by quaint solemn
little figures who acted as pages. Then followed the body of the clergy in
copes of white and gold, with eyes downcast as they chaunted in loud nasal
tones from books in their hands; next came the Canons of the Cathedral in
fine old festal vestments reserved for such occasions and with mitres on
their heads, for Amalfi clings to the ancient ecclesiastical privileges
that were granted in distant days when Florence and Venice were little
more than villages. Last of all walked the Archbishop, an aged tottering
figure, weighed down by his cope of cloth of gold and seemingly crushed
beneath his immense jewelled mitre. Two lackeys, almost as infirm as their
venerable master, and clad in threadbare liveries edged with armorial
braid, were in close attendance, whilst behind the Archbishop, beneath a
gorgeous canopy of state upheld by six white-robed assistants, was borne
the great silver bust of St Andrew. The appearance of the Image of "Il
Divo," upon which the sunbeams were playing in dazzling coruscations of
light, was greeted with a murmur of applause and satisfaction from the
expectant crowd in the open. Hats were doffed; knees were bent; prayers
were muttered, as with slow and cautious steps the bearers of the Image
and its canopy began to descend. Having gained the lower ground in safety,
a momentary halt was made, during which we were able to note the mass of
votive offerings--jewels, chains, rings, watches, seals--suspended round the
Saint's neck, amongst them being many silver fishes, doubtless the gifts
of grateful mariners. And at this point we were spectators of a pretty
incident. A little girl with black ringlets and eager eyes was dexterously
lifted on to her father's shoulder, in order that she might present "Il
Divo" with a golden chain, which the tiny fingers deftly clasped round the
bejewelled neck of the silver bust. The crowd saw and applauded; it was a
moment of triumph for the dark-eyed child, for the Church, and for the
approving throng. With the new addition of the child's necklet to the
treasury of the Saint, the procession pursued its way through the square
towards the Valley of the Mills, with banners waving, with priests
chaunting in harsh monotonous tones, and with clouds of incense rising
into the sun-kissed air. It was truly a beautiful and curious sight, this
festival of the Church amidst people so devout and surroundings so
appropriate.

[Illustration: AMALFI: PIAZZA AND DUOMO