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Rh to the splendour of her present position t'roui the ranks of the peasantry. I myself have my douhts about the ancestry of her sister-in-law, the wife of our host — Michele Amato's self. My suspicions are founded on this simple fact, that, coming out of the store-room the other day with some linen, I saw her place a folded serviette upon her head, and behold 1 she was, by this linen square, suddenly transformed into a peasant 1 It is her privilege and glory to go bare-headed, just as in Brittany the class above peasants wear a bonnet instead of a white cap. But, having the white square in her hand, she could no more resist her former instincts, and not put it on her head, than a newl3'-made Blue-coat boy could have done under similar circumstances, if a pile of pot-hats had replaced the bundle of serviettes ; while her confusion on being conscious of observation, and her hasty withdrawal of the token of inferiority, confirmed my suspicions. The fete of Corpus Domini at the end of May is one of the greatest of the year, and from eai-ly dawn great preparations are afoot for the coming procession. It is the peculiar feature of this fe.sta that, during the procession, the windows are hung, by wa)* of bunting, with all that is rarest in the way of petticoats, shawls, frocks, counterpanes, or other draperies from the housewife's wardrobe. Wonderful old heirlooms — ancient gowns, sometimes of silk or brocade — garments in which their great-grandmothers may have been married — are blazoned forth in all their bravery, fluttering in the wind, as much with a view to provoke the envy and admiration of the less fortunate neigh- bours, as to typify religious fervour. It is not, I fear, as effective as it might be — not, at least, to those of us who have had the ill-luck to be acquainted with Houndsditch or other Hebrew centres, where Moses or Abraham fascinates the plebeian imagination by the seductive display of tiie second-hand finery of an im- ])ecunious upper class. But 'tis showj- and gaudy — it makes a dash of colour — and so fires the childish Southern mind. About nine o'clock the drummer of the ))lace, who, in the intervals oi feste, is a blacksmith (not, alas ! a ' harmonious ' one, for the ringing of his hammer on his anvil is at least sweeter music than that which his drum produces), appears on the square, and with him a far more terrible mortal (the brother of the postman), who plays on a fife in a manner to make one agree with the great and brave Dr. Johnson, who, when Boswell endeavoured to awake some synij)athv for music in the mind of his master by explaining how difficult it was, and how niucli study was necessary for its production, replied : ' Sir, I wish it had been impossible J' Surely the people must go into the church to be present at mass only to escape from that music, for its use is pretty much that of proclaiming that the service is about to begin, and the folk are absolutely drummed and fifed into the sanctuary. On this day, however, the procession is arranged in the church, and they march down the hill to a tiny chapel at the very outskirts of the village, beneath the floating raiment overhead, through the gloom and grey coolness of the narrow streets, until they emerge into the glaring sunlight, which pours with dazzling brilliance on the white head-cloths of the women, who look as they move, with their white scarts also on their shoulders, like an undulating mass of snow. It is they that one sees from a distant survey of the straggling procession. It is this blinding gleam of white head-gear that first strikes the eye ; but in i-eality the women walk last. First come four stalwart men with black, tangled hair and faces of bronze, that bear the church banner. This is of great beauty, its faded colours gentle, and lost, and blended harmo- niously. Its design is simple and delicate as a fresco by Perugino, to whose school and period it probably belongs. Then come peasant-boys, shy and awkward, as boys should be, and as eoiitmliiii must be — yet have they a certain rustic grace, for they are moun- tain-bred ; and to w'alk down an Anticoli street without slipping in itself exercises all the muscles that a ballet dancer develops, and renders a slouching gait impos- sible. These wear a surplice of an enchanting colour, such as only time and southern sunlight can produce, which has faded into a greenish-blue of a pale hue that defies description, though it is something of ' eau-de-Nil,' and carry candles. Then comes one bearing a huge crucifix of ig)ioble style, and in revolt- ing taste. More boys and men in surplices, and then a youth who carries a gilded image of the Christ which the people press forward to kiss. He is followed by two little girls dressed as angels, with wings and many roses. But they are too self-conscious for the part, and we turn with relief to the tall priest who walks last in full vestments, bearing the Host with him. He at least is not tawdry ; and if he is overdressed, his robes are, after all, historic. Then come the snow-clad women, and the procession passes into the little chapel, with as many of the faithful as can pass in after it, the rest kneeling down outside, rank after rank, until quite beyond earshot. At the elevation of the Host the first of the long line of mortars is lighted, and puff! bang! they go blasting and roaring down the roadside luitil the hills go mad for joy at their echo. Then our friends of the fife and drum blow and smite away again with their execrable and ex- asperating music — tunes (or ' out-of-tunes ') most distinctly secular in selection, and both of a nature and manner that would ruin the ])ros])ects of a third- rate Punch and Judy showman even in Philistine London.

The procession, a repetition of the above, on the fete of Corpus Domini, was by its destination, and the time of day, rendered so different that it merits a special description.

This was held at eight o'clock in the evening, and was honoured above its predecessor by being allowed to pass through the square, dignified by the presence of the Bon Marchc, and by its neighboiu', at once the