, and the monogram "I. H. S." worked in
the top. It is the pope's custom to give this away when the ceremony
is over. Last year he presented it to an American lady, whose devotion
attracted him; this year I saw it go away in a gilded coach in the hands
of an ecclesiastic. The procession disappeared through the great portal
into the vestibule, and the door closed. In a moment somebody knocked
three times on the door: it opened, and the procession returned, and
moved again to the rear of the altar, the singers marching with it and
chanting. The cardinals then changed their violet for scarlet robes; and
high mass, for an hour, was celebrated by a cardinal priest: and I was
told that it was the pope's voice that we heard, high and clear, singing
the passion. The choir made the responses, and performed at intervals.
The singing was not without a certain power; indeed, it was marvelous
how some of the voices really filled the vast spaces of the edifice,
and the choruses rolled in solemn waves of sound through the arches. The
singing, with the male sopranos, is not to my taste; but it cannot be
denied that it had a wild and strange effect.

While this was going on behind the altar, the people outside were
wandering about, looking at each other, and on the watch not to miss any
of the shows of the day. People were talking, chattering, and greeting
each other as they might do in the street. Here and there somebody was
kneeling on the pavement, unheeding the passing throng. At several
of the chapels, services were being conducted; and there was a large
congregation, an ordinary church full, about each of them. But the
most of those present seemed to regard it as a spectacle only; and as a
display of dress, costumes, and nationalities it was almost unsurpassed.
There are few more wonderful sights in this world than an Englishwoman
in what she considers full dress. An English dandy is also a pleasing
object. For my part, as I have hinted, I like almost as well as anything
the big footmen,--those in scarlet breeches and blue gold-embroidered
coats. I stood in front of one of the fine creations for some time, and
contemplated him as one does the Farnese Hercules. One likes to see to
what a splendor his species can come, even if the brains have all
run down into the calves of the legs. There were also the pages, the
officers of the pope's household, in costumes of the Middle Ages; the
pope's Swiss guard in the showy harlequin uniform d