"But," said Gennaro, turning to me, "you must delight us with an improvisation. Signora will give you a subject.” "Yes," said Francesca, smiling, "sing us Love, that is a subject which interests Gennaro, as you indeed know."

"Yes, Love and Annunciata!" exclaimed Gennaro. "Another time I will do everything which you can desire from me," said I, "but this evening, it is impossible to me. I am not quite well. I sailed across the bay without my cloak, it was so warm by the lava stream; and then I drove here in the cool evening."

Gennaro besought me most pressingly to improvise notwithstanding, but I could not in this place, and upon this subject.

66 He has already the artist's way with him," said Fabiani; "he must be pressed. Will you, or will you not, go with us to-morrow to Pastum? there will you find material enough for your poetry. You should make yourself a little scarce. There cannot be much which binds you to Naples."

I bowed and felt myself in a difficulty, whilst I did not see how I could refuse.

"Yes, he goes with us," exclaimed Gennaro ; and when he stands in the great temple, and the spirit comes over him, he will sing like a Pindar!"

"We set off to-morrow morning," continued Fabiani; “the whole tour will occupy four days. On our return we will visit Amalfi and Capri. You must go with us."

A no might, perhaps, as the consequence will show, have changed my whole fate. These four days robbed me, dare I say it, of six years of my youth. And man is a free agent! Yes, we can freely seize upon the threads which lie before us, but how they are firmly twisted together, we do not see. I gave my thanks and said yes; and seized hold upon the thread which drew the curtain of my future more closely together.

"To-morrow we shall have more talk together," said Francesca, when after supper we separated, and she extended to me her hand to kiss.

"This very evening I shall, however, write to Excellenza," said Fabiani; “I will prepare the reconciliation scene."

"And I will dream about Annunciata," exclaimed Gennaro. "For that I shall not be challenged," added he, laughing, as he pressed my hand.

I, too, wrote a few words to Federigo; told him of my meeting with the family of Excellenza, and that I should make a little journey towards the south with them. I ended the letter: a thousand feelings operated in my breast. How much had not this evening brought me! How many events ran athwart each other!

I thought on Santa, on Bernardo by the burning picture of the Madonna, and then on the last hours spent amid old connections. Yesterday a whole public, to whom I was a stranger, had received me with acclamation; I was admired and honored. This very evening a woman, rich in beauty, had made me conscious of her love for me; and a few hours afterwards I stood among acquaintance, friends, whom I had to thank for everything; and as nothing before them but the poor child, whose first duty was gratitude.

But Fabiani and Francesca had really met me with affection; they had received me as the prodigal son, had given me a place at their table; invited me to join them in a pleasure tour on the morrow. Benefit was added to benefit; I was dear to them. But the gift which the rich present with a light hand lies heavily upon the heart of the poor!

CHAPTER XX.

JOURNEY TO PÆSTUM. - THE GRECIAN TEMPLE. THE

BLIND GIRL.

HE beauty of Italy is not found in the Campagna, nor

yet in Rome. I knew it only from my ramble by Lake Nemi, and from what I had seen in my journey to Naples. Doubly, therefore, must I have felt its rich beauty, almost more even than a foreigner, who could compare its loveliness with that of other countries. Like a fairy world, therefore, which I have seen in dreams, nay, which lived in them, lies this three days' journey before me. But how can I describe the impressions which my soul received, nay, as it were, actually infused into my blood?

The beauty of nature can never be given by description. Words place themselves in array indeed, like loose pieces of mosaic, one after another, but one understands not the whole picture put together piecemeal. Thus it is in nature; of the entire greatness there must be always something wanting. One gives the single pieces, and thus lets the stranger put them together himself; but if hundreds saw the complete picture, each would represent it very differently. It is with nature, as with a beautiful face; no idea can be formed of it by the mere details of it; we must go to a well-known object, and only when we can say, with mathematical precision, that this resembles that, with the exception of this or that particular, can we have, in any degree, a satisfactory idea.

