concluded. Those of the people who had taken part in it, then hastened to kiss the cross in the centre of the arena, and so doing to obtain indulgensa for the sins of two hundred days. The procession passed through the gates singing, and on to a little church called Il Calvario within the gate of St. Sebastian.
I wandered homeward, but had some difficulty in making my way, for the Corso was one almost incredible mass of carriages and pedestrian spectators, and it was merely by time and skill, that one could pilot one's way through the dense throng of foot passengers—nearly all gentlemen—who often stood, as it were, riveted to the spot, and seemed to have no other thought than of gazing at the gay ladies in the carriages. And thus it is every afternoon on the Corso, between three and five o'clock.
December 8th.—Grand festival of L'Immaculata! The shop closed, many people in the streets, and the weather beautiful. At four in the afternoon, the grand procession went from the Piazza di Venezia to the Capitoline rock. My friends and I watched it from the steps of the Jesuits' church, (Chiesa di Gesa) where we joined it. A great number of spectators in the streets, with but little devotion, excepting for the host as it was carried along, all fell upon their knees. They merely uncovered their heads to the picture of the Virgin. It was carried first, painted on canvas—a very lovely picture, above which stood the words Mater omnium; then a gilded statue—also with a lovely maternal expression—its clasped hands adorned with a number of rings, under a gilded canopy. To these succeeded a cross. The music played a march
