capital of Ischia, and as his festival is to be celebrated tomorrow with great solemnity, we have resolved to avail ourselves of the occasion to become acquainted with the chief town of our island. A pair of good rowers will take us thither in less than an hour. The little town, with its white houses and wooded gardens, lies prettily on the shore, and the tall fortified rock, Negrone, united to the town by a long bridge, gives it an imposing character. It is said to be a home for political prisoners. The people thronged in gayly to the market, bought and sold, and made ready for the fireworks. At five o'clock, amidst the jubilant ringing of bells, the procession came with the figure of a young Carmelite monk the size of life. He held in his richly ring-adorned hand a gayly dressed doll, which was to represent the child Jesus. A shower of yellow broom flowers was rained down by old women and girls over the saint as he was carried along; thundering military music attended him, and loud salvos of artillery rolled and rattled at each station where the image paused. The priests, who walked in the procession, appeared the least devotional of all the throng. One worthy father walked along calmly reading the while a newspaper.
During our visit to the gardens of the town, Mrs. M.'s little favorite dog was lost. As we began our search after it we were followed by a whole train of half-grown boys and girls, nearly all of whom begged impudently and almost demanded bajocci. Finding myself surrounded by such a throng, I retired to the shore and into the boat, where the boatmen endeavored to keep off the pursuing crowd. Presently Mrs. M. also
