form he will. The water is supposed by some to flow from the same
source as the Castalian spring, and is extolled by others as uniting
the virtues of the Fountain of Youth with those of many other
enchanted wells long celebrated in tale and song. Having never
tasted it, I can bear no testimony to its quality.

"Did you ever drink this water?" I inquired of my friend.

"A few sips now and then," answered he. "But there are men here who
make it their constant beverage,--or, at least, have the credit of
doing so. In some instances it is known to have intoxicating
qualities."

"Pray let us look at these water-drinkers," said I.

So we passed among the fantastic pillars till we came to a spot
where a number of persons were clustered together in the light of
one of the great stained windows, which seemed to glorify the whole
group as well as the marble that they trod on. Most of them were
men of broad foreheads, meditative countenances, and thoughtful,
inward eyes; yet it required but a trifle to summon up mirth,
peeping out from the very midst of grave and lofty musings. Some
strode about, or leaned against the pillars of the hall, alone and
in silence; their faces wore a rapt expression, as if sweet music
were in the air around them, or as if their inmost souls were about
to float away in song. One or two, perhaps, stole a glance at the
bystanders, to watch if their poetic absorption were observed.
Others stood talking in groups, with a liveliness of expression, a
ready smile, and a light, intellectual laughter, which showed how
rapidly the shafts of wit were glancing to and fro among them.