But they are crowded on; for behind them, in irresistible stateliness, moves on the Sun and Moon. Then come the Seasons: Winter represented by a band of Russians, fur-covered from top to toe, dragging a Siberian sledge. Summer is recognized by a car-load of choicest flowers, whose fragrance reaches us as they pass.
"PROMENADE DU COURS," IN CARNIVAL TIME.
Here rolls a huge wine cask which fills half the wide street; there moves a pine cone, six feet high, to the eye perfectly like the cones, six inches in length, which we use daily to light our olive-wood fire.
Then a procession of giant tulips—stalk, calyx, petals, all complete. They also silently move on.
Next a huge pot, with a cat climbing its side, her paw just thrust beneath the lid. Ha! it suddenly flies off. Does the cat enter? We cannot see through the crowd. A colossal stump follows, trailing with mosses and vines. Upon it a bird's nest filled with young, their mouths wide open for food; wonderful, because the artistic skill is so perfect that, although so immense, they seem living and not unnatural.
"PROMENADE DU COURS," IN CARNIVAL TIME.
Then a car of Arctic bears champing to and fro in the heat, poor things, as well they may; for this is a cloudless sky and an Italian sun. Look carefully at them and tell me, are they not true bears?
But ah! sling! sling! two handfuls of confetti sting your eyes back into place again, and dash the bears out of sight. Isn't it delightfully unbearable? You shout at the folly of having forgotten confetti, and then resolve to watch your chance at the next poor foot-pad.