are stigmatized with a strange audacity, by the names of hypocrisy, fanaticism, and perversion of religion. He then went on to say, that now, more than ever, it was high time to take vengeance in the name of God, and that the vengeance of the priesthood and the Vicariate of Christ Jesus consisted solely in prayer and supplication, that all might be converted and live. That, moreover, the chief of all 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.