Such is the custom here at the church festivals, when the Pope is present in person.
If the service could have called forth any devotional sentiment in my soul, it would have been completely nullified by a kind of perpetuum mobile, which sat beside me in the shape of a stout lady of about fifty, a French woman of the most extremely silly appearance and manner, who would not let either herself or any one else have a moment's repose. Now she adjusted her neighbor's vail, then she would have the neighbor to adjust hers; now she rattled her bracelets and rings, admiring them as she twisted about a large, fat hand; then she showed them to a lady behind her; then took a lottery-ticket out of the pocket of her dress; then looked into her mass-book; then again brushed down her dress; then stood up, turned herself round, rustled, bustled, incessantly moved her hands, her head, her whole body, and kept continually asking all the time, qu'est-ce que c'est qu' ça? and so on through the whole service, which lasted an hour and a half. I employed the time in making myself acquainted with the purport of the mass, in the mass-book which my landlady had lent me—as well as in exercising my patience at the side of Lady Perpetuum Mobile.
Very splendid, and in its own way, beautiful, was the spectacle produced by the evolutions and marching of the Papal Swiss guards in the magnificent aisles and vestibules of the Vatican. Their brilliant medieval uniform of red and gold—for which Michael Angelo, it is said, gave the design—is maintained in all its details. For the rest, these guards distinguished themselves by an astonishing rudeness, rudeness towards foreign-
