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Arrived in the chapel, the old cardinals take their ordinary places, while their new colleagues prostrate themselves on the steps of the altar, the master of the ceremonies covering their heads with the hood attached to their capes. Thus they remain during a short service; and then rising, take up their station at the door of the chapel, where they again receive an embrace and fresh congratulations from each member of the College as he comes from the chapel. And then, at last, each newly-made "eminence" returns to his residence, this time with the blinds of the carriage drawn up, with the horses betasseled, and with the red parasol carried in front.

In the afternoon of that same day, the new cardinals set forth again to visit the Church of St. Peter's, in state, and there, in the portico in front of the great western entrance, they make abundant largesse to the crowd, and receive fresh congratulations from the prelates attached to the other cardinals, from the ambassadors residing at the Papal court, from the Roman princes, and the senators. That done, they proceed to visit the Dean, or eldest member of the Sacred College, who furnishes a grand banquet to all the train following them. And the new "Porporati" return the compliment, when the Dean visits them in state on the following day. But in the making of these visits, it is very necessary to observe and remember that on each occasion the visiting party is to be met at the door, as he alights from his carriage, by the chaplains and other attendants of the party visited, and his train is to be borne, as he ascends the stairs, by the "candatario of the party visited; but on his departure he is to be attended and his mantle to be put on by his own attendants.

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But to return to the newly-made cardinal at the end of the first hard day's work of his new dignity. His HAT has not arrived! And to this ceremony a very great importance is attached. In the evening of the same day a solemn procession sets forth from the Vatican, consisting of the prelate, who holds the place of "guardaroba," clad in a purple mantle, and accompanied by two "bussolanti" (both in their costumes of purple serge) and five grooms, all -like the driver of the carriage-dressed in grand gala liveries. These "bussolanti," whose strange title is continually met with in accounts of Papal ceremonies, are, in fact, the Pope's footmen. Their name is derived from the word "bussola," a door; and they were so-called from their main duty of standing at the door to receive all applications for audience of the Pontiff. Originally they appear to have been five in number; but gradually, in process of time, after the fashion of the Papal Court, in which offices of every kind, from the highest to the lowest, were continually being multiplied, they came to be six-and-thirty, and so continued till evil days began to fall upon the Church, and Pius VII., in a fit of enforced economy, reduced their number to eighteen, and their stipend to ten dollars a month. It had, in earlier times, consisted of a daily portion of "Papal bread," and a portion of common bread, one measure of wine from the "secret cellar," and one from the common cellar, and forty-five pauls, equal to about five dollars (but much more in value in those days) a month. It would seem that the two "bussolanti" go, on the occasion of which we are speaking, in the

carriage with the "guardaroba," who is a prelate, so that their position must be held to be one of some dignity. The five grooms walk, one in front, and behind him another, flanked on either side by one of his comrades. The centre one carries THE HAT in a silver basin, covered with a red silk drapery, fringed with gold. The fifth groom walks at the door of the carriage in which Monsig nore the "guardaroba" sits with the two "bussolanti ;" and thus the procession moves to the house of the new cardinal. If there are, as is almost always the case, several promotions to that dignity made at the same time, the same ceremonial has to be repeated at the house of each of them. When the prelate "guardaroba" has reached the threshold of the new dignitary's apartment, the latter meets him there in full cardinal's costume, with his red "beretta " in his hand, and conducts him to the room in which his new cardinal's canopied throne has been erected. There he remains standing beneath the canopy, while Monsignore "guardaroba" stands opposite to him, with one of the "bussolanti" on either side of him, he on the right hand holding the precious hat in its silver basin, having taken it from the groom on entering the state apartments, while "guardaroba" makes a speech, recounting all the virtues and services which have moved His Holiness to exalt the new member of the Sacred College to the Cardinalate. Both still continue to stand thus facing each other while the new cardinal makes an answering speech, in which, says the learned author, who recounts all this with the persuasion that he is recording matters of the highest importance to the Catholic Church and the world in general, he attributes his promotion rather to the Holy Father's kindness than to his own merit. The historian tells us that such is the tenor of the reply made, as being quite a matter of regulation, and utterly unconscious of any suspicion, that a cardinal, thus accounting for his promotion, would be, if there were any smallest flavour of truthfulness in the whole farce, uttering the severest satire on his "Holy Father."

