mind, but to please and exalt a lively imagination:  I wished myself a Roman Catholic for one half hour only.  The procession, which was so arranged as to produce the most striking theatrical effect, moved up the central aisle, to strains of solemn and beautiful music from an orchestra of wind instruments.  The musicians were placed out of sight, nor could I guess from what part of the buildings the sounds proceeded; but the blended harmony, so soft, yet so powerful and so equally diffused, as it floated through the long aisles and lofty domes, had a most heavenly effect.  At length appeared the Pope, borne on the shoulders of his attendants, and habited in his full Pontifical robes of white and gold; fans of peacocks’ feathers were waved on each side of his throne, and boys flung clouds of incense from their censers.  As the procession advanced at the slowest possible foot-pace, the Pope from time to time stretched forth his arms which were crossed upon his bosom, and solemnly blessed the people as they prostrated themselves on each side.  I could have fancied it the triumphant approach of an Eastern despot, but for the mild and venerable air of the amiable old Pope, who looked as if more humbled than exalted by the pageantry around him.  It might be acting, but if so, it was the most admirable acting I ever saw:  I wish all his attendants had performed their parts as well.  While the Pope assists at mass, it is not etiquette for him to do anything for himself:  one Cardinal kneeling, holds the book open before him, another carries his handkerchief, a third folds and unfolds his robe, a priest on each side supports him whenever he rises or moves, so that he appears among them like a mere helpless automaton going through a certain set of mechanical motions, with which his will has nothing to do.  All who approach or address him prostrate themselves and kiss his embroidered slipper before they rise.

When the whole ceremony was over, and most of the crowd dispersed, the Pope, after disrobing, was passing through a private part of the church where we were standing accidentally, looking at one of the monuments.  We made the usual obeisance, which he returned by inclining his head.  He walked without support, but with great difficulty, and appeared bent by infirmity and age:  his countenance has a melancholy but most benevolent expression, and his dark eyes retain uncommon lustre and penetration.  During the twenty-one years he has worn the tiara, he has suffered many vicissitudes and humiliations with dignity and fortitude.  He is not considered a man of very powerful intellect or very shining talents:  he is not a Ganganelli or a Lambertini; but he has been happy in his choice of ministers, and his government has been distinguished by a spirit of liberality, and above all by a partiality to the English, which calls for our respect and gratitude.  There were present to-day in St. Peter’s about five thousand people, and the church would certainly have contained ten times the number.