"Vale Pontifex Maxime!"

"VALE PONTIFEX MAXIME !"

THE ENTOMBMENT OF PIUS IX . WE have thought itAvell to take this interesting account of the funeral of a deceased Pope , ancl the election of a living one , from our excellent contemporary The Graphic . " The arching dome of Michael Angolo , almost a lesser sky Avithin the sky , rises dim and

shadoAvy above tho basilica dedicated to the Galilean Fisherman . The great , grim mosaics Avaver in the uncertain flicker of torches ; and the huge letters of the inscription show fitfull y , like the Avriting on the wall at Belshazzar s Feast . " Tu es Petrus , et super heme petram eedificavi Ecclesiam meam . " The letters come and go , one by one , fragmentarily . They are no longer the clear black Roman characters . They aro hieroglyphs full of a hidden ancl mysterious meaning . Within the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament , to the right of one entering St . Peter ' s by the groat door , lights have been burning aE day , and a still form , guarded by stiE forms , —the only restful figures in the vast thronged edifice , —has been lying Avith a smile on its Avaxen face . There it has

lain all day , and for four days and nights ; smiling quietly , as though the Angel of Death had AA'hispered a secret iu its ear , Avhich made earth poor and small as an infant ' s toy . It wears a deep crimson regal mantle , and a mitre covered AA'ith cloth of gold ; ancl gloves of crimson silk clothe the aged hands AA'hich clasp a small black cross , on AA'hich a silver Christ hangs sorroAvful and compassionate . On one finger of the crimson-gloved bauds glitters the episcopal ring . It has been there for four days in solemn pomp and state , surrounded by guardsto keep the multitudes pouring onpouring on

, away eager , , like an exhaustless sea . And still that secret Avhisper of the Angel of Death keeps the Avaxen face smiling . Under those closed lids there are visions that Ave cannot see . Within those dulled ears are sounds that Ave cannot hear . Let AVIIO AA'EI pause before that venerable shape in reverence or derision , it AVEI not quiver , it AVEI not throb . It remembers the secret whisper , ancl smiles quietly Avith an impregnable calm , to Avhich the mightiest monuments of time-defying Egypt are but handfuls of changing dust .

. But UOAV the struggle and the throng are past . The great doors have shut out from tho church the busy world , even as those closed eyelids shut it out for ever on the seventh day of this mouth . The l ying-in-state of Pius the Ninth , Pope of Rome , is over . Thousands have come to gaze upon the SIIOAV . Thousands of footsteps have shuffled OA'er the marble pavements , and out again on to the great steps , and across the Piazza , AA'here the soulless fountains ceaselessl ire to fall againand lash indifferent

y asp , p to sunny rainbow or dull thunder-cloud , and so into the streets Avhere the full life of the City absorbs them in its ftoAV . Quiet , —ah awful quiet , —reigns in St . Peter ' s . Think of the vast building , silent , save for an occasional sound of stealthy voice or foot!—a sound which flutters in shuddering echoes to the dome , and breaks its wings and dies there . Think of the vast building , dark save for some points of yell AV flame Avithin

the Chapel of the Sacrament , and a glare of tapers in the opposite chapel , Avhose light falls from its open door upon the dim pavement of the aisle , and the redder flare of a feAV torches shedding ghostly shadoAvs on marble column and linage , gilded altars , and the colossal bronze baldcquin above St . Peter ' s tomb . Strange to think of , —is it not ? —that the bronze of those tAvisted columns once lined the dome of the Pantheon ! And IIOAV Avithin that Avhilom pagan temple , divided from us by the HOAV of yelloAV Tiber ,

lies another king ancl ruler of men but recently called to his rest . Him , too , have tho thronging thousands flocked to gaze upon in his last repose , and him , too , have they found and left impassable , deaf to the blare of his loved soldier ' s bugle , smiling—he also—in the calm contentment of that last Avhisper , "Miserere , Domine 1 " That is the sigh of the living Avhen the pageant is over , and the great gates are shut , and the dazzling tapers spent . " Miserere nobis I"