When this cut-and-dry piece of falsehood has been uttered according to rule, the Red Hat is solemnly placed on a little table between two lighted candles, and is covered with a veil of purple, fringed with gold. The table must be spread with a damask cloth. Then the cardinal invites the " guardaroba" to sit by his side under the canopy; all the guests, who have been invited to be spectators to the ceremony, at that signal, retire into another room, where they find a magnificent repast provided for them; and the cardinal and the "guardaroba," left together, have a little conversation, after which the cardinal presents his visitor with a golden box, or a golden watch, and, accompanying him to the door of the state apartment, there takes leave of him. And "guardaroba" goes off to repeat the ceremony, and gets as many gold boxes or watches as there are new cardinals. On parting with the cardinal at the door, the chamberlains and the chaplains of the latter conduct him with six lighted torches to the great hall of the palace; and thence two servants of the cardinal, with lighted torches, precede him to his carriage. The chaplains and the chamberlains still accompany him, but put out their torches-this diminution from six torches to two being significant of the fact that, on quitting the great hall of the

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cardinal's house, his functions and character as an ablegatus," or special messenger from the Pope, came to an end. When Monsignore "guardaroba " has repeated the whole of this ceremonial as many times as there are new cardinals-perhaps as many as ten or more-he returns to the Apostolic palace to report to the Pope that his duty has been duly accomplished. It is to be understood that no one of the many different steps in all this ceremonial, a much abbreviated account of which has been given above (for if every minute change of costume and of posture had been recorded at length, this already tediously long story would have been thrice as long!), is accomplished without the payment of its regularly established fees and perquisites to everybody concerned in the performance. The entire amount of these-for the exact sum due is, in every case, traditionally fixed, and is, indeed, notified in a regular tariff, printed by the Apostolic press-is one thousand three hundred and fifty-two dollars and a half, payable at the time of creation, and six hundred and seventy-nine dollars and ninety cents, payable on receipt of the hat. Nor does this cover the whole of the expense. For, besides a variety of banquets and receptions, all fixed by rule, a cardinal was expected to erect before the façade of his palace, on the evening of receiving the hat, an elaborate temporary edifice, adorned with "allegorical figures of the virtues," emblems, and other devices, and to regale the city with an illumination and fireworks-though on more recent occasions these requirements have been graciously commuted by Papal indulgence into a payment of five hundred dollars to some charity.

It is impossible to read the foregoing account of all this mass of frivolity and puerility without being forcibly struck by the reflection that so much superficial outside necessarily indicates an equally remarkable vacancy within. Is it possible to imagine that adult men, aged men, men of culture and learning, who were really and sincerely in earnest in the work to which they profess to have dedicated their lives, could have busied themselves in the building up of this monstrous system, or could have tolerated it if built up for their use by others? Surely it must be felt to betoken unmistakably the hollowness of the whole thing. Why, it is all outside, all mere form, and even mostly the sham of an obsolete form, out of which the little meaning that once was in it has long since passed away. And even this is not all, nor the worst, great as is the moral evil inevitably incurred by life-long complicity in what is felt and known to be falsehood. The solemn farce in which these purple princes of the Church are engaged, it must be remembered, is not objectionable merely on the grounds on which any other pretence of meaning, where no meaning is, would be objectionable. These men are turning into self-conscious humbug all that can be conceived most solemn and awfully serious to a human soul! The words and phrases which they mutter and mumble among the turnings this way, and turnings that way, and putting on this dress, and putting off that, according to the innumerable stage directions of their performance, had once a very holy and terrible meaning in thein!

