white dresses fringed with gold, brave the heat and the dust, and crowd
to do honour to the 'Queen of Angels.' A multitude with streamers and
banners, a confusion of colour and gilding, passing to and from the
churches all day; and at night, fire balloons, _feu d'artifice_, open
theatres, and 'general joy.'

Of one more ceremony we must speak, differing in character, but equally
characteristic and curious. We are in the country again, spending our
days in sketching, or wandering amongst the hills; enjoying the 'perfect
weather,' as we call it, and a little careless, perhaps, of the fact
that the land is parched with thirst, that the springs are dried up, and
that the peasants are beginning to despair of rain.

We see a little white smoke curling through the branches of the trees,
and hear in faint, uncertain cadence, the voices of men and children
singing. Presently there comes up the pathway between two lines of
poplars, a long procession, headed by a priest, holding high in the air
a glittering cross; there are old men with bowed heads, young men erect,
with shaven crowns, and boys in scarlet and white robes, carrying
silver censers; there is a clanking of silver chains, a tinkling of
little bells, and an undertone of oft-repeated prayer. The effect is
startling, and brilliant; the sunlight glances upon the white robes of
the men, in alternate stripes of soft shadow and dazzling brightness,
the wind plays round their feet as they march heavily along, in a whirl
of dust which robs the leaves of their morning freshness; whilst the
scarlet robes of the children light up the grove as with a furnace, and
the rush of voices disturbs the air. On they come through the quiet
country fields, hot and dusty with their long march, the foremost priest
holding his head high, and doing his routine work manfully--never
wearying of repeating the same words, or of opening and shutting the