 other motive than the pleasure
of dressing it up, and of joining in the crowd of idlers before the
church.

Generally however it would appear as if some vague idea of averting
ill-luck, of deprecating some sinister influence, must linger in the
hearts of the coachmen and postilions who still adhere to this custom,
which is practised by the priests—so Young Italy will tell you—solely
to maintain their hold upon the superstitious fears of the lowest ranks
of the populace.

But stay—I am wandering from my more immediate subject, although all
the church-bells let loose, and ringing their merry peals, proclaim
it is noon on Holy Saturday, and that Lent is over! There is something
very heart-stirring in this rejoicing: I wish we had the same custom in
England to usher in the triumphant glories of the Easter morn. Why it
should be anticipated here by twelve hours, and the bells give forth
their jubilee, and salvos of artillery be fired at mid-day, instead
of midnight, I do not exactly know: I think I have somewhere read an
explanation of this usage, of which I retain no clear remembrance, save
that it is of very remote antiquity. Be this as it may, a few hours
sooner or later are of little import; it is the pleasing impression
on which I dwell, and it is one of the customs that, even with my hard
matter-of-fact notions about the “good old times,” I should gladly see
revived amongst us.

On Easter Sunday, every one who has scraped the wherewith together,
puts on new clothes, and dines on roast lamb; baskets of stained eggs
are sent about as presents, and children feast on cakes embellished
with the figure of the Paschal Lamb. In the week following, many
marriages take place, as, except under particular circumstances,
weddings are never solemnized in Lent.

Dinner-parties are also frequently given at this season amongst
intimate friends; more formal ones sometimes on Easter Monday or
Tuesday, by the principal families, to some great personage, the
delegate or the bishop, for instance. But throughout all, whethe