summer; and they do enjoy it most thoroughly. They may then be said to live in the open air: all the use they make of their houses is to sleep in them, for they take all their meals in the garden or verandah. Picnics are largely indulged in, and with impunity, for the weather is settled-they have a beautiful, clear, blue sky, and brilliant sun for weeks together. The summer is hotter than it is here, but the Russians do not feel the heat so much as we do. There, it is dry, clear, and exhilarating, and constant. Occasionally, they are subjected to rapid changes, but not often; though at St Petersburg, it is excessively hot during the day, and so cold at night that you are obliged to wear an overcoat. The summer evenings and nights in Russia are wonderfully beautiful. The air is so calm, clear, soft, and subdued, and it remains light for so long, that you feel inclined to linger in the open air all night, and turn into bed with regret. In Riga, I have been able to read a letter at half-past ten at night; and at St Petersburg it is quite light for several nights. The summer is about as long as ours, but it appears shorter in consequence of the shortness of the spring and autumn. During the summer, there is a profusion of flowers, fruit, and vegetables, similar to our own. An Englishman misses the beautiful spring and autumn of England, but he is more than recompensed by the splendid summer and winter. The climate of Russia is certainly preferable to that of England; but there is one slight drawback to the summerit breeds mosquitoes. Some writers assert that the houses in Russia swarm with insects. This is ridiculous exaggeration. The Russians adopt the sensible plan of living in flats. The rooms of the higher classes are furnished in the French style, but those of the middle class are usually furnished in a very plain and tasteless manner, and almost invariably without carpets. They have a peculiar way of decorating their ceilings by stencilling or painting, which is usually done with very great taste, and has a very pretty effect; and they have the floors painted or inlaid. The houses are usually made of wood, and the roofs are frequently covered with sheetiron, painted green or red, which gives them a picturesque appearance. They have a custom of calling houses after the names of the proprietors, but they are now likewise numbered; and it is customary to pay rent in advance.

a

corns.

There are two things in which the Russians are very much behindhand-draining and paving. The paving in most of the towns is execrable; it seems as if the chief care of the pavier was to place the stones the wrong side upwards; consequently, walking about the streets is most irksome and tormenting, and is sadly detrimental to one's temper-particularly if you are troubled with The only time when one can walk with any degree of comfort is when the snow is on the ground. The paving in St Petersburg is generally pretty good, but owing to the boggy nature of the soil, it is constantly in need of repair. The idea of building a city on the site of St Petersburg was downright madness. It is a dismal swamp; it is subjected to terrible inundations; the foundation is very insecure; and it is unhealthy. The city is magnificent, but is spoiled by its situation. It is built on a level plain, and intersected by the river Neva and numerous canals. The entrance to St Petersburg by the river offers a strong contrast to the Thames at London. Instead of a filthy river, they have one limpid and clear; instead of dirty, dingy wharfs and warehouses, they have rows of palaces, handsome public buildings, and magnificent mansions; and instead of muddy banks, and narrow, filthy streets and alleys, they have magnificent granite quays and wide streets. Although St Petersburg contains but about six hundred thousand inhabitants, yet it is of enormous extent, and necessitates a liberal use of droskies and omnibuses.

The buildings usually cover an immense extent of ground; and the streets are very wide, and laid out at right angles. Some of the palaces are built of marble; one building in particular, the Hermitage, has in its construction an amazing quantity of this costly material. It contains a vast number of rooms, nearly all of which have columns, floor, and walls of marble, each room having a different colour. The Hermitage adjoins the Winter Palace. It contains a most valuable and highly interesting collection of curiosities, old jewellery, vases, statuary, and paintings. There is a vast number of institutions in St Petersburg; among which, deserving of special mention, are the Orphan Asylum, and a very valuable Museum of Mines. The monuments and statuary are remarkably fine. The chief street in St Petersburg is the NewskyProspect; this is perhaps half as wide again as Regent Street, and is almost three miles long. In some respects, it is a more magnificent street than Regent Street, but it is spoiled by the peculiar shops. They mostly have one on the ground-floor, to which you have to ascend a few steps, and another on the basement, to which you have to descend; and they are profusely decorated outside with signboards, on which are painted representations of some of the goods to be had within; for instance, the upper shop will perhaps have boards on which are represented various articles of fur, and the lower one will have gorgeous representations of cheese, ham, candles, soap, sugar, &c. This sadly detracts from the beauty of the street.

