he had to solve was one of such difficulty, that only one of those minds, the rare product of ages for the redemption of mankind, could be equal to its solution.  The question that inevitably rose on seeing him was, “Is he such a one?” The answer was immediately negative.  But at the same time, he had such an aspect of true benevolence and piety, that a hope arose that Heaven would act through him, and impel him to measures wise beyond his knowledge.

This hope was confirmed by the calmness he showed at the time of the conspiracy of July, and the occupation of Ferrara by the Austrians.  Tales were told of simple wisdom, of instinct, which he obeyed in opposition to the counsels of all his Cardinals.  Everything went on well for a time.

But tokens of indubitable weakness were shown by the Pope in early acts of the winter, in the removal of a censor at the suggestion of others, in his speech, to the Consistory, in his answer to the first address of the Council.  In these he declared that, when there was conflict between the priest and the man, he always meant to be the priest; and that he preferred the wisdom of the past to that of the future.

Still, times went on bending his predeterminations to the call of the moment.  He acted wiselier than he intended; as, for instance, three weeks after declaring he would not give a constitution to his people, he gave it,—­a sop to Cerberus, indeed,—­a poor vamped-up thing that will by and by have to give place to something more legitimate, but which served its purpose at the time as declaration of rights for the people.  When the news of the revolution of Vienna arrived, the Pope himself cried Viva Pio Nono! and this ebullition of truth in one so humble, though opposed to his formal declarations, was received by his people with that immediate assent which truth commands.

The revolution of Lombardy followed.  The troops of the line were sent thither; the volunteers rushed to accompany them.  In the streets of Rome was read the proclamation of Charles Albert, in which he styles himself the servant of Italy and of Pius IX.  The priests preached the war, and justly, as a crusade; the Pope blessed their banners.  Nobody dreamed, or had cause to dream, that these movements had not his full sympathy; and his name was in every form invoked as the chosen instrument of God to inspire Italy to throw off the oppressive yoke of the foreigner, and recover her rights in the civilized world.

At the same time, however, the Pope was seen to act with great blindness in the affair of the Jesuits.  The other states of Italy drove them out by main force, resolved not to have in the midst of the war a foe and spy in the camp.  Rome wished to do the same, but the Pope rose in their defence.  He talked as if they were assailed as a religious body, when he could not fail, like everybody else, to be aware that they were dreaded and hated solely as agents of despotism.  He demanded that they should be