stood before him in my Protestant pride; he had listened with patience, replied with kindness, and finally exhorted me, not with papal arrogance, but as a true gospel teacher. I parted from him with more humility of spirit than I had come.
The Pope conversed with me in French, with facility and accuracy. His manner of speaking is lively and natural, as one who allows himself to converse without restraint.
I was received in the outer apartment, or corridor,—a long room, with many windows,—by Monsignore Merode.
“You have had a long conversation with the Pope,” observed he.
Myself.—His Holiness has had the goodness to answer some of my questions.
Mons. de M.—You are remaining in Rome? You ought to be always here. You must be converted and become a Catholic; it cannot be otherwise. A person like you ought not to die a heretic.
Myself.—But I am not a heretic. I am a Catholic Christian.
Mons. de M.—But not a Roman Catholic!
Myself.—No; I consider myself more Catholic than if I were so. I acknowledge as a Christian every one who has part in the life of Christ, and I do not ask whether he be called Catholic or Protestant. I reverence, as the disciple of Christ, every one who becomes great in this discipleship,—St. Vincent de Paul, St. Theresa, Catherina of Sienna, the Pope himself, as well as the men and women who are the ornaments of the Protestant church. I see them all as
