conical black felt hats,
adorned here and there with flowers, served for head-coverings. A large
assemblage of children, dressed and undressed, filled up the gaps.

Suddenly, _Bang, Bangity Bang!_ and a row of small mortars were fired
off in succession, and a small boy with a banner in his hands, and an
Irish pennant in his wake, appeared marching slowly along. On the banner
was a painting of a small black hog between two men, each armed with
brooms, who seemed bent on sweeping it out of existence; over these were
the words:

GIOSTRA DEL PORCHETTO.

Then came six _contadini_, young men and stout, each armed with a broom
three or four feet in length, made of rushes tied together, resembling
our birch-brooms without their handles. They entered the arena or
cistern, and then each one throwing aside his hat, had a large linen bag
coming to a point at the top, tied over his head and throat, so that it
was impossible for him to see. On each of these bags a comical face was
roughly painted. To the right leg of each man a cow-bell was tied; with
their brooms swinging a preparatory flourish, the six stood ready to
commence the game. The small hog was then turned into the cistern,
announcing his presence by sundry squeals. Now the game fairly begins:
_Whish!_ sound the brooms as they are whisked here, there, every where,
in attempts to strike the hog; one man giving a strong blow, strikes
another one who was stooping down to arrange his garters, where he
dislikes to be struck, and instantly the one struck runs a muck, hitting
wildly left and right. Two or three men charge on one another and brooms
fly in splinters all round. One champion got a head-blow and had his
wind knocked out by another blow simultaneously; round they go, and at
it they go, beating the air and each other, while the wreath of honor,
_alias_ small hog, keeps turning up his head, calculating the chances
and making fierce rushes every time he sees a broom approaching him; he
must have practiced in the game before, he manages so well to avoid
being hit. The six men being unable to hit the hog, grew angry, and one
of them, unmindful of the fact that his small clothes had burst open at
the knee, and his stockings were around his shoes, terribly batters
another combatant, who strives in vain to dodge him. Then the six
shouted truce, and pulling off their caps, declared that the small hog
must have the bell tied to him also, so that like a beacon (or bacon) he