than view the wreck-the grievous wreck—a few

short years have made.

We care not, and, alas! to such as we have in our mind's eye, these are the only cases allowed,— we care not! whether rapture has been succeeded by apathy, or whether the feelings continue as deeply enlisted the thoughts as intensely concentrated;-but-in the servitude of despair!

And again we say-gentle memory! let us dream over our past joys! ay! and brood over our sorrows-undeserved-as in this hour of solitude, we may justly deem them.

Yes! let us again live over our days of suffering, and deem it wiser to steep our soul in tears, than let it freeze with an iced coating of cynic miscalled philosophy.

And shall adversity-that touchstone-softened as our hearts shall thus be-shall it pass over us, and improve us not?

No! it has purifying and cleansing qualities; and for us, it has them not in vain.

We are not dust, to be more defiled by water; nor are we as the turbid stream, which passing

over driven snow, becomes more impure by the

close contact.

Thee, Mnemosyne! let us still adore: content rather to droop, fade, and die—martyrs to thee! than linger on as beasts of the forest, that know thee not. No hope may be ours to animate the future: let us still cling to thee, though thine influence sadden the past.

Away! we are on the placid sea! and Naples lies before us.

The sun had just risen from ocean's bed, attired in his robe of gold; as our travellers watched from the deck of their Sparonara, to catch the first view of the "garden of the world," as the Neapolitans fondly style their city.

A dim haze was abroad, the mists were slowly stealing up the mountains, as their vessel glided on; a light breeze anon filling its canvas, then dying away, and leaving the sails to flap against the loosened cordage.

On their left, extended the charming heights of Posilipo-the classic site of Baia-PozzuoliNisida-and Ischia, to be reverenced for its wine.

On their right, Capra's isle and Portici and Vesuvius-wreathed in vapour, presented themselves.

As their vessel held on her

way, Naples became visible-its turrets capt by a solitary cloud, which had not yet acknowledged the supremacy of the rising deity.

The effulgence of the city was dimmed, but it was lovely still,-as a diamond, obscured by a passing breath; or woman's eye, humid from pity's

tear.

"And this," said Sir Henry, for it happened that his travels in Italy had not extended so far south, "this is Naples! and this sea view the second finest in the world!"

"Which is the first?" said Acmé, laughing, "not in England, I trust; for we foreigners do not invest your island with beauty's attributes."

"My dear Acmé!" replied Sir Henry, somewhat gravely, "I trust the day may arrive, when you will deem Delmé Park, with its mansion bronzed by time-its many hillocks studded with ancient trees-its glistening brook, and hoary gateways-its wooded avenue, where the rooks

have built for generations-its verdant glades, where the deer have long found a home:—when you will consider all these, as forming as fair a prospect, as ever eye reposed on. But I did not allude at the time to England; but to the Turkish capital. George! I remember your glowing description of your trip in Mildmay's frigate, up the Dardanelles. What comparison would you make between the two scenes?"

"I confess to have been much disappointed," replied George, "in my first view of Stamboul; and even the beauty of the passage to the Dardanelles, seemed to me to have been exaggerated. But what really did strike me, as being the most varied, the most interesting scenery I had ever witnessed, was that which greeted us, on an excursion we made in a row boat, from the Bosphorus into the Black Sea.

There all my floating conceptions of Oriental luxury, and of Moslem pomp, were more than realised.

The elegant kiosks-the ornamented gardensthe pinnacled harems, the entrance to which lofty

barriers jealously guarded-the number of the tombs in their silent cities-gave an intense interest to the Turkish coast;-while sumptuous barges, filled with veiled women, swept by us, and gave a fairy charm to the sea. On our return, we were nearly lost from our ignorance of the current, which is rapid and dangerous."

"Well! I am glad to hear such a smiling account of Stamboul," rejoined Acmé. "My feelings regarding it have been quite Grecian. It has always been to me a sort of Ogre city."

The breeze began to freshen, and the vessel made way fast.

As they neared the termination of their voyage, some church, or casino bedecked with statues, or fertile glen, whose sides blushed with the luscious grape, opened at every instant, and drew forth their admiration.

Their little vessel swung to her anchor.

The busy hum of the restless inhabitants, and the joyous toll of the churches, announcing one of the never-failing Neapolitan processions, was borne on the breeze.