removed. The Pope casts his offering-a purse of red damask trimmed with gold-into a silver basin. Then there is a procession to and from the Pauline Chapel. But the chief attractions on this day are the music and sermons at the several churches, which rival each other in their preparations for the Tre Ore-the three hours of agony of Christ upon the Cross, lasting from twelve to |