come to gaze, and perhaps kneel and pray,
there is an excellent opportunity of observing
what is shut up during the whole of the
rest of the year, and of collecting copious
material for gossip. A new life is
infused into our village, and the animation
scarcely flags till Easter comes with a new
sensation.

Still there is an incompleteness in the
arrangements; and there is a pause of
expectation until the Zampognari arrive. Now there
are no persons considered so essential to the
constitution of Christmas in the South of
Italy as these men; and their arrival is
always welcomed with corresponding
demonstrations of respect and joy. Where they
come from, the public mind cannot well
decide. Some, I verily believe, are persuaded
that they are angels under the form of men;
some certainly think that they are lineal
descendants of the shepherds who fed their
flocks on the plains of Bethlehem. "Why,
there are the self-same figures in the manger
in the church," observes the village barber;
and, as he is a great authority, the Zampognari
are looked upon by the wondering
peasants with immense veneration. Historic
truth obliges us to say, however, that they
are shepherds from the Abruzzi, who
annually perambulate certain districts with
their bagpipes under their arms, and not
unfrequently make a good speculation of the
simple devotion of the country people. Their
dress is more picturesque than I can well
describe. Any one who has been to Rome
will have seen it on the models who bask in
the sunshine on the steps of the Piazza di
Spagna; or yearly it may be seen in some of
the pictures in our Water Colour Exhibition.
Their legs are enveloped in a coarse worsted-
work, encircled with I know not how many
bands of rope. This delicate hosiery is
surmounted by breeches made of goatskin; the
vest is of the same material, or there
may be, at times, red; whilst over all is
thrown a brown, well-patched, Spanish cloak,
cut short to the knee, and as particoloured, if
not quite so brilliant, as was that of
Benjamin. On the top of this singular-looking
figure rises the conical Calabrian hat, adorned
with a peacock's feather, and several bows of
ribbon.

What a sensation does the arrival of the
Zampognaro create! He blows up his
bagpipes, and straightway they discourse their
peculiar music, whilst his companion
alternately sings and plays his pipe. The first
occupation of the Zampognari on their arrival,
is to go from house to house and ascertain who
means to observe the Novena. I have often
received a visit from these picturesque
beings; and have as often made an engagement
with them to play daily at my house:
always receiving two wooden spoons as an
assurance of the bargain. These spoons
are rude specimens of the workmanship of the
shepherds in their idle hours on the
mountains. One only is generally left; but, by
virtue of being a foreigner, I have always
received two.

Everything being arranged, the Zampognari
enter on the active duties of the Novena.
From early morn to late at night are they
blowing and singing. Not a Madonna at the
street-corner, or in the open shop, remains
unsaluted. Not a house which had the
wooden spoon is passed by. Everywhere are
they honoured guests, and courted and
crammed like Norfolk turkeys, they not
unfrequently leave the country districts which
they have charmed with a full purse, as well
as a full skin. I had requested that they
would visit my house towards the evening, in
order that I might have the advantage of
their music during my supper; thus attempting
to reconcile and gratify a certain regard
to devotion, to antiquity, and a taste for a
rude species of music. As some sounds of
music are, however, improved by distance, I
suggested that a distant room might be fitted
up. Accordingly, my servant had suspended
on the wall coloured likenesses of the Holy
Family, and Santa Filomela, and surrounded
the whole with a natural framework of
holly, bright with berries and flowers
intermixed. That was his presepe, and greatly
was it admired. The head Zampognaro
had succeeded to the patrimonial powers of the
family on the demise of his father, who had
come to tune his pipes in this out-of-the-way
place for full forty years. The attendant was
as yet only a candidate for distinction. By
the time they arrived at my house, both were
suffering from their gratified and prospective
ambition; for, after having visited several
hundred houses, it may readily be conceived
that they had blown nearly all the breath
out of their bodies. Yet, heaving and panting
as they were, it was wonderful to see
what new life was infused into them. Fixing
their eyes intently on the Madonna, who
formed the most prominent objects in my
servant's room (where the performance took
place), their cheeks expanded, and forth
issued the wild carol. All this time there
stood around them, a group composed partly
of people of the house, and partly of those
who had followed them; for on such
occasions there is a free entry to all. It
is a characteristic of Italian fetes and
ceremonies, that the greatest publicity attaches
to them; and whether it be the last unction
or a funeral, a marriage or a birth, a
Zampognaro's devotion, or a New Year's Eve
festivities, in rush the people, to shriek, or
to laugh, or to crack a joke, or to pray, as
the character of the fête may be. As
the master Zampognaro ceased his
bagpipes, his assistant took up the music
sometimes with his voice, sometimes with a
single pipe. The words which he sang are
rude enough; but as they may be venerable
for their antiquity, and certainly exercised a
great influence over both performers and