like hail on one's face, but there is the fun of catching them and
seeing the children hunt after them in the dust. The flour-pelting is
the hardest to bear, but the annoyance is redeemed by the burst of
laughter from the culprit and the bystanders. It is a rare thing to see
anybody lose his temper. It is a yet rarer thing to see anybody drunk.
The sulky altercations, the tipsy squabbles, of Northern amusements are
unknown. The characteristic "prudence" of the Italian is never better
displayed than in his merriment. He knows how far to carry his badinage.
He knows when to have done with his fun. The tedious length of an
English merry-making would be unintelligible to him; he doesn't care to
spoil the day's enjoyment by making a night of it. A few hours of
laughter satisfy him, and when evening falls and the sunshine goes, he
goes with the sunshine.

It is in the Carnival that one sees most conspicuously displayed that
habit of social equality which is one of the special features of Italian
life. Nothing is more unlike the social jealousy of the Frenchman, or
the surly incivility with which a Lancashire operative thinks proper to
show the world that he is as good a man as his master. In either case
one feels the taint of a mere spirit of envious levelling, and a latent
confession that the levelling process has still in reality to be
accomplished. But the ordinary Italian has nothing of the leveller about
him. The little town is proud of its Marchese and of the great palazzo
that has entertained a King. It is a matter of public concern when the
Count gambles away his patrimony. An Italian noble is no object of
jealousy to his fellow-citizens, but then no one gives himself less of
the airs of a privileged or exclusive caste. Cavour was a popular man
because, noble as he was, he would smoke a cigar or stop for a chat with
anybody. The Carnival brings out this characteristic of Italian manners
amusingly enough. The mask, the disguise, levels all distinctions. The
Count's whiskers are white with the flour just flung at him by the
town-crier. The young nephews of the Baron are the two harlequins who
are exchanging badinage with the group of country girls at the corner. A
general pelting of sugarplums salutes the appearance of the Marchese's
four-in-hand with the Marchese himself in an odd mufti on the box.

Social equality is possible, because among rich and poor alike there is
the same social ease. Barber or donkey-driver cha