The Zampognari have come down from their homes in the Abruzzi mountains and day in, day out, the sound of their pipes remind us that Christmas is coming. The soft wailing tunes of the reed and skin pipes are faithful descendants of those the shepherds played in the country round Nazareth on the first Birthday, and few are the houses in Naples where the players are not invited to enter and play the song that tells us of what took place on that “still and holy night.”

It is difficult for those who come from Northern homes to dissociate Christmas from snow and ice, blazing firesides and red-berried holly. Here, the brilliant sun in a sapphire sky is surely more truly reminiscent of the first Christmas Day.

All the world over, alas, old traditions and old legends are vanishing, and Naples is no exception to this rule; one by one the old customs are being swallowed up by modem matter-of-fact life. The few that remain, however, are quaint and interesting, and a stroll round the city on the days immediately preceding the Festival is well worth while, especially after dusk. The dim lit churches are crowded with men, women and children paying a visit to the “Crib” which is to be found in every church, all thoughtfully and lovingly designed, and in some cases brought to a perfection of detail and realism. Little children are lifted in their mother's arms to kiss the tiny waxen feet of the Christ Child, veiled—often with scattered rose petals or some priceless filmy lace—until midnight, when, at the opening words of the Mass, the veil is removed and the candles or tiny electric lights which illuminate the Manger and the figures of Our Lady and St. Joseph, are lighted. The broad incline of Santa Brigida still has its wonderful fish stalls and great tubs of eels, from which, occasionally, an occupant will escape and slither rapidly across the pavement, to the embarrassment of pedestrians.