TERROR and dismayreigned in the halls of the Vatican. Never since the appearance of the comet as an uninvited guest at the siege of Constantinople, had the Papal Council been in such a quandary. Through the long halls, the lofty salons, rushed a perturbed crowd of pallid dignitaries. Canons, bishops, cardinals, filled the passage-ways. Even the monks and friars who were on prayer-duty dropped their beads and hastened to the scene of excitement. A stream of Ecclesiastical big guns who were off duty came pouring up the cellar stairs. In a great chair, at the foot of the grand staircase, surrounded by censer-boys, sat Pio Nono, much incensed. A frown distorted his benevolent countenance; his attire and manner were ruffled; one of his red shoes was lying some distance off on the floor, and the holy toe tapped impatiently on the pavement. In short, his Holiness had, as the French would express it, l'air d'avoir tire le diable par la queue.

It was all owing to the page, Giacomo.

The Cardinal Antonelli had passed the day in dictating foreign despatches breathing words of hope from the imprisoned Pontiff, and hinting that, in such a time of duress and heretic persecution, it was hoped that the material offerings of believers would not be diminished, to the detriment of their spiritual welfare. After having accomplished this duty, his Eminence had presented himself at the apartments of the Pope, whence both had started, with the usual retinue, to descend the grand staircase to the oratory. All had proceeded with proper dignity until the last step was reached, where Giacomo, a youth at all times ungodly, and prone to sensual enjoyment, had been eating an orange. Plus IX. slipped on the orange-peel, and became suddenly couchant en azur.

Now, whether Antonelli had taken an extra dose of chain lightning by way of lightening his chains, remains a matter of doubt; but certain it is that he so far forgot himself as to give vent to one or two unmistakable guffaws at the mishap of his master.

But the rising snicker was soon checked by the expression on the Pontifical countenance. Slightly troubled, Antonelli deprecatingly inquired if his venerable friend could n't take a joke; and, as the Pope was beginning to mutter something very much resembling an excommunication "published for general distribution," a sympathizing chorus of inquiries arose, and hopes that no bones were broken, -

"Bones," said the Pope, "my bones are all right; but - where's my infallibility?"

* * * * *

Horror stalked grimly through the marble halls, and walked all over the faces of the by-standers.

"Santo Pedro!" said Monsignor McClosky, whose Italian was defective.

"Corpo di Bac - Cristo," said Antonelli.

"Bis - "said Giacomo.

"Who?" interrupted Antonelli, with a frown.

"- millah," said Giacomo.

"Oh!" said the Cardinal.

"But what's to be done?" inquired the Pope.