e long lines of her beautiful palaces
revealed in the varying red and golden flames of a hundred thousand lamps
and torches. Pyramids of fire, transparencies, and illuminated triumphal
arches filled the four principal streets, and the fountain in the
Cathedral square gleamed like a jet of molten silver, spinning up from one
of the pores of Etna. At ten o'clock, a gorgeous display of fireworks
closed the day's festivities, but the lamps remained burning nearly all
night.

On the second night, the grand Procession of the Veil took place. I
witnessed this imposing spectacle from the balcony of Prince Gessina's
palace. Long lines of waxen torches led the way, followed by a military
band, and then a company of the highest prelates, in their most brilliant
costumes, surrounding the Bishop, who walked under a canopy of silk and
gold, bearing the miraculous veil of St. Agatha. I was blessed with a
distant view of it, but could see no traces of the rosy hue left upon it
by the flames of the Saint's martyrdom. Behind the priests came the
_Intendente_ of Sicily, Gen. Filangieri, the same who, three years ago,
gave up Catania to sack and slaughter. He was followed by the Senate of
the City, who have just had the cringing cowardice to offer him a ball on
next Sunday night. If ever a man deserved the vengeance of an outraged
people, it is this Filangieri, who was first a Liberal, when the cause
promised success, and then made himself the scourge of the vilest of
kings. As he passed me last night in his carriage of State, while the
music pealed in rich rejoicing strains, that solemn chant with which the
monks break upon the revellers, in "Lucrezia Borgia," came into my mind:

"La gioja del profani
'E un fumo passagier'--"

[the rejoicing of the profane is a transitory mist.] I heard, under the
din of all these festivities, the voice of that Retribution which even now
lies in wait, and will not long be delayed.

To-night Signor Scavo, the American Vice-Consul, took me to the palace of
Prince Biscari, overlooking the harbor, in order to behold the grand
display of fireworks from the end of the mole. The showers of rockets and
colored stars, and the temples of blue and silver fire, were repeated in
the dark, quiet bosom of the sea, producing the most dazzling and
startling effects. There was a large number of the Catanese nobility
present, and among them a Marchesa Gioveni, the descendant of the bloody
house of Anjou. Prince Bisc