La Vérette.
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the Savane,—rolls over the new bridge of the Roxelane to the ancient quarter of the Fort. All of a sudden there is a hush, a halt ;—the drums stop beating, the songs cease. Then I see a sudden scattering of goblins and demons and devilesses in all directions: they run into houses, up alleys,— hide behind door-ways. A n d the crowd parts ; and straight through it, walking very quickly, comes a priest in his vestments, preceded by an acolyte who rings a little bell. C'est Bon-Diê ka passé! ( " I t is the Good-God who goes b y ! " ) The father is bearing the " viaticum" to some victim of the pestilence : one must not appear masked as a devil or a deviless in the presence of the Bon-Dié. H e goes by. The flood of maskers recloses behind the ominous passage;—the drums boom again; the dance recommences ; and all the fantastic mummery ebbs swiftly out of sight. X.
NIGHT falls ;—the maskers crowd to the ball-rooms to dance strange tropical measures that will become wilder and wilder as the hours pass. A n d through the black streets, the Devil makes his last Carnival-round. By the gleam of the old-fashioned oil lamps hung across the thoroughfares I can make out a few details of his costume. H e is clad in red, wears a hideous bipodcolored mask, and a cap of which the four sides are formed by four looking-glasses;—the whole head-dress being surmounted by a red lantern. H e has a white wig made of horse-hair, to make him look weird and old,—since the Devil is older than the world ! Down the street he comes, leaping nearly his own height,—chanting words without human signification,—and followed by some three hundred boys, who form the chorus to his chant — all clapping hands together and giving tongue with a simultaneity that testifies how strongly the sense of rhythm