arrived in its centre, where a small knoll stretched away on my right; on whose summit, was a white Greek monastery, backed by some dark cypress trees. The moon was shining brightly-dancing on the silver side of the olive trees--and illuminating the green sward.

This was smooth and verdant.

My spirits were more than usually buoyant, when suddenly my pony stopped.

I could not conceive the reason.

I looked before me. Immediately in front of me, was the shattered trunk of an old olive treeit had been blasted by lightning-and sitting quietly at its foot-I saw my own mother, Giorgio! as clearly as I see you now. I could not be mistaken. She wore the same embroidered vest and Albanian shawl, as when I had last seen her.

She conversed with me calmly for many minutes, and-which surprised me much at the time-I felt no dread, and asked her and answered many questions.

She told me I should die early, in a foreign land; and many-many more things, which I

dare not repeat; for I cannot contemplate the possibility of their being true.

At the time, I told you I felt composed: without any sense of alarm or surprise. For many days afterwards, however, I never left my bed of sickness.

I told my kinsman all the circumstances, and he discovered beyond a doubt, that it was on that very day, the twelve-month previous, that my poor mother had been murdered."

Sir Henry and George tried to smile at Acme's story, and account for what she had seen;-but her manner was so impressive, and her ingenious reasonings-delivered in the most earnest toneseemed to confute so entirely all their speculations, that they were at length content to deem it "wondrous strange."

In the best and wisest of us, there is such a tendency to believe in a mysterious link, connecting the living and the departed; that a story of this nature, in exciting our feelings, serves to paralyse our reasoning faculties, and leaves us half converts, to the doctrines that we faintly combat.

They looked forth again on the scene. The mountains of Calabria were frowning on them. The village was far behind—and not a straggling light marked its situation.

Numberless stars were reflected on the glassy water, whose serenity was no longer ruffled by wing of sea bird, which long ere now had returned to its "wave girded nest."

Our party and the watch were the only lingerers on deck.

George wrapped Acmé's silk cloak around her, and then carefully assisted her in her descent to the cabin.

CHAPTER XX.

THE MAD HOUSE.

"And see the mind's convulsion leave it weak."

THE land breeze continued to freshen, and the first dawn of morning saw our party on deck, scanning with near view, the opposite coasts of Sicily and Italy, as their vessel glided through the Faro of Messina.

Some pilot boats,-how unlike those which greet the homeward-bound voyager, as he first hails Britain's chalky cliffs-crowded around the vessel, offering their services to guide it through the strait.

Avarice-one incentive to language-had en

dowed these Sicilian mariners with a competent knowledge of English, which they dealt out vociferously.

As the Captain made his selection, the rejected candidates failed not to use that familiar English salâm; half the gusto of which is lost, when used by foreign lip.

On the Calabrian coast, the sea-port town of Reggio wore an unusual air of bustle and animation.

It was a festa day there; and groups of peasants, in many-coloured costumes, paced up and down the mole; emitting that joyous hum, which is the never-failing concomitant of a happy crowd. Passing through the Faro, the vessel's course lay by the northern coast of Sicily. The current and wind were alike favourable, as it swept on by Melazzo and Lascari.

Etna, towering over the lesser mountains, became once more visible; its summit buried in the clouds of heaven.

On the right, a luminous crimson ring revealed Stromboli, whose fitful volcano was more than usually active.

The following day our party arrived at Palermo. So pleasurable had been their voyage, that it was with a feeling akin to regret, that they heard the