If it were given to me to improvise on the beauty of Hesperia, I would describe with exact truth the real scenes which my eye here beheld; and thou who hast never seen the beauty of South Italy, thy fancy might beautify every natural charm with which thou wast acquainted, and it would not be rich enough. The ideal of nature exceeds that of man.

In the beautiful morning we set off from Castelamare. I see yet the smoking Vesuvius, the lovely rocky valley, with the great vine woods, where the juicy green branches ran from tree to tree; the white mountain castles perched on the green cliffs, or half buried in olive woods. I see the old temple of Vesta, with its marble pillars and its cupola, now the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. A piece of the wall was overthrown; skulls and human bones closed the opening, but the green vine shoots grew wildly over them, and seemed as if, with their fresh leaves, they would conceal the power and terror of death.

I see yet the wild outline of the mountains, the solitary towers, where nets were spread out to catch the flocks of seabirds. Deep below us lay Salerno, with the dark-blue sea, and here we met a procession that doubly impressed the whole picture upon my mind. Two white oxen, with their horns an ell in span, drew a carriage, upon which four robbers, with their dark countenances and horrible scornful laugh, lay in chains, whilst dark-eyed, finely formed Calabrians, rode beside them with their weapons on their shoulders.

Salerno, the learned city of the Middle Ages, was the extent of our first day's journey.

"Old folios have mouldered away," exclaimed Gennaro ; "the learned glory of Salerno is grown dim, but the volume of nature goes into a new edition every year; and our Antonio thinks, like me, that one can read more in that than in any learned musty book whatever."

"We may learn out of both," replied I; "wine and bread must go together."

Francesca discovered that I spoke very rationally.

"In talking there is no coming short in him," said Fabiani, "but in deeds! You will have an opportunity of showing us that, Antonio, when you come to Rome."

To Rome! I go to Rome? This thought had never occurred to me. My lips were silent! but my inmost heart said to me that I could not would not again see Rome, again enter into the old connections.

Fabiani continued to talk, so did the others, and we arrived at Salerno. Our first visit was to the church.

"Here I can be cicerone," said Gennaro. "This is the chapel of Gregory the Seventh, the holy father who died in Salerno. His marble statue stands before us upon the altar. There lies Alexander the Great," continued he, pointing to a huge sarcophagus.

"Alexander the Great?" repeated Fabiani inquiringly.

"Yes, certainly; is it not so?" asked he from the attend

ant.

"As Excellenza says," replied he.

"That is a mistake," remarked I, observing the monument more closely. "Alexander really cannot be buried here; that is against all history. See only, it is the triumphal procession of Alexander, which is represented on the sarcophagus, and thence is derived the name."

As soon as we had entered into the church, they showed us a similar sarcophagus, upon which was delineated a bacchanalian triumph, which had been brought hither from the temple in Pæstum, and now had been converted into the burial-place for a Salernian prince, whose modern marble statue, the size of life, was raised upon it. I reverted to this, and gave it as my opinion, that the circumstances of this so-called grave of Alexander must be similar to it. Quite pleased with my own penetration, I made a sort of oration on the subject of the graves, to which Gennaro coldly replied, "Perhaps ;" and Francesca whispered in my ear that it was unbecoming of me, wishing to appear wiser than he; that I must not do so. Silently and respectfully I drew back.

At Ave Maria I sat alone with Francesca in the balcony of the great hotel. Fabiani and Gennaro were gone out to walk; it was my place to entertain the gracious lady.

"What a beautiful play of colors!" said I, and pointed to the sea, which, white as milk, stretched itself out from the broad lava-paved street to the rosy-hued, brilliant horizon, whilst the rocky coast was of a deep indigo blue; such a pomp of coloring I had never seen in Rome.

"The clouds have already said, 'Felicissima notte!' remarked Francesca, and pointed to the mountain, where a cloud hung high above the villas and the olive woods, and yet far below the old castle, which, with its two towers, was nearly perched on the top of the mountain.