squibs and rockets they careered among the congregation, dashing in our
faces and clinging to our garments; the church resounded like an
olive-copse at noon. A hot little hand conveyed one of these tremulously
throbbing creatures into my own, and obeying a whispered injunction of
"Let it fly, sir!" I had the joy of seeing the beast alight with a
violent buzz on the head of the bride--doubtless the happiest of
auguries. Such conduct, on the part of English boys, would be deemed
very naughty and almost irreverent; but here, one hopes, it may have its
origin in some obscure but pious credence such as that which prompts the
populace to liberate birds in churches, at Easter time. These escaping
cicadas, it may be, are symbolical of matrimony--the individual man and
woman freed, at last, from the dungeon-like horrors of celibate
existence; or, if that parallel be far-fetched, we may conjecture that
their liberation represents the afflatus of the human soul, aspiring
upwards to merge its essence into the Divine All. . . .

The pride of San Demetrio is its college. You may read about it in
Professor Mazziotti's monograph; but whoever wishes to go to the
fountain-head must peruse the _Historia Erectionis Pontifici Collegi
Corsini Ullanensis, etc.,_ of old Zavarroni--an all-too-solid piece of
work. Founded under the auspices of Pope Clement XII in 1733 (or 1735)
at San Benedetto Ullano, it was moved hither in 1794, and between that
time and now has passed through fierce vicissitudes. Its president,
Bishop Bugliari, was murdered by the brigands in 1806; much of its lands
and revenues have been dissipated by maladministration; it was
persecuted for its Liberalism by the Bourbons, who called it a "workshop
of the devil." It distinguished itself during the anti-dynastic revolts
of 1799 and 1848 and, in 1860, was presented with twelve thousand ducats
by Garibaldi, "in consideration of the signal services rendered to the
national cause by the brave and generous Albanians." [Footnote: There