On my way home I saw a few tokens of the Carnival, which is now in full
progress; though, as it was only about one o'clock, its frolics had not
commenced for the day. . . . . I question whether the Romans themselves
take any great interest in the Carnival. The balconies along the Corso
were almost entirely taken by English and Americans, or other foreigners.
As I approached the bridge of St. Angelo, I saw several persons engaged,
as I thought, in fishing in the Tiber, with very strong lines; but on
drawing nearer I found that they were trying to hook up the branches, and
twigs, and other drift-wood, which the recent rains might have swept into
the river. There was a little heap of what looked chiefly like willow
twigs, the poor result of their labor. The hook was a knot of wood, with
the lopped-off branches projecting in three or four prongs. The Tiber
has always the hue of a mud-puddle; but now, after a heavy rain which has
washed the clay into it, it looks like pease-soup. It is a broad and
rapid stream, eddying along as if it were in haste to disgorge its
impurities into the sea.
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