and flowers more zealously than ever. Thus rushes on the Carnival, uninterruptedly, till dusk, when, as usual, the military clear the streets for the horse race. This evening, a greater number of horses run than hitherto, and they are greeted with a terrific shout of jubilation.
Scarcely is this over, when again the Corso is filled with carriages; the throng of people becomes ever greater, and soon one sees, through the increasing darkness, here and there a candle lighted. They are extinguished, but soon re-lighted; the number still more increases—they shine out from every carriage and point of the streets, from every balcony and window, the whole length of the Corso, which is soon transformed into a billowy stream of flames, continually in movement, continually glimmering and blazing; and above the whole heaving stream of fire, sounds an infinite buzz, and murmur of merry voices and outcries.
The sport which is now carried on, consists in every body endeavoring to extinguish his neighbor's candle, which is carefully kept burning, or immediately lighted again. You extinguish them by blowing them out, or with your hands or your handkerchief, or with any thing you can. White-clad punchinellos leap upon the carriages and extinguish their lights, often violently enough, and then shout triumphantly, “Senza moccoli! senza moccoli!”
But the extinguished moccoli—larger or smaller wax tapers, in bundles—are re-lighted immediately, and the stream of flame heaves and gleams as before. Thus, for a couple of hours, after which it ceases by degrees, partly because people are tired of the sport,