The theatres are very fine buildings. The Opera House at St Petersburg is about the same size as Covent Garden; and that at Moscow is, I believe, the largest, most commodious, and handsomest theatre in the world. But the great glory of St Petersburg is St Isaac's Church. I can assure my readers, it is worth a journey to this city solely to see this and the magnificent granite quays. The cost of that magnificent church was enormous: the amount is not known, but it is stated that the foundation alone cost two hundred thousand pounds, so many piles being required, owing to the boggy nature of the soil. It is built of marble, and is in the form of a Greek cross; it has four equal sides; four peristyles, the pillars of which are of polished granite, sixty feet high, and seven feet in diameter, and the capitals are of bronze. The steps are made out of enormous masses of polished granite, and the doors are magnificent specimens of bronze-casting. It is ornamented with a large central dome and four smaller ones, all of which are gilded, and their appearance, when the sun is shining on them, is extremely beautiful. This is the first object that meets your gaze when going to St Petersburg. The interior is gorgeous in the extreme: it is composed of marble of various colours, and is most profusely ornamented with gilding, paintings, and wonderful mosaics.

In all Greek churches, there is a gorgeous screen, called the Iconostasis, behind which is the Holy of Holies. This screen in St Isaac's is extremely splendid; it is profusely gilded, has columns of malachite fifty feet high, two smaller columns of lapis-lazuli, and some large mosaics of saints, so exquisitely done that I at first thought they were paintings. In the lantern of the dome is a dove with outstretched wings, cut out of white marble; so beautiful, that you regard it almost with veneration. In all Greek churches are paintings of the Saviour, the Virgin, and some of the saints. They are very peculiar, the face and hands alone being visible, the remainder of the picture being covered with thin sheets of gold, silver, or gilt, made to represent the clothing and head-dress. These pictures are called Eikons. The Russians have a great veneration for them; they are not only inside the churches, but outside, and in various public thoroughfares; they have a small lamp burning in front, and are placed in

a kind of shed, or in a glass-case. No orthodox Russian will pass one without stopping, doffing his hat, making sundry bows, and crossing himself. They likewise hang them up in a corner of their shops, rooms, and public offices.

I mentioned the screen called the Iconostasis. A singular regulation in connection with this is, that no woman is ever allowed to enter it. To a stranger, there appears to be a great deal of superstition mixed up with their religion; they seem to pay much more attention to the forms and ceremonies than to the spirit of religion. In the church is a stall for the sale of tapers, which the congregation are continually purchasing during the service, and sticking in candlesticks before the pictures of the saints. The service of the Greek Church is particularly fatiguing, for there are no seats, and the number of bows, crossings, and genuflexions are endless. The service is very peculiar. They have no organ, but a great deal of chanting; the prayers are read in the Slavonic tongue, which the people do not understand; and if they did, they are delivered with such amazing volubility as to be almost, if not quite incomprehensible. At twelve o'clock on the Saturday night previous to Easter Sunday, there is a grand dramatic exhibition in all the Russian churches: it is to represent the resurrection of our Saviour; and very novel, striking, and grand it is. The archbishop in full canonicals, wearing his mitre; the numerous priests habited in cloth of gold; the various banners and other ornaments; the incense, and the beautiful chanting, make a tout ensemble never to be forgotten. After many prayers, forms, and ceremonies have been gone through, they form a grand procession, and leave the church, round which they walk three times. They are supposed to be seeking the body of Jesus. On their return, the archbishop stands at the altar, and joyfully communicates to the congregation that Christ is risen.' Then there is a general congratulation. The highest in rank among them advances to the archbishop and exchanges kisses with him, and then kisses the crucifix which the archbishop presents to him; the others advance, according to their rank, and do the like; and then the remainder of the congregation rush forward for the same ceremony. The bells ring out a joyful peal; the steeples are illuminated, and general joy reigns around. By the by, whenever a priest gives anything to the bishop, or takes anything from him, he always kisses his hand. At this time, the usual salutation of a Russian is, 'Christ is risen,' and the reply is, 'Risen indeed;' and then the two friends will take off their caps and embrace each other several times. They have likewise a custom of giving or exchanging eggs. These are boiled hard, and then coloured, gilded, or silvered, but some of them are artificial, and contain a handsome present; if you present an egg to a lady, she is bound to exchange kisses with you. It was told to some of the English who had newly arrived, that the practice of the ladies kissing the gentlemen was usual in the church at the conclusion of the before-mentioned ceremony, and several of them went there on speculation; but, to their extreme disgust, they found they had not embraced the right opportunity.

