birds in summer; but a long,
long winter will be between, and we will be far, far away.

The Corso is cleared, the infantry half keeps the crowd within bounds, a
charge of cavalry sweeps the street, and then come rattling, clattering,
rushing on the bare-backed horses, urged on by cries, shouts, yells; and
frightened thus to top speed, while the Dutch metal, tied to their sides
increases their alarm--whir! they are past us, and--the bay horse is
ahead.

Again the carriages are in the Corso; here and there a few bouquets are
thrown, floral farewells to the merry season: then as dusk comes on, and
red and golden behind San Angelo flames the funeral pyre of the sun, and
through the blue night twinkles the evening star, see down the Corso a
faint light gleaming. Another and another light shines from balcony and
window, flashes from rolling carriage, and flames out from along the
dusky walls, till, _presto!_ you turn your head, and up the Corso, and
down the Corso, there is one burst of trembling light, and ten thousand
tapers are brightly gleaming, madly waving, brilliantly swaying to and
fro.

_Moccoli! ecco, moccoli!_

Along roll carriages; high in air gleam tapers, upheld by those within;
from every balcony and window shine out the swaying tapers. Hurrah!
here, there, hand to hand are contests to put out these shining lights,
and SENZA MOCCOLI! 'Out with the tapers!' rings forth in
trumpet tones, in gay, laughing tones, in merry tones, the length of the
whole glorious Corso.

Daring beauty, wild, lovely bacchante, with black, beaming eyes, tempt
us not with that bright flame to destruction! Look at her, as she stands
so proudly and erectly on the highest seat in the carriage, her arms
thrown up, her wild eyes gleaming from under jet black, dishevelled
locks, while the night breeze flutters in wavy folds the drapery of her
classic dress. _Senza moccoli!_ she sends the challenge ringing down
through fifteen centuries. He braves all; the carriage is climbed, the
taper is within his reach.

'To-morrow I leave!'

She flings the burning taper away from her.

'Then take this kiss!'

'SENZA MOCCOLI!' black, witching eyes--farewell!

'Boom!' rings out the closing bell; fast fades the light, 'Out with the
tapers!' the shout swells up, up, up, then slowly dies, as die an
organ's tones--and Carnival is ended.

A handful of beautiful flowers, found among gray, crumbling ruins; a few
notes of wild, stirring music, sudde