Not Long Ago, There Was A Festa-Day, In Honour Of The VIRGIN'S MOTHER, When The Young Men Of The Neighbourhood, Having Worn Green Wreaths Of The Vine In Some Procession Or Other, Bathed In Them, By Scores.

It looked very odd and pretty.

Though I am bound to confess (not knowing of the festa at that time), that I thought, and was quite satisfied, they wore them as horses do--to keep the flies off.

Soon afterwards, there was another festa-day, in honour of St. Nazaro. One of the Albaro young men brought two large bouquets soon after breakfast, and coming up-stairs into the great sala, presented them himself. This was a polite way of begging for a contribution towards the expenses of some music in the Saint's honour, so we gave him whatever it may have been, and his messenger departed: well satisfied. At six o'clock in the evening we went to the church--close at hand--a very gaudy place, hung all over with festoons and bright draperies, and filled, from the altar to the main door, with women, all seated. They wear no bonnets here, simply a long white veil--the 'mezzero;' and it was the most gauzy, ethereal-looking audience I ever saw. The young women are not generally pretty, but they walk remarkably well, and in their personal carriage and the management of their veils, display much innate grace and elegance. There were some men present: not very many: and a few of these were kneeling about the aisles, while everybody else tumbled over them.

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