It may be worth while to glance at the tenets of the Greek faith. Formerly, the Greek and Roman Catholic churches were both one. There were four patriarchal chairs--Rome, Alexandria, Jerusalem, and Constantinople-each being independent of the other; but on the elevation of Gregory VI. to the chair of Rome, a rivalry ensued between him and the patriarch of Constantinople for the leadership of the whole Christian world, and a separation then took place. The Greek Church differs from the Roman Catholic in several respects. It rejects the dogma of purgatory, yet it allows prayers for the dead; it forbids graven images, yet it permits pictures; and it ignores dispensations and indulgences. The people

are expected to confess once a year-at Easter. It has our Lord's Prayer, commandments, and belief. Their catechism, and the formula of the duties of parish priests, are admirable, and worthy of any creed. They allow the most perfect toleration, except to their own apostates, against whom they are very severe, but no proselytising is permitted. Their priests are called popes, and are obliged to marry, but are not allowed to marry twice. They have terribly long fasts, that extend altogether from twenty-six to twenty-eight weeks in the year, and some of them are very long and exceedingly severe, particularly the one before Easter, which lasts for seven weeks. The emperor is the head of the church. They have a curious custom of blessing almost everything-houses, rivers, animals, flowers, bread, &c. The blessing of the rivers is most peculiar. On a certain day in January, they cut a large hole in the ice, over which they erect a canopy. A grand procession leaves the church, and proceeds to this spot, when the bishop blesses the river. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the people rush forward with pitchers to obtain some of the holy-water, which they carry home in triumph, believing it to be efficacious for the purification of their houses, and the curing of distempers. A bowl of this water is carried before the bishop on his return to the church, into which he continually dips a kind of whisk, and sprinkles the bystanders on each side of him.

At a burial, they do not issue invitations, but insert an advertisement in the newspaper. The friends and acquaintances then go to the house to see the corpse lying in state, and, on the day of the funeral, join in the procession. The coffin resembles an ornamental box, highly decorated; for an adult, it is generally covered with black or purple velvet; but for a young person it is pink or white, with a quantity of ornaments and wreaths of flowers. It is borne to the grave on a bier having a rich canopy of black velvet carefully arranged. A piece of paper is put into the hands of the corpse, which is a kind of certificate from the priest-a passport to heaven. A Riga merchant was in great dread lest he should be buried alive, and in order to guard against such a terrible disaster, he had a catacomb made for himself, outside which was a bell, the wire of which was placed at the head of his coffin, so that, in the event of his waking up, he might ring for assistance. But there was very little chance of his waking, for when I saw him, a few months ago, both he and his shroud appeared exactly as if made out of plaster of Paris. There was every facility for seeing him, as he had ordered two wide and long strips of window-glass to be let into the lid of the coffin.

The bells of the Russian churches are a most abominable nuisance; they have several, from a little muffin-bell to a full, deep-toned, funeral-knell, and these are jangled indiscriminately, and make a most discordant din.

LOST AND FOUND.

IT was in old King Ferdinand's time that the Hecla frigate, of which I was second-lieutenant, was ordered to reinforce the British squadron at anchor off Naples. His Neapolitan majesty was only too glad to see us, for storms were understood to be lowering in the political world, and the intrigues of the Muratist party, and those of the secret societies of Carbonari, kept shaking his throne. We were the allies in whom he most trusted, and an urgent request had been pressed upon the Percival ministry to strengthen the fleet then lying in the Bay of Naples.

Our reception was pleasant enough, for the great gay capital of Southern Italy was then at its gayest. Ferdinand liked his people to amuse themselves, since merry-makings were believed to keep them from the exercise of free-thought, and life seemed a perpetual

Meanwhile the opera was brilliant, the ballet better than any other in Europe; there were splendid receptions at court, in the palaces of the nobility, at the various embassies, and on board the men-of-war in the roadstead, where the white decks, roofed over with flags and laurels, made the finest possible arena for a dance. All went merrily and well.

There was a dark side to the picture; but this we did not, for the most part, see or care to see. It was not only that the people were degraded and abjectly superstitious, proner to beg than work, more disposed to pilfer or extort a baioccho, and then lie in the sun for hours, languidly munching a cheap slice of watermelon, than to earn an honest meal and decent home. It was not only that monks and mendicants seemed to outnumber the actual labourers of the soil, that the mountains swarmed with brigands, and that the roads which the French had made were fast falling into decay. Not only this, but justice was bought and sold; crimes were daily winked at by the corrupt magistrates of the country; in the remote provinces, although several years had elapsed since Murat's capture and death, the poniards of the Sanfedesti were frequently reddened with the blood of reputed Liberals, for whose murder no account was ever demanded by those in authority. Not only this, but the jails were full-not of the robbers who beset the highways, but of the most useful and energetic citizens of Naples, men whose only crime, in many cases, was some rash expression of opinions at variance with the traditions of Bourbon royalty.

