The celebrated races, of which we had several in the last week, resembled those of Florence, though conducted with more spirit. The horses run about a mile, in the midst of a dense crowd, who excite them by shouts and gestures. You know, there are no riders, but leathern thongs are attached to a back-strap, that is secured by a crupper and a girth; and these thongs are loaded with balls of lead which contain short iron spikes, very sharp, that act as spurs, by being thrown about with the motion of the animal. This apparatus _seems_ cruel; but after all, it can be no worse than the armed heel of the jockey, or the lash. It is true, these balls are constantly in motion; but I do not think they inflict very grave wounds. The race itself is a puerile thing; but there is something terrific in the mode of clearing the street previously to the start. Imagine a straight, narrow street, that is literally crammed with people. A platoon of horse gendarmes appear at one end, and commence clearing the way on a trot. Presently, this trot becomes a gallop; and then these ten or twelve men, riding knee to knee, and uncommonly well, dash through the crowd as fast as their horses can carry them. The people retire before them as water recedes from the bows of a ship in a gale; and, at times, it would seem that escape was impossible. Accidents occasionally happen, but they are rare. I have regarded this as much the finest part of the exhibition. But the most _amusing_ part of the street scenes of the Carnival is the last act. As the sun sets, every one appears with a light or two. These lights are usually tapers made for the occasion, but sometimes they are torches. Every one is privileged to extinguish his neighbour’s light. Common street-masquers will clamber up on the carriage of a prince, and blow out his taper, which is immediately relighted, as if character depended on its burning. Some clamber up even to the balconies to effect their purpose, and others drop shades from them to extinguish a light. There is something extremely ludicrous in seeing a grave person carefully protecting his taper from an assailant in front, who merely amuses him while an extinguisher on a long stick advances from behind and cautiously descends on the flame. Every one laughs, and the defeated man joins the merriment and relights. This scene is called the _mocheletti_, and it is said to be a remnant of some of the Roman Saturnalia.