horses' legs, dirty, daring Roman boys, grasping the falling
flowers or _confetti_. From a balcony, some wealthy _forestiero_ ('Ugh!
how rich they are!' grumbles the coachman) scatters _baiocchi_
broadcast, and down in the dirt and mud roll and tumble the little
ragamuffins, who never have muffins, and always have rags--and 'spang!'
down comes a double handful of hard _confetti_ on Caper's head, as he
rides by in an open carriage. He bombards the window with a double
handful of white buckshot; but a woman in full Albano costume, crimson
and white, aims directly at him a beautiful bouquet. Not to be outdone,
Caper throws her a still larger one, which she catches and keeps--never
throwing him the one she aimed! He is sold! But 'whiz, whir!' right and
left fly flowers and _confetti_; and--oh, joy unspeakable!--an
Englishman's chimney-pot hat is knocked from his head by a strong
bouquet; and we know

'There is a noun in Hebrew means 'I am,'
The English always use to govern d----n,'

and that he is using it severely, and don't see the fun, you know--of
_throwing things_! Who cares? _Avanti!_

Caper had filled the carriage with loose flowers, small bouquets, a
basket of _confetti_, legal and illegal size, for the Carnival. Edict
strictly prohibited persons from throwing large-sized bouquets and
_confetti_; consequently, everybody considered themselves compelled to
_dis_obey the command. Rocjean, who was in the carriage with Caper,
delighted the Romans with his ingenuity in attaching bouquets to the end
of a long fish pole, and thus gently engineering them to ladies in
windows or balconies. The crowd in the Corso grows larger and
larger--the scene in this long street resembles a theatre in open air,
with decorations and actors, assisted by a large supply of infantry and
cavalry soldiers to keep order and attend to the scenes. The prosaic
shops are no longer shops, but opera boxes, filled with actors and
actresses instead of spectators, wearing all varieties of costume; the
Italian ones predominant, gay, bright, and beautifully adapted to rich,
peach-like complexions. Why call them olive complexions? For all the
olives ever seen are of the color of a sick green pumpkin, or a too, too
ripe purple plum; and who has ever yet seen a beautiful Italian maiden
of either of these morbid colors?

The windows and balconies of the Corso are opera boxes. 'Whiz!' The
flying bouquets and white pills show plainly that the _prime donn