had gone absolutely
mad in marble. It was a great palace front, with niches and many
bas-reliefs, out of which looked Agrippa's legendary virgin, and several
of the allegoric sisterhood; while, at the base, appeared Neptune, with
his floundering steeds, and Tritons blowing their horns about him, and
twenty other artificial fantasies, which the calm moonlight soothed into
better taste than was native to them.

And, after all, it was as magnificent a piece of work as ever human
skill contrived. At the foot of the palatial facade was strewn, with
careful art and ordered irregularity, a broad and broken heap of massive
rock, looking is if it might have lain there since the deluge. Over a
central precipice fell the water, in a semicircular cascade; and from
a hundred crevices, on all sides, snowy jets gushed up, and streams
spouted out of the mouths and nostrils of stone monsters, and fell in
glistening drops; while other rivulets, that had run wild, came leaping
from one rude step to another, over stones that were mossy, slimy, and
green with sedge, because, in a Century of their wild play, Nature had
adopted the Fountain of Trevi, with all its elaborate devices, for her
own. Finally, the water, tumbling, sparkling, and dashing, with
joyous haste and never-ceasing murmur, poured itself into a great
marble-brimmed reservoir, and filled it with a quivering tide; on which
was seen, continually, a snowy semicircle of momentary foam from the
principal cascade, as well as a multitude of snow points from smaller
jets. The basin occupied the whole breadth of the piazza, whence flights
of steps descended to its border. A boat might float, and make voyages
from one shore to another in this mimic lake.

In the daytime, there is hardly a livelier scene in Rome than the
neighborhood of the Fountain of Trevi; for the piazza is then filled
with the stalls of vegetable and fruit dealers, chestnut roasters,
cigar venders, and other people, whose petty and wandering traffic
is transacted in the open air. It is likewise thronged with idlers,
lounging over the iron railing, and with Forestieri, who came hither to
see the famous fountain. Here, also, are seen men with buckets, urchins
with cans, and maidens (a picture as old as the patriarchal times)
bearing their pitchers upon their heads. For the water of Trevi is in
request, far and wide, as the most refreshing draught for feverish lips,
the pleasantest to mingle with wine, and the whole