The whole party embarked for the quarantine office, and-once authorised to join the throng of Naples-soon found themselves in the Strada Toledo, moving towards the Santa Lucia.

Their hotel was near the mole; its windows commanding an extensive view of the purple sea, beyond which the eye took in the changeful volcano; and many a vista-sunny, smiling, and beauteous enough, for the exacting fancy of an Englishman, who conjures up for an Italian landscape, marble-like villas-and porticoes, where grapes cluster, in festoons of the vine-heaving mountains-a purple sky-faces bronzed, but oh how fair and song, revelry, and grace.

But what struck Acmé, and even Sir Henry, who was more inured to the whirl of cities, as the characteristical feature of Naples, was its moving life. In the streets, there was an incessant bustle from morning until midnight. Each passer by wore an air of importance, almost amounting to a consciousness of happiness. There was fire in the glance-speech in the action-on the lip a ready

smile.

In no city of Italy, does care seem more misplaced. The noble rolls on in his vehicle on the Corso, with features gay and self-possessed; while the merry laugh of the beggar-as he feasts on the lengthened honors of his Macaroni-greets the ear at every turn. Stray not there! oh thou with brow furrowed by anguish!

If thy young affections have been blighted—if hope fondly indulged, be replaced by despair-if feelings that lent their roseate hue, to the commonest occurrences of life, now darken every scene -if thou knowest thyself the accessary to this, thy misery, stray not in Naples, all too joyous for thee!

Rather haunt the shrines of the world's ancient mistress! Perchance the sunken pillar-and the marble torso and the moss-grown edifice-and the sepulchre, with the owl as tenant-and the thought that the great, the good, and the talented, who reared these fading monuments-are silent and mouldering below: mayhap these things will speak to thy heart, and repress the full gush of a sorrow that may not be controlled! And if the

martyr to o'er-sicklied refinement-to sentiment too etherialised for the world, where God hath placed thee-ideal woes have stamped a wrinkle on the brow, and ideal dreams now constitute thy pleasure and thy bane: for such as thou art! living on feeling's excess-soaring to rapture's heights -or sinking to despair's abyss-Naples is not fitting!

Visit the city of the sea! there indulge thy shapeless imaginings-with no sound to break thy day dreams-save the shrill cry of the gondolier, and the splash of his busy oar.

The young Greek, Delmé, and George, were soon immersed in the round of sight seeing.

Visits to the ancient palace of Queen Joanna— to the modern villa of the Margravine—to the Sibyl's Cave, and to Maro's Tomb-to some sites that owed their interest to classic associations-to others that claimed it from present beauty-wiled away days swiftly and pleasurably.

What with youth, change of scene, and an Italian sky, George was no longer an invalid. His eye wore neither the film of apathy, nor the un

natural flush of delirium; but smiled its happiness on all, and beamed its love on Acmé.

One night they were at the Fondo, and after listening delightedly to Lalande, and following with quick glance, the rapid movements of the agile ballerina, and after George had been honoured by a bow-which greatly amused Acmé—from the beautiful princess; who, poor girl! then felt a penchant for Englishmen, which she failed not to avow from her opera box-the party agreed to walk home to the hotel. On their way, they turned into a coffee-room to take ice.

The fluent waiter prattled over his catalogue; and Acmé selected his "sorbetto Maltese," because the name reminded her of the loved island. Leaving the coffee-room, they were accosted by a driver of one of the public coaches.

"Now, Signore! just in time for Vesuvius! See the sun rise! superb sight! elegant carriage!" "Do let us go!" said Acmé, clapping her hands with youthful enthusiasm.

"No, no! my dear!" said Sir Henry, "we must not think of it! you would be so tired."

"No, no! you do not know how strong I am; and I intend sleeping on George's shoulder all the way-and we are all in such high spirits-and these improvised excursions you yourself granted were always best--and besides, you know we must always start at this hour, if we expect to see the sunrise from the mountain. What do you say, Giorgio?"

The discussion ended, by the driver taking the direction of the hotel; whence, after making arrangements as to provisions and change of dress, the party started for the mountain.

The warm cheek of Acmé was reposing on that of her husband'; and the wanton night air was disporting with her wavy tresses, as the loud halloo of the driver, warned them that they were in Portici, and in the act of arousing Salvador, the guide to the mountain. After some short delay, they procured mules. Each brother armed himself with a long staff, and leaving the carriage, they wended their way towards the Hermitage.

It was a clear night. The moon was majestically gliding on her path, vassalled by myriads of stars.