I had a friend, in whose studio near the Chiaia-he was a young English artist-I often idled away an hour pleasantly enough. I had known Edward Bolton ever since he came up, a little flaxen-headed lad, to join the 'petties' at Charterhouse. I was then myself a fifth-form boy, being Ned's senior by a good many years; but his parents were friends of my own, and he was put under my protection, and became my fag. Bolton turned out a very clever youngster-not that his scholarship was ever remarkable, but that his abilities as an artist forced their way, in spite of all possible snubbing and discouragement. And after a course of study at Rome, having with some difficulty persuaded his reluctant relations to consent to his following what was manifestly his natural vocation, he had established himself at Naples.

Ned Bolton was not absolutely dependent on his profession; he had an allowance from home, and would inherit a small competence in due season; but, to do him justice, he worked as if his whole reliance had been upon brush and colours. His choice of subjects was rather desultory as yet he sat surrounded by scraps of mythology, sketches of goldenhaired saints and gaunt martyrs, exquisite bits of marine views or mountain scenery; but his talent was patent and notable, even to ignorant eyes like mine.

It happened that some weeks had passed without my paying Bolton my accustomed visit. There had been a press of invitations from members of the gay and hospitable society of Naples-into which, from indolence or distaste, Ned did not enter and I had almost forgotten the quiet studio in the noisy and

At last I found myself springing up the dusty stairs of the great old house in which Bolton lodged. A curious house it was, being a stately mansion that had once belonged to some Spanish grandee of the seventeenth century, whose coat-of-arms, chipped by the chisels of the republican French, was still discernible over the arched entrance. The windows that lighted the stair were dim and dirty; the broad, shallow stone steps, and the massy marble banisters, were villainously in want of broom and scrubbing-brush; and in the many stories were accommodated a banker, a vice-consul, an upholsterer, a jeweller who made filigree-work in gold and silver, three professors of dancing or tongues, several artisans, and more than one wretchedly poor family of semi-mendicants, to say nothing of Bolton, who had a noble north window to his studio, and a fair suite of rooms. It was one of those huge cavernous Italian houses, built for a prince's use, and inhabited by the population of a hamlet; and I never ceased to marvel at its quaint arrangements.

I tapped at the studio door, and on being bidden to 'come in,' found my friend before his easel, painting, while before him stood two models, the outline of whose forms he had already transferred to the canvas. They were a blind old woman and her daughter. I have used the word 'old' somewhat at random, perhaps, though the gray hair and wrinkled brow of the elder female warranted the epithet; but in Italy, women fade early, especially in the lower ranks of life, and more especially if distress of mind be added to the effects of poverty and the dry climate. A closer inspection shewed that the elder of the two models was not beyond middle age, and was a tall and finely moulded figure, erect and dignified, with a look of touching resignation on her classically regular features. She stood, holding a distaff of the rude old Italian pattern, her sightless eyes turned towards the painter, and her left hand resting on the shoulder of her young daughter, a slight, graceful girl of seventeen, with dark hair, and a modest, gentle look that enhanced the rare beauty of her face. A lovely face it was; and the strangest thing to me was that I seemed to know it well, and yet I felt certain I had never met the girl before. At last the truth flashed across me: I had seen and admired that face in many of Bolton's sketches; I had even quizzed him about the frequency with which he had drawn it; and lo! here was the original, to whom the student's pencil had hardly done justice.

Ned signed to me to sit down, and we held a sort of disjointed conversation for half an hour, when the sitting came to an end, and the models retired. I thought my own presence caused them some embarrassment, as they took their leave, and in a greater degree was this the case with Bolton, who followed his late visitants out to the landing place to exchange a few hurried words at parting. I could not help bantering my friend on his supposed susceptibility, and the more so that I saw him wince and fidget, and make awkward efforts to turn the conversation.

The contadina [both women were in the picturesque peasant-dress] is pretty enough to turn any one's head, I admit;' said I mercilessly; but I thought you above such a solecism in art, Ned, as to be bewitched by a model, hired at so many carlini an hour. Raphael and Fornarina! ha, ha!'

'Hold your tongue, confound you!' shouted Ned, stamping, and then held out his hand to me, adding with a kind laugh: 'I beg your pardon, Atherton,

old fellow. I can't bear to hear that girl spoken of in a disrespectful way. She might be my wife tomorrow, if she chose; and so she would choose, dear little thing, but for an absurd prejudice in her mother's obstinate head, and Francesca is too good a daughter to disobey.'

