to us. It is then that the _Bifana_ comes with her
presents. This personage is neither merry nor male, like Santa Claus,
nor beautiful and childlike, like Christ-kindchen,--but is described as
a very tall, dark woman, ugly, and rather terrible, "_d' una fisionomia
piuttosto imponente_" who comes down the chimney, on the Eve of
Epiphany, armed with a long _canna_ and shaking a bell, to put
playthings into the stockings of the good children, and bags of ashes
into those of the bad. It is a night of fearful joy for all the little
ones. When they hear her bell ring, they shake in their sheets; for the
Bifana is used as a threat to the wilful, and their hope is tempered by
a wholesome apprehension. It is supposed to be a distorted image of the
visit of the kings and wise men with their presents at the Nativity, as
Santa Claus may be of the shepherds, and the Christ-kindchen of Christ
himself. However this may be, it is curious to observe the different
characters this superstition assumes among different nations and under
different influences.

The great festival of the Bifana (a corruption, undoubtedly, of
_Epifania_) takes place on the Eve of Twelfth-Night, in the Piazza di
San Eustachio,--and a curious spectacle it is. The Piazza itself, (which
is situated in the centre of the city, just beyond the Pantheon,) and
all the adjacent streets, are lined with booths covered with every kind
of plaything for children. Most of these are of Roman make, very rudely
fashioned, and very cheap; but for those who have longer purses, there
are not wanting heaps of German and French toys. These booths are gayly
illuminated with rows of candles and the three-wicked brass _lucerne_
of Rome; and, at intervals, painted posts are set into the pavement,
crowned with pans of grease, with a wisp of tow for wick, which blaze
and flare about. Besides these, numbers of torches carried about by hand
lend a wavering and picturesque light to the scene. By eight o'clock in
the evening, crowds begin to fill the Piazza and the adjacent streets.
Long before one arrives, the squeak of penny-trumpets is heard at
intervals; but in the Piazza itself the mirth is wild and furious, and
the din that salutes one's ears on entering is almost deafening. The
object of every one is to make as much noise as possible, and every kind
of instrument for this purpose is sold at the booths. There are
drums beating, _tamburelli_ thumping and jingling, pipes squeaking,
watchme