and plantain food without sweat, and the elixir of joy called aguardiente! Nevertheless it was all left behind; and Samuel Absalom tore the large, dirty canvas letters M.R., signifying Mounted Ranger, off from his blue flannel shirt-breast; and his experience as filibuster in Nicaragua closed,—­somewhat ingloriously.

* * * * *

ROBA DI ROMA.

[Continued.]

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.

The Christmas Holidays have come, and with them various customs and celebrations quite peculiar to Rome.  They are ushered in by the festive clang of a thousand bells from all the belfries in Rome at Ave Maria of the evening before the august day.  At about nine o’clock of the same evening the Pope performs High Mass in some one of the great churches, generally at Santa Maria Maggiore, when all the pillars of this fine old basilica are draped with red hangings, and scores of candles burn in the side chapels, and the great altar blazes with light.  The fuguing chants of the Papal choir sound into the dome and down the aisles, while the Holy Father ministers at the altar, and a motley crowd parade and jostle and saunter through the church.  Here, mingled together, may be seen soldiers of the Swiss guard, with their shining helmets, long halberds, and party-colored uniforms, designed by Michel Angelo,—­chamberlains of the Pope, all in black, with their high ruffs, Spanish cloaks, silken stockings, and golden chains,—­contadini from the mountains, in their dully brilliant costumes and white tovaglie,—­common laborers from the Campagna, with their black mops of tangled hair,—­forestieri of every nation,—­Englishmen, with long, light, pendant whiskers, and an eye-glass stuck in one eye,—­Germans, with spectacles, frogged coats, and long, straight hair put behind their ears and cut square in the neck,—­then Americans, in high-heeled patent-leather boots, a black dress-coat, and a black satin waistcoat,—­and wasp-waisted French officers, with baggy trousers, a goat-beard, and a pretentious swagger.  Nearer the altar are crowded together in pens a mass of women in black dresses and black veils, who are determined to see and hear all, treating the ceremony purely as a spectacle, and not as a religious rite.  Meantime the music soars, the organ groans, the censer clicks, steams of incense float to and fro.  The Pope and his attendants kneel and rise,—­he lifts the Host, and the world prostrates itself.  A great procession of dignitaries with torches bears a fragment of the original cradle of the Holy Bambino from its chapel to the high altar, through the swaying crowd that gape and gaze and stare and sneer and adore.  And thus the evening passes.  When the clock strikes midnight all the bells ring merrily, Mass commences at the principal churches, and at San Luigi dei Francesi and the Gesu there is a great illumination (what the French call un joli spectacle) and very good music.  Thus Christmas is ushered in at Rome.