Delmé, however, had cause to remember that

Doctor Pormont.

Were it not so, he would not have figured in

these pages.

The last evening they were at Naples, they proceeded, as was their custom, to the Mole; and there engaging a boat, directed it to be rowed across the bay.

The volcano was more than usually brilliant, and the villages at its base, appeared as clear as at noonday.

The water's surface was not ruffled by a ripple. A bridal party was following in the wake of their boat-and nuptial music was floating past them in subdued cadence.

A nameless regret filled their minds, as they thought of the journey on the coming morrow. They had been so happy in Naples. Could they hope to be happier elsewhere?

It was midnight, when they returned to the hotel. As they neared its portico, the round cold moon fell on the forms of the lazzaroni, who were lying in groups round the pillars.

One of the party sprang to his feet, alarming the slumberers. The whole of them rose with admirable cheerfulness-took off their hats respectfully-and made way for the forestieri.

During the momentary pause that ensued, Acmé turned to the volcano, and playfully waved her hand in token of farewell.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clung heavily to George's arm.

She was doomed never to look on that scene again.

CHAPTER III.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

"Thou too, art gone! thou loved and lovely one, Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me."

Ar an early hour, rich aureate hues yet streaking the east, our party were duly seated in a roomy carriage of Angrasani's, on their way to Rome.

They had hopes of arriving at the capital, in time to witness that unique sight, the illumination of Saint Peter's; a sight which few can remember, without deeming its anticipation well worthy, to urge on the jaded traveller, to his journey's termination.

Who can forget the play of the fountains in front of the Vatican, the music of whose descend

ing water is most distinctly audible, although crowds throng the wide and noble space.

Breathless-silent all-is the assembled multitude, as the clock of Saint Peter's gives its long expected signal.

Away! darkness is light! a fairy palace springs before us! its beautiful proportions starting into life, until the giddy brain reels, from the excess of that splendour, on which the eye suddenly and delightedly feasts!

With the exception of a short halt, which afforded the travellers time for an early dinner at the Albergo di Cicerone, which is about half a mile from the Molo di Gaetà, they prosecuted their journey without intermission, till arrived within sight of their resting place.

This bore the aspect of an extensive, but dilapidated mansion, evidently designed for some other purpose.

Its proprietor had erected it, at a period, when malaria was either less prevalent or less dreaded; and his descendants had quitted it, for some more salubrious site.

The albergo itself, occupied but a small portion of the building, immediately on the right and left of the porch.

The other apartments, which formed the wings, were either wholly tenantless, or were fitted up as hay-lofts, granaries, or receptacles for farming utensils.

In the upper rooms, the panes of glass were broken; and the whole aspect of the place betokened desolation and decay.

As they drove to the door, a throng of mendicants and squalid peasants came forth. Their faces had a cadaverous hue, which could not but be remarked. Their eyes, too, seemed heavy, and deep set in the head; while many had their throats bandaged, from the effects of glandular swellings, brought on by the marshy exhalations.

Acmé threw some small pieces of Neapolitan money amongst them; and their gratitude in consequence was boundless.

She sprang from the carriage like a young fawn.

،،

Come, come, Giorgio! look at that sweet sun

set--and at the blue clouds edged with burnished