On Good Friday, as soon as it was dark, children began to run about the streets with lighted candles, and by 9 p.m. every window was illuminated, and another procession passed beneath our balcony. In this procession they had the Virgin robed in black, and going to seek her Son; a very doleful march was played by the musicians, the silent crowd preceding, each person with a lighted candle. On the Saturday before Easter all the bells of the town began to peal at 10.30 a.m., and in answer to my question as to why they did not wait till Easter morning, I received the reply that on Sunday morning the ringing would interfere with the church services. In the afternoon I went to the church of San Martin, and saw the people come and fetch away the candles they had placed before the altar; each candlestick (there were some four hundred) had a piece of paper round it with the name of its owner. “How do you each find your own candle again so quickly?” I asked of one. “Each person recognises their own candlestick,” was the answer. All through the week little boys were going about with noisy wooden rattles which sounded exactly like frogs croaking, and tried our nerves terribly. On Wednesday evening they took the rattles to church, and croaked in the dark before the candles were lit. This was supposed to represent the cries of the Jewish rabble before the Crucifixion, but the distracting noise continued in Noya for several days. The first time I heard the rattle I innocently asked the landlord’s daughter to give the boy a silver coin and ask him to move on to another street. “It’s no use,” she replied,--“that noise will grow much worse, and it will continue several days; it is part of the festival.” The Wednesday evening service in which the rattles take a special part is that of _Las tenieblas_; in fact, this name applies to all the matins during the last three days of Holy Week, and the rattle, _carraca_, is meant to take the place of bells. The dinner menu on Good Friday was as follows:--Lobster; bread soup; turbot; baked cockle tart; omelets; coffee. As we stood on the balcony watching for one of the processions, a lady resident at Noya turned to me, and said wistfully-- “I feel sure you will be baptized before you leave Noya, and become a Christian.” “But are not Protestants Christians too?” I asked. “Oh, but you _will_ be baptized, and all Noya will run to see. Your face tells me that you will be baptized. What is your name?” “Maria.” “Ah! they say the devil spins round three times every time he hears that name.”