lodging. That night I dined at C.'s, and was
agreeably surprised at the elegance of his ménage.
His house was but one story high, but there
were many fine rooms in it. The drawing-room,
for example, was about sixty feet long and
twenty-five broad, and furnished like a first-class
saloon in Paris. In the centre of the court,
round which the rooms were built, was a garden
full of beautiful flowers, and a fountain of clear
water.

I have said I was well pleased with my apartment,
and I ensconced myself in my mosquito
curtains about midnight, anticipating a long and
pleasant slumber. However, about half-past
three, I woke in the midst of a dream, in which
I fancied myself in a belfry, with the bells playing
triple bob-majors. On my awaking, sure
enough bells were ringing furiously all round.
The sound seemed to come from every direction.
What could it be? "Perhaps," thought I,
"this is the way the Caráquenians announce a
fire or an earthquake, or is it a popular émeute?
Oh, bother them! I wish they would have their
revolutions in the daytime, like reasonable
people." Still the bells rang on, and presently
there was a great noise of people passing in the
street, and then a sound of firing and of rockets
being let off. I should have gone to the window
to reconnoitre, but a salutary awe of the
mosquitoes and the penetrating fleas kept me where I
was until the day dawned, when I got up to
discover the reason of the hubbub. I then
perceived that on the other side of the street there
was a large convent, in which, although not a
soul was to be seen, the bells were ringing in a
way that reminded me of the Devil and the Old
Woman of Berkeley. Further down the street
than the convent was a small square, and on one
side of it a church, where again the bells were
ringing at least as obstreperously. In the direction
of this church, which was brilliantly lighted
up, there was quite a crowd of people coming and
going, and from among them rockets shot up
from time to lime. On inquiry, I found it was
the fiesta of the Isleños, or people from the
Canary Islands, of whom there is quite a colony
at Carácas. In South America, every one has
his patron saint, and the Isleños have theirs, and
in honour of their saint sleep was made to fly
from the eyelids of all in the quarter of the city
where I was, while our nerves were harassed
throughout the day by a continued hubbub of
bells, fireworks, processions, and bull-fights.
But even fiestas must come to an end, and I
found solace in the hope that quiet would at
length be restored. Alas! the Catholic year at
Carácas is made up of feasts and fasts, and, fasting
or feasting, the inhabitants are for ever ringing
bells, discharging holy squibs and rockets,
and walking in tumultuous processions. I lived
weeks amid this din, and never could get accustomed
to it, nor enjoy that hearty sound slumber
which Sancho apostrophises as the best of
wrappers. But, in fairness, it must be added
that fiestas have their attractions for strangers
as well as their disagreeables. On these days,
especially on notable holidays, such as that of
Nuestra Señora de la Merced, the fair sex come
forth in their gayest attire, and walk in bevies to
the churches. It is then, if you are an impartial
Paris, that you will resolve to bestow your golden
apple on the Creole Venus in preference to all
other beauties, so lovely are the faces that shine
upon you from under the coquettish mantilla,
and so graceful the figures that undulate along
the streets. There may, indeed, be rosier cheeks
and fairer skins elsewhere, but not such large
black eyes, teeth of such dazzling whiteness, such
taper waists, and faultless feet and ankles, as
belong to the Venezuelan ladies. As for any
devout feeling, that, of course, is entirely out of
the question. The women come forth to be looked
at, and the men stand in groups on the church
steps, or cluster inside, to look at them. All
round the churches are pictures, usually sad
daubs, and a profusion of wax dolls, representing
the Virgin, at various periods of her life.
Anything more contrary to common sense, to say
nothing of good taste and devotional feeling, than
these images, it is impossible to conceive.
Among the absurd groups of dolls I was
particularly struck with one at the Merced fiesta,
in which the Virgin, dressed in all the frippery
imaginable, was kneeling beside a gigantic crucifix,
while a six-year-old angel fluttered above the
cross, dressed in silver-embroidered trunk-hose
and tartan leggings of the royal Stuart pattern.
About the middle of the day, when the heat is
most trying, there is generally a procession, and
the image or picture of the saint is carried about,
amid a train of ecclesiastics, and with a body
of soldiers as a guard of honour. Every now
and then the host is elevated, and down go
the people on their knees, and anon guns and
rockets are discharged, and the use even of
squibs and crackers is sanctified on such
occasions.

On seeing all this, my recollection went
back to India, and the processions of Durgá,
and Krishnah. Indeed, the yátrotsavahs of
Hindustan, and the fiestas of South America,
have a common origin. They are the resource of
an idle people, and an excuse for putting on best
clothes, loitering, gaming, and love-making. I
was assured that at the grand fiesta at Santiago,
the Virgin receives some thirty thousand letters
from the girls of the city and its environs. Some
ask for husbands and lovers, others for ball-
dresses and pianos, and, incredible as it may
appear, the petitions are answered, and, where
it is thought politic, granted. As for such trifles
as husbands and lovers, one knows from
Herodotus that such matters are easily arranged, but
even a piano is occasionally sent. At Carácas,
absurdity is not carried so far, but even there
fiestas are no doubt the busiest days at Cupid's
post-office.

The site of Carácas is one to please an Oriental
sovereign. It is at about the same elevation
above the sea as Tehrán, the capital of Persia, and