round or pointed arches, cornices and decorations of cherubs, angels or grotesque figures in papier-maché. Some of them glitter with mirrors in all their interspaces. Others, again, dazzle one in the bright sunlight with their tinselled mosaic; all of them flutter gaily with flags.

The front part of each tower is slightly concave, and the bare scaffolding in the rear is concealed by luxuriant natural foliage and flowers. Standing under one of these fantastic erections one sees on the topmost point a colossal figure of some saint or hero, while on each one hangs prominently the sign of the particular guild or trade to which it belongs. Thus on one may appear a waistcoat; on another a loaf of bread; on a third a shoe, and so on. These queer pyramids are designed by professional architects in consultation with the members of the trade who bear the expense of each, and much anxiety is evinced as to whether or no the chosen design will gain a prize from the festa committee.

On the eve of the great day, when the gigli stand ready, all Nola is illuminated in their honor, and thousands of colored lanterns are hung on ropes across the streets, or from the beautiful tower itself to the houses on either side. One notices that the base of the pyramids consists of a massive framework of beams; on the lowest story is accommodation for an orchestra; and every tier and detail of the towering flower-like gigli, that rise glittering above the highest housetops, is worked out with as much pains as though it were intended for some great cathedral which should endure, not for a day, but for a thousand years.

On one side of the big market place is the town hall, and, facing it, is the cathedral of Nola with its great tower built ages ago out of the marble ruins of two Roman amphitheaters that graced the Nola of the Caesars, which was a walled city with twelve gates and many splendid temples to the gods.

Every Whitsunday, Nola wakes up to great excitement. A vari-colored Italian crowd, largely mixed with foreigners, pours through the narrow streets to the market-place. There are thousands of well-to-do country folk who have come in their gigs; the women in flaring silks with long gold cha nd their necks, and

earrings of enormous rough pearls in their ears. For a few lire they secure seats on a balcony, at a window, on a flat roof, or even on some crumbling and dangerous projection of the hoary old cathedral. The streets at the four corners of the market square are kept clear for the passage of the giant gigli.

Suddenly the confused sound of many bands is heard, and one by one flashing, glittering and swaying crazily like the mast of a ship in a gale, the great pyramids advance into the square, their lofty spires nodding to the rhythmic feet of their bearers, who are always porters from the great arsenal of Naples. These men are famous all over the Campagna Felice for their great strength. The flags flutter and decorations glisten in the blazing sun. The figures of the Virgin and saints on the pinnacles of the gigli bow and bend as they advance. Before each moving tower a man walks backward, guiding the bearers by beating time with hand and foot. There is a reason for this, because the ten porters at each of the four massive sides of the base can not see each other, on account of the great beams that rest on their shoulders.

The

Other men run beside them ready to lay hold of a beam and place their own shoulder beneath it, should the strength of a comrade fail. The traveler is irresistibly reminded of a Hindu festival, such as that of Juggernaut at Orissa. weight of these towers must be very great; and tall and powerful as the arsenal porters are who bear them, it is easy to see that every muscle is strained and many faces manifestly express a severe degree of exertion.

The men are clothed only in cotton drawers, most of them rolled up above the knee; white shirts; a crimson scarf about the waist; a red fez upon their heads, and a many-tinted kerchief round the neck. All maneuvers of these bearers are guided by a whistle. When this is heard for the first time, the forty men with one accord lift the enormous tower, and the moment it is "afloat" it advances swiftly up the street.

The moment all the eight gigli have entered the market-place, an extraordinary spectacle is beheld, for the lofty towers begin a fantastic and apparently most dangerous dance, dangerous, so far

as one can see, alike for porters and populace. Round and round each tower dances. Collisions seem inevitable, but are always skilfully avoided in the mazes. of a kind of waltz, surely the strangest dance in the world, with forty struggling men beneath each of the eight gigli, and the whole army of dancers guided by the shrill whistle of the captain.

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After a few minutes of this dance the massed bands strike up a wild tarantella. Immediately the bearers dance recklessly than ever, and the huge crowd rushes hither and thither to escape annihilation from the fall of the great Juggernauts. And imminent enough does this seem.

The towers, many of them from seventy to a hundred feet high, bend this way and that at a terribly alarming angle. But presently the crowd realize that after all there may be no real danger and they, too, begin to dance and sing.

A sight indeed is it to see this great populace dancing furiously, and the eight colossal towers dancing also in their midst. Just when the porters grow so fatigued that their burden becomes a very real danger, the board of judges send the police over to interfere. Gradually the waltzing pyramids are brought to

standstill and ranged in a row before the town hall.

On

And now begins the second act of this strange drama. Into the great square rolls an ancient ship, flying at its masthead an oriental flag, and carrying as its figurehead a bust of St. Paulinus. board, and half sheltered by the spreading sails, are seated a gorgeous grand vizier, a turbanned white-clad crew, and another band of music. The grand vizier suddenly rises and throws handfuls of sweetmeats among the crowd, causing a sudden frantic scramble among the merrymakers.

A few moments later the porters, who had retired for refreshments after having set down their colossal burdens, return in eight small "armies" and form circles around each towering "lily." In the midst of each crew steps a man carrying what looks like the rod of a Roman lictor, topped by a bunch of flowers. The nine bands now strike up another tarantella, and the eight crews of porters interlace. their arms and whirl in dance about the staff-bearers, leaping and swaying with frantic élan.

The bacchanal is at its very height, and the populace likewise excited and dancing

when, suddenly, the grand old bells of the cathedral peal out across the sunny Piazza, and simultaneously a procession of prelates, gorgeously robed, issues from the church and enters the square, led by the Bishop of Nola himself in full canonicals. Bringing up the rear of this imposing procession comes the solid silver bust of St. Paulinus, borne on the shoulders of two men. Other enthusiastic Nolans hold a baldachin of cloth-of-gold over the silver figure, and on to this fall the curious little sweetmeats thrown by the spectators. The procession makes ⚫a solemn round of the Piazza, and when its last member has disappeared once more into the ancient cathedral, the bands on the lofty gigli strike up the

Royal March "; each set of forty porters hasten to their posts; piercing whistles are heard, and once more with a great simultaneous heave, the towering and colossal "lilies are again under way.

In the path of each, long rows of crackers are laid, and as the bearers advance with their

weighty burdens, these crackers explode with an appalling din. The excited populace laugh and shriek and fly in all directions; and so, amid clouds of gunpowder smoke and excitement and hilarity, the lofty" lilies" of Nola disappear or another whole year, and the tens of thousands of spectators likewise desert the Piazza in search of entertainment.

As to the pyramids, I am told these cost at least 1,500 lire each, or nearly $300; and each trade pays for its own. The unfortunate porters who carry these tremendous burdens receive but sixty cents

for the arduous day's labor, besides their food and drink. The mayor told me he estimates the profit to the town itself at something like $25,000.

Oddly enough, when the giant gigli retire from the great stage of the Piazza, they are thrown violently to the ground with the object of loosening the nails in the massive framework at the base. The more costly decorations are stored up until the following year, and then the various trades interested may choose what part of the old ornamentation they would like to form a new "lily."