948

The Children's Hour.

LESSONS IN PATIENCE.

BY MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.

CHAPTER XV.-PATIENCE IN STITCHES.

AFTER the episode of the difficult sum and the violets, Alice and Miss Reynolds became excellent friends. They understood each other better, and the consequence was that an affection sprang up between the two which lasted for a long time. Every day Alice tried to please the lady, who saw the efforts which her scholar made, and appreciated them, even when Alice thought herself unsuccessful. Miss Reynolds knew that Alice was a Christian girl, and that she was trying to live so as to serve the Saviour, and she resolved to do all that she could to help her. This made it much more easy for Alice during school hours. She was able to bear patiently many things which she did not like, because she had the sympathy of her governess. And so well did she behave, and so conscientiously did she perform her school duties, that when at last the time came for her to leave school, the departure of no pupil was more regretted than was the departure of Alice. Before that time came, however, she had learned many lessons in patience which were useful to her in after life. She did not yet find it quite easy to be patient. Sometimes a hard battle had to be fought with herself before she could be kept quiet under provocation. But fresh victory made her more strong, and increased the beauty every and firmness of her character.

I will only tell you of two other incidents in the childhood of Alice, and must then pass on to her after-life, and the conclusion of this story.

Perhaps you are a little interested in Alice's friend Harry, and wish to know what became of him.

Soon after the missing money had been found, Alice and Mrs. Russell called again to see Harry and his mother. They found the poor woman so ill that she could scarcely speak; but she managed to say a few words with difficulty.

"And I am so anxious

"I fear that I am dying," she said. about my boy. I wish some kind friends would try to get him into an orphan asylum, where he will be well cared for, and taught to be a good boy."

"Mamma, could not we do this?" said Alice, in a whisper.

"If you will trust your little boy to us, we will try to do as you wish with him," said Mrs. Russell to the woman.

"Will you, indeed? Oh! how kind you are! I have not strength even to thank you; but God will bless you and reward you for your goodness."

Very little more could be done for the dying woman; but Mrs. Russell said a word or two to her about the Saviour.

"Those who trust in Him need not be afraid to die," she said; "for He is the resurrection and the life."

"Yes; I know Him. I am not afraid. My only anxiety has been about my boy."

"You need not fear for him. Alice will write to kind friends whom we know, and I have no doubt but that he will be received into one of the excellent institutions of our land. My daughter will write to all our friends who have influence. You will be glad to do so, will you not, Alice ?"

“Very glad, mother," said Alice, quietly.

"But I have heard that there is great difficulty about it. It may be months before you succeed; and what is to become of him in the meantime?"

"I will have him at my house."

"Oh! God bless you, dear lady, for you have taken a heavy load from me."

The woman did not speak after that. She lay very still until the next morning, and then died. Poor little Harry, whose father had died before, and who was now an orphan, did not know what a loss he had sustained in the death of his mother, for he was too young to miss her very much. At first, when the neighbours brought him to Mrs. Russell, he was rather quiet and sad; but he soon became more cheerful, and, as he was already much attached to Alice, he was not long before he felt quite at home with the family. Two months passed before a vacant place was found for him. Then he was transferred from Mrs. Russell's house to a home where kind friends would watch over him, and teach him to love and serve the Saviour. Alice was quite sorry to part from him, and Harry did not wish to go. But he soon became comforted and happy in his new abode, and he was so good and merry that the matron was quite fond of him.

.

"I miss Harry so much," said Alice to Edith one morning, "that I must find something new in which to occupy my mind." "It is almost a pity that Harry has gone."

“Oh, no; I am glad he is in the orphan's home, because I know it is right that he should be there; and it will be the better for him in his future life. But I have been thinking that I should like to make a satin quilt for mamma. I can buy the pieces, and

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