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tiara on his head; after which, accompanied by two deacons and two sub-deacons, he advances to the foot of the altar, and bowing reverently, makes the usual confession. He then proceeds in great pomp through the chancel, and ascends the pontifical throne, while the choir sing the Introitus, or psalm of entrance, the Kyrie Eleison and Gloria in excelsis, when the Pontiff lays aside his tiara, and, after having saluted the congregation in the usual form, the Lord be with you, reads the collect in an elevated tone of voice, with a degree of inflection just sufficient to distinguish it from an ordinary lecture. The epistle is then read, first in Latin, then in Greek ; and after it some select verses from the Psalms, intermingled with Alleluiahs, are sung, to elevate the mind, and prepare it for the gospel. The Pontiff then rises, gives his benediction to the two deacons that kneel at his feet with the book of the gospels, and, resigning his tiara, stands while the gospel is sung in Latin and in Greek; after which he commences the Nicene creed, which is continued in music by the choir. When the creed and the psalm that follows it are over, he descends from his throne, and approaching the altar, with the same attendants and the same pomp as in the commencement of the service, he receives, and offers up the usual oblations, fumes the altar with frankincense from a golden censer, and then washes his hands, -a ceremony implying purity of mind and body. He then turns to the people, and, in an humble and affectionate address, begs their prayers; and shortly after commences that sublime form of adoration and praise called the Preface, because it is an introduction to the most solemn part of the liturgy, and chaunts it in a tone supposed to be borrowed from the ancient tragic declamation, and very noble and impressive. The last words, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of armies,” &c., are uttered in a posture of profound adoration, and sung by the choir in notes of deep and solemn intonation. All music then ceases, all sounds are hushed, and an awful silence reigns around; while, in a low tone, the Pontiff recites that most ancient and venerable invocation which precedes, accompanies, and follows the consecration, and concludes with great propriety in the Lord's Prayer, chaunted with a few emphatical inflections. .“ Shortly after the conclusion of this prayer, the Pontiff salutes the people in the ancient form, “ May the peace of the Lord be always with you,” and returns to his throne, while the choir sing thrice the devout address to the Saviour, taken from the gospel, “ Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us,” When he is seated, the two deacons bring the holy sacrament, which he first reveres humbly on his knees, and then receives in a sitting posture: the anthem after communion is sung, a collect follows, and the deacon dismisses the assembly.
“ The Pope then offers up his devotions on his knees at the foot of the altar, and borne along in the same state as when he entered, passes down the nave of the church, and ascends by the Scala Regia to the grand gallery in the middle of the front of St Peter's. His immediate attendants surround his person, the rest of the procession draws up on each side. The immense area and colonnade before the church are lined with troops, and crowded with thousands of spectators. All eyes are fixed on the gallery, the chaunt of the choir is heard at a distance, the blaze of numberless torches plays round the columns, and the Pontiff appears elevated on his chair of state under the middle arch. Instantly the whole multitude below fall on their knees, the cannons from St Angelo give a general discharge, while, rising slowly from his throne, he lifts his hands to heaven, stretches forth his arm, and thrice gives his benediction to the crowd, to the city, and to all man
kind ; a solemn pause follows, another discharge is heard, the crowd rises, and the pomp gradually disappears. This ceremony is, without doubt, very grand, and considered by most travellers as a noble and becoming conclusion to the majestic service that precedes it. In fact, every thing concurs to render it interesting ; the venerable character of the Pontiff himself, the first bishop of the Christian church, issuing from the sanctuary of the noblest temple in the universe, bearing the holiness of the mysteries, which he has just participated, imprinted on his countenance, offering up his supplication in behalf of his flock, his subjects, his brethren, his fellow-creatures, to the Father of all,
through the Saviour and Mediator of all. Surely such • a scene is both edifying and impressive.”
MISS BAILLIE'S SONGS.
“ The genius of Miss Baillie,” said Egeria, “ dilates as we become more and more intimately acquainted with her works. There is a retired truth and secret sentiment in her poetry, which is not obvious at the first reading. Passion with her takes more of the character of sensibility than of energy. It bears, suffers, and sustains, but seldom breaks out into any vehemence of action,—had she, instead of writing dramas on the passions, been contented with the less ambitious walk of odes and songs, her muse would have been more popular. I suspect she would even
sensibili with 1 is not
have ranked higher, high as she is in literature. But what I most admire in her poetry is, a certain quaint something of antiquity, simple and picturesque, both in the language and the thought, reminding one, I know not wherefore, of mossy trees and ivied towers, curious carvings, and all sorts and scenes of olden imagery.
“ There is an original song by her on a trite subject, but so prettily expressed, as to have all the newness that can be desired, even in the most excellent new
“ When clouds on high are riding,
The wintry moonshine hiding,
O'er mountain waves we go.
With hind on dry land creeping,
Change we our lot ?-Oh, no.
O'er stormy main careering,
Our steady course we hold.
Their sails with sunbeams whiten’d,
Who shall return ?- The bold."
“ But the songs in her delightful little drama of “ the Beacon" surpass all her other lyrical pieces.
Now sombre red, now amber bright,
PRINCE EUGENE.. « GENERAL history is, after all that may be said about its dignity, but the index to biography," was the observation with which Egeria laid down the Memoirs of Prince Eugene. “ In this little work, the great affairs in which the Prince bore so distinguished a part appear now but as the incidents of his personal adventures. One thinks as little of the battles of Blenheim and Oudenarde in these pages, as of the frolics of Tom Jones, or of Roderick Random, in the novels of Fielding and Smollett.”
“ I have heard it surmised,” replied the Bachelor, “ that the book is not authentic.".
« In the strictest sense of the term,” said the Nymph, “ perhaps it may be so, but, philosophically speaking, I would say, that, by whomsoever it may have been written or compiled, it is assured. ly authentic. The spirit and vivacity with which it is drawn up are so admirably conceived, that the