Naples. What I did not know I could not sing; I preferred rather "Il cavalier servente."

I opened the third paper, and here I read, "The Catacombs of Naples ;" neither had I been here; but with the word catacombs a life's-moment stood before me; the ramble in my childhood with Federigo, and our adventure, arose livingly before my soul. I struck a few notes; the verses came of themselves; I related what I had felt and gone through, only that it was in the catacombs of Naples instead of Rome. I seized for a second time the thread of happiness, and repeated, stormy plaudits saluted me; they streamed like champagne through my blood.

They gave me now as a subject, "Fata Morgana." I had not seen this beautiful ethereal appearance, peculiar to Sicily and Naples; but I knew very well the beauty fairy Phantasy, which dwelt in those splendid castles; I could describe my own dream-world, in which floated, also, her gardens and castles. In my heart, indeed, abode life's most beautiful “Fata Morgana."

I rapidly thought over my subject; a little story fashioned itself therewith, and new ideas presented themselves in my song. I began with a little description of the ruined church at Posilippo, without precisely mentioning its name. This romantic house had captivated me, and I gave a picture of the church, which now had become the home of the fisherman; a little child lay asleep on his bed below the window on which the picture of Saint George was painted on the glass. In the still moonlight night a beautiful little girl came to him; she was as lovely and as light as air, and had beautiful, brightcolored wings upon her shoulders. They played together, and she led him out into the green vine grove, showed him a thousand glorious things which he had never seen before; they went out into the mountains, which opened themselves into large, splendid churches, full of pictures and altars; they sailed upon the beautiful blue sea over against the smoking Vesuvius, and the mountain appeared as if of glass; they saw how the fires burned and raged within it; they went below the earth and visited the old cities, of which he had heard tell, and all the people were living; he saw their wealth and pomp,

greater even than we have any conception of from their ruins. She loosened her wings, bound them upon his shoulders, for she, without these, was light as air, and needed them not. Thus flew they over the orange woods, over the mountains, the luxuriant green Marshes to ancient Rome, amid the dead Campagna; flew over the beautiful blue sea, far past Capri, rested upon the crimson, shining clouds, and the little girl kissed him, called herself Fancy, and showed him her mother's beautiful castle, built of air and sunbeams, and there they played so happily and so joyously! But, as the boy grew up, the little girl came to him less frequently, peeped only at him in the moonlight between the green vine-leaves, and the oranges nodded to him, and he became troubled and full of longing. But he must now help his father on the sea, learn to work the oars, to pull the ropes, and steer the boat in the storm; but all the more he grew, all the more turned his thoughts towards his beloved playfellow, who never more visited him. Late in the moonlight nights, when he lay upon the quiet sea, he let the oars rest, and down in the deep, clear water, he saw the sandy, seaweed-strewn bottom of the ocean. Fancy then looked upwards at him, with her dark, beautiful eyes, and seemed to beckon and call him downward to her.

One morning many fishermen stood together on the shore. Floating in the ascending beams of the sun, not far from Capri, lay a new, wondrously beautiful island formed of rainbow colors, with glittering towers, stars, and clear, purpletinted clouds. "Fata Morgana!" exclaimed they all, and triumphed joyfully in the charming apparition; but the young fisher knew it well: there had he played; there had he abode with his beautiful Fancy: a strange melancholy and yearning seized upon his soul; but, amid his tears, grew dim and vanished the whole well-known image.

In the clear moonlight evening again ascended, from the promontory on which the fishermen stood, castles and islands fashioned of brightness and of air; they saw a boat with the speed of an arrow dart towards the strangely floating land and vanish; and suddenly was extinguished the whole creation of light, and, instead, a cold, black cloud spread itself over

the sea, a water-spout advanced along the peaceful surface, which now began to heave its dark green billows. When this had vanished, the ocean was again calm; the moon shone upon the azure waters, but they saw no boat; the young fisher had vanished vanished with the beautiful "Fata Morgana!"

The same applause as before greeted me again; my courage and my inspiration increased. The next subject which was given furnished recollections out of my own life, which it was only needful for me to relate. I was to improvise of Tasso. He was myself; Leonora was Annunciata; we saw each other at the court of Ferrara. I suffered with him in captivity; breathed again freedom with death in my heart, as I looked from Sorrento over the billowy sea towards Naples ; sat with him under the oak at the Convent of St. Onophrius ; the bell of the Capitol sounded for his coronation-feast, but the angel of death came and first placed upon his head the crown of immortality.

of

My heart beat violently; I was engrossed, was carried away by the flight of my thoughts. Yet was one more poem given to me; it was "The Death of Sappho." The pangs jealousy I had felt as I remembered Bernardo; Annunciata's kiss upon his brow burned into my soul. Sappho's beauty was that of Annunciata; but the sufferings of her love were my own. The ocean waters closed over Sappho !

My poem had called forth tears; the most extraordinary applause resounded from all sides, and after the curtain had fallen, I was twice called for. A happiness, a nameless joy, filled my soul, and yet seemed so to oppress my heart till it was ready to break; and when I had left the stage amid the embraces and congratulations of my friends and acquaintance, I burst into tears, into violent, convulsive sobs.

With Santini, Federigo, and some of the singers, a very lively evening was spent ; they drank to my well-being, and I was happy, but my lips were sealed!

"He is a pearl!" exclaimed Federigo in his gay delight, speaking of me; "his only fault is, that he is a Joseph the second, whom we Danes, for the sake of clearness, should call

Joseph the son of Jacob! Enjoy life, Antonio; pluck the rose before it be withered!"

It was late when I reached home; and with prayers and thanks to the Madonna, and Jesus Christ, who had not forsaken me, I was soon deeply and soundly asleep.

CHAPTER XIX.

SANTA. THE ERUPTION. OLD CONNECTIONS.

THE

HE next morning I stood before Federigo a new-born man; I was able to express my delight; I could not do it the evening before. Life around me interested me more; I felt myself, as it were, ennobled; I seemed to have become more mature through the dew of encouragement which had fallen upon my life's tree.

It was necessary, also, that I should pay a visit to Santa; she had probably heard me the evening before; I longed also to hear her praise, of which I was sure.

Maretti received me with rapture, but Santa, I was told, had through the whole night, after she returned from the theatre, suffered severely from fever; at this moment she was asleep, and sleep would be beneficial to her. I was made to promise that I would call again in the evening. I dined with Federigo and my new friends; health after health was drunk: the white lacrymæ Christi alternated with the wine of Calabria. I would not drink any more: my blood was in flame, champagne must cool it.

We separated gayly, and full of delight. When we came out into the street, we found the atmosphere lighted up by Vesuvius, and the mighty streams of lava. Several of the party drove out to see the fearful, but glorious spectacle. I went to Santa, for it was a little past the Ave Maria. I found that she was quite alone, much better: the servant said the sleep had strengthened her: I was permitted to see her, but nobody else.

I was introduced into a beautiful, snug little room, the long thick window-curtains of which were drawn ; a lovely marble statue of Cupid whetting his arrow, and an argand lamp, whose light gave a magical coloring to the whole, were the