ere
we were carefully counted by a fat Sicilian official, and declared free
from quarantine. We were then called into the Passport Office where the
Maltese underwent a searching examination. One of the officers sat with
the Black Book, or list of suspected persons of all nations, open before
him, and looked for each name as it was called out. Another scanned the
faces of the frightened tailors, as if comparing them with certain
revolutionary visages in his mind. Terrible was the keen, detective glance
of his eye, and it went straight through the poor Maltese, who vanished
with great rapidity when they were declared free to enter the city. At
last, they all passed the ordeal, but Caesar and I remained, looking in at
the door. "There are still these two Frenchmen," said the captain. "I am
no Frenchman," I protested; "I am an American." "And I," said Caesar, "am
an Austrian subject." Thereupon we received a polite invitation to enter;
the terrible glance softened into a benign, respectful smile; he of the
Black Book ran lightly over the C's and T's, and said, with a courteous
inclination: "There is nothing against the signori." I felt quite relieved
by this; for, in the Mediterranean, one is never safe from spies, and no
person is too insignificant to escape the ban, if once suspected.

Calabria was filled to overflowing with strangers from all parts of the
Two Sicilies, and we had some difficulty in finding very bad and dear
lodgings. It was the first day of the _festa,_ and the streets were
filled with peasants, the men in black velvet jackets and breeches, with
stockings, and long white cotton caps hanging on the shoulders, and the
women with gay silk shawls on their heads, after the manner of the Mexican
_reboza_. In all the public squares, the market scene in Masaniello was
acted to the life. The Sicilian dialect is harsh and barbarous, and the
original Italian is so disguised by the admixture of Arabic, Spanish,
French, and Greek words, that even my imperial friend, who was a born
Italian, had great difficulty in understanding the people.

I purchased a guide to the festa, which, among other things, contained a
biography of St. Agatha. It is a beautiful specimen of pious writing, and
I regret that I have not space to translate the whole of it. Agatha was a
beautiful Catanian virgin, who secretly embraced Christianity during the
reign of Nero. Catania was then governed by a praetor named Quintianus,
who, becoming enam