The crowd was of a very humble description; the number of bonnets or hats visible might be counted on one's fingers, and the fancy peasant costumes of which Subiaco is said to be the great rendezvous, were scarcely more in number.

There was very little animation apparent of any kind, very little of gesticulation, or still less of shouting; indeed the crowd, to do them justice, were perfectly quiet and orderly, for a holiday crowd almost painfully so.

The party to which I belonged, and which consisted of four Englishmen, all more or less attired in those outlandish costumes which none but Englishmen ever wear, and no Englishman ever dreams of wearing in his own country, excited no comment whatever, and scarcely attracted a passing glance.

Fancy what the effect would be of four bloused and bearded Frenchmen strolling arm-in-arm through a village wake in an out-of-the-way English county?
By the time I had strolled through the fair, the guns, or rather two most dilapidated old fowling-pieces, were firing as a signal for the race.

The horses were the same as those run at the Carnival races in Rome, and as the only difference was, that the course, besides being over hard slippery stones, was also up a steep hill-street, and the race therefore somewhat more cruel, I did not wait to see the end, but wandered up the valley to hear the vespers at the convent of the Santo Speco.