Yes, it did change. The Moccoli-day, Shrove Tuesday, brought with it the brightest sun and an atmosphere so pure and so fresh that all anxiety and doubt on account of the day was over, and people thought about nothing but how to enjoy themselves with all their might. A fresh supply of flowers and comfits, and new costumes were provided. All the ladies dressed themselves in their best, every lady looked cheerful and handsome—even the ill-favored. Already, at half-past two in the afternoon, every balcony, and window, and loge on the Corso was beaming with happy faces and splendid toilets. Trains of maskers danced along the street to the music of the tambourine; crinolines of untold dimensions, huge noses, hats, and every kind of eccentricity was to be seen. Carriages drive along filled with beautiful costumes both with and without masks; here you see classical, there comic figures. Amongst the most ornamental even now, must be mentioned, the Roman peasant-girls or women in their holiday costume. Numbers of them will sit aloft on the thrown-back heads of the carriages and thus receive the shower of bouquets and comfits.
It is an immense throng and whirl, but every body in the very best humor. One is a good friend, sister, or brother, to the whole world. One exchanges nods and smiles, flowers, and little gifts, with people whom one has never seen before, and probably shall never see again; one accepts the liking which the moment inspires and is influenced by; one makes a number of new acquaintances, with whom one makes merry in the passing drive, and then forgets; greets one's old acquaintance, and showers down one's bonbons
