After mass was over the Pope entered the college. Above the door the following inscription
was written in Latin, composed, I can safely say, by an Hiberno-Yankee pen:
“Approach, O mighty Pius, O thou the parent of the old world and the new, approach these sanctuaries, which thou hast founded for thine American children devoted to the science of the church! To thee, the whole company of pupils; to thee, all America, wild with exultation, offer up praise! For thee, they implore all things peaceful and blessed.”
In the hall prepared for his holiness’ reception there was hung up, “beneath a gorgeous canopy, a marvellous full-length likeness of the august person of the holy Pontiff, destined to recall his revered features. Around the picture a number of appropriate Latin mottos were arranged, of which I give one or two as specimens of the style of adulation adopted:
“Come, O youth, raise up the glad voice, behold, the supreme shepherd is present, blessing his children with the light of his countenance. Hail, O day, shining with a glorious light, on which his glad children receive within their arms the best of parents!
“As the earth beams forth covered with the sparkling sun-light, so the youths rejoice with
gladness, while thou, O father, kindly gladdenest them with thy most pleasant presence!”
Refreshments were then presented to the guests, which I am glad to say were much better than the mottos. The pupils of the Propaganda, who were all present, sang a hymn; addresses were made to the Pope by the pro-rector of the college in the name of the pupils, by Bishop Bacon on behalf of catholic America, and by Cardinal Barnabo, the superior of the Propaganda, all of them in terms of the most fervent adoration. Each of the American pupils then advanced with a short poem which he had composed, or was supposed to have composed, in expression of the emotions of his heart on this joyful occasion, and requested permission to recite it. At such a time the best feature in the Pope’s character, a sort of feeble kindliness of nature, was sure to show itself. I cannot but think indeed that the sight of the young boyish faces, whose words of reverence might possibly be those of truth and honesty, must have given an unwonted pleasure to the worn out, harassed, disappointed old man. “The holy father,” I read, “receiving with agitated feelings so many tokens of homage, was delighted beyond measure.” When the English poems were
recited to him, he called out, “can’t understand a word, but it seems good, very good.” He spoke to each of the lads in turn, and, when he was shown the statue of Washington, told them to give a cheer for their country, to cry Viva la Patria (the very offence, by the way, for which ten days before he had put his own Roman fellow-countrymen into prison), and then when the boys cheered, he raised his hands to his ears, and told them laughingly, they would drive him deaf. Now all this is very pleasant, or in young-lady parlance, very nice, and I wish, truly, I had nothing more to tell. I trust, indeed, that the long abstinence from food (as a priest who is about to celebrate the communion is not allowed to touch food from midnight till the time when Mass is over, and in these matters of observance Pius IX. is reputed to be strictly conscientious) or else the excitement of the scene had been too much for the not very powerful mind of the Pontiff; otherwise I know not how you can excuse an aged man, on the brink of the grave, to say nothing of the Vicegerent of Christ, using such language as he employed.
“After much affectionate demonstration, the Holy Father could no longer restrain his lips