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Rh lightetli every man that cometh into the world.' It is so easy for us who have been born in countries through which have rung 'the awful echoes of Luther's tremen- dous protest,' to thank God we are not as these poor Latin peasants ; or for those of us ' who,' as Swift says, ' by the sheer force of genius alone, unassisted by book- learning, or even intellect, have come to the astound- ing conclusion that there is no God,' to look down from our unassailable height with infinite pity and condescen- sion, combined with a mag- nificent nonchalance, upon these poor, credulous, faith- ful folk. Let us leave them to their sinn)le worshij) — their unquestioning faith. It is not given to every one to be self-sustained, and the Children of Light are not always as wise in their generation as those of this world. At least, with their crucifixes, their pictures, their wonderful relics, their festas and gala-days, when the long glittering proces- sion winds down her quaint mountain streets ; while last comes the brave and stal- wart priest, stately and egregious, towering above his congregation si. feet t^vo as he walks — Anticoli is happier far than the enlightened Italian cities. where the reaction from Papal supremacy, and a blind and mistaken loyalty to the king, are fast sweeping away poor old-fashioned Christianity, as France has done already, together with truth and valour, charity, and purity of soul. The mention of the w-ord 'fesia ' recalls to ju)- mind a remark made to me by an American writer (F. Marion Crawford), himself boi'ii in Italy, and whose fame is as wide as his travels — that if a stranger in Italy, being ignorant of the lan- guage, should yet have mastered three expres- sions, he might, by a judicious use of these, pass as being fluent therein, and not remarkably reticent. These three were — 'Addio!' 'Chi lo sa ?' and 'Domaiii cj'estu '.' I quote this, not alone on the high authority of its originator, but also because the longer I stay in Italy the more convincingly do the truth and penetra- tion of the remark present themselves to me. And be it known, that a /f.v/rt does not only mean Avhat a saint's day in Anglo-Saxondom might mean — a quiet service in church, with the utterance of an appropriate »AH>H6T*'t NIAMM collect. Here it means a burning and banging of gun- powder, a mad ringing of bells, processions, macaroni, the airing of the best clothes, the drinking of wine less profusely watered, a loafing in the square, a day of garlic and other delights. How they can afford the time for all this enthusiasm — which means doing no solitary stroke of work the livelong day — must for ever be a mystery to a Nor- therner. They are as poor as rats, and yet they would sooner starve than work on a fesiu. Verily, their motto is — Half a ' loaf is better than no bread ! Though it is only fair to say that, when not keeping feasts, they are skilful and enduring work- men, especially at agricul- tural pursuits — getting up in the middle of the night, and working for a number of hours, and with a paucity of food and pay that would make an Englishman turn Chartist. They exist almost entirel}' on bread made from fi'/rt« turcu, or Indian corn ; while two francs a day is the ordinary pay of an able- bodied man. It is astonish- ing how nearly they live to the original idea of man. They stand close to nature : they obtain from the earth their bread, on which they absolutely exist, bartering but little of it for a few

necessities, such as clothing. The primitive system of exchange is in force here in Anticoli in all its simplicity. Only the other evening, while sitting- after work in the 'cheap-jacquerie,' we were much interested by seeing a ragged little urchin, who reached about half-way up to the counter, and who stood there mute and motionless for about five minutes. He might have stood there until the next mornine — for he was almost the same tone as the wood-work — had not one of us spotted him, and asked him what in the world such an insignificant, tattered little atom might be wanting in the great Anticoli Bon-Marche ? With great care he produced from the ragged mysteries of his coat's interior a single egg, which he held out at arm's-length, as he tiptoed up towards the towering counter's top, and demurely asked for a yard of cord to tie up his ciocc. This was given him, and the egg duly examined and taken in exchange without a smile, by the wife of the owner of the shop, who, if report speaks true, has been raised