n's-rattles clacking, penny-trumpets and tin horns shrilling, and
the sharpest whistles shrieking everywhere. Besides this, there are the
din of voices, screams of laughter, and the confused burr and buzz of
a great crowd. On all sides you are saluted by the strangest noises.
Instead of being spoken to, you are whistled at. Companies of people are
marching together in platoons, or piercing through the crowd in long
files, and dancing and blowing like mad on their instruments. It is a
perfect witches' Sabbath. Here, huge dolls dressed as Polichinello or
Pantaloon are borne about for sale,--or over the heads of the crowd
great black-faced jumping-jacks, lifted on a stick, twitch themselves in
fantastic fits,--or, what is more Roman than all, men carry about long
poles strung with rings of hundreds of _giambelli_, (a light cake,
called jumble in English,) which they scream for sale at a _mezzo
baiocco_ each. There is no alternative but to get a drum, whistle, or
trumpet, and join in the racket,--and to fill one's pockets with toys
for the children and absurd presents for one's older friends. The moment
you are once in for it, and making as much noise as you can, you begin
to relish the jest. The toys are very odd,--particularly the Roman
whistles;--some of these are made of pewter, with a little wheel that
whirls as you blow; others are of terra-cotta, very rudely modelled into
every shape of bird, beast, and human deformity, each with a whistle in
its head, breast, or tail, which it is no joke to hear, when blown close
to your ears by a stout pair of lungs. The scene is very picturesque.
Above, the dark vault of night, with its far stars, the blazing and
flaring of lights below, and the great, dark walls of the Sapienza and
Church looking grimly down upon the mirth. Everywhere in the crowd are
the glistening helmets of soldiers, who are mixing in the sport, and the
_chapeaux_ of white-strapped _gendarmes_, standing at intervals to keep
the peace. At about half-past eleven o'clock the theatres are emptied,
and the upper classes flock to the Piazza. I have never been there later
than half-past twelve, but the riotous fun still continued at that hour;
and, for a week afterwards, the squeak of whistles may be heard at
intervals in the streets.

At the two periods of Christmas and Easter, the young Roman girls take
their first communion. The former, however, is generally preferred, as
it is a season of rejoicing in the Church,