'Your wife!' said I, fairly sobered by such an avowal; 'you, Bolton, to marry a little Italian peasant-maiden! What on earth would your mother say to such a daughter-in-law?'

Hereupon, Ned broke out into rhapsodies of incoherent talk, excusable in a lover, but rather trying to the patience of even a friendly listener. However, I gathered the following facts. The name of the elder woman was Luisa her surname, like those of many of the peasantry, having fallen into a sort of oblivion; but she was a native of Torre del Greco, and it was thought that she had seen better days. A series of misfortunes had reduced her to indigence. Her husband, who united the trade of a carpenter to the care of a small farm and vineyard, as is not unfrequent in that primitive region, had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. He had gone forth to his labour in the vineyard one morning; and when his wife went to call him to his dinner, noon having passed, he was missing. His jacket and straw-hat and pruning-hook were found on a patch of trampled ground, that bore evident marks of a struggle; but their owner was nowhere to be found. Every exertion was made to trace the missing man, but in vain, and fresh evils soon succeeded. A grasping personage in the neighbourhood, who had had dealings with poor 'Maso, laid claim to the little property, in virtue of a pretended debt, and by bribing the district judge, obtained his suit.

The poor cheated woman removed with her daughter to Naples, and for a time lived by needle-work, at which she was expert; but her eyes had long been failing, and her imprudent exertions brought on the total loss of sight. However, just as actual beggary stared her in the face, a slight change for the better occurred. A friend was struck by the remarkable beauty of young Francesca's face, and had the sense to see something worthy an artist's notice in the sad dignity with which the mother herself bore the reverses of fortune. This man was himself a model; he recommended the mother and daughter to his patrons, and before long there was quite a competition among the painters of Naples to secure sittings from such admirable studies. Everybody was soon raving about Francesca-the beauty of Torre del Greco, as they styled her and if her little head had not been steady, it would have been turned by flattery-but she is the dearest girl, sensible and good, and shrank from the compliments of her admirers. Old Luisa, too, is a dragon in her way, proud as a duchessyou might have noticed the carriage of her headand won't stand any nonsense; so the pair won respect from everybody.'

Ned went on to say that he had proposed to marry Francesca, and to take kind care of the old woman for the remainder of her life-that he had gained the daughter's consent, but could not make any impression on the mother's obstinate resolve, not to permit her child to marry before the return of her lost father. She persisted that 'Maso must be alive-he had no enemies to murder him, was too poor to have provoked the cupidity of the brigands, too inoffensive to have been a victim to the Sanfedesti. She was sure he would come back; and till he did return to take care of his blind wife, she would never consent that Francesca should marry anybody, least of all an Inglese, however kind and generous, an Inglese who might suddenly command his bride to accompany him to his own country, where, as Luisa firmly believed, the sun never shone, and fruits and flowers were unknown.

'A queer story!' said I, suppressing a smile.

I

should not wonder if the worthy 'Maso were really in difficulties, and ran away to avoid his creditors, deserting his family, as some of our scoundrels do at home.'

'I don't believe it,' said Ned bluntly. 'I went to Torre, and found, on inquiry, that the man bore the best of characters. He was a gentle, harmless fellow, very industrious, and reputed to have saved money. I am afraid he was foully made away with, perhaps to obtain possession of whatever little hoard he may have concealed in a coppice, or buried in a garden, for these Neapolitans are like orientals in this respect. But the old woman's resolution is a sad one for me. I should have liked to procure Francesca some education-she is quick at learning and then I am sure my mother would soon learn to be fond of her daughter-in-law, whose only fault is her peasant origin, and who is pretty enough and good enough to be a fairy princess.

This was all that Bolton said during our interview, except the somewhat long-winded praises of Francesca in which he indulged, and at which I could hardly help yawning.

Are all men in love so absurd, I wonder,' thought I, as I made my way down the darkling staircase. To be sure, the girl seems worthy of the promotion he offers her; and I can't help respecting the mother's sturdy independence of spirit-rather selfish, but honest, at any rate. I wonder what will be the end of it.' So saying, I turned into the street, and forgot the whole affair.

A few days afterwards, I, with two others of the Hecla's officers, got leave of absence, and proceeded to explore several of the more interesting localities near Naples. It was after a long morning spent among the ruins of Pæstum, ruins of evil repute, on account of the murder of two young English travellers, Mr and Mrs H—, a few years before, that we heard rumours of an interesting sight among the crags of Mount Alburno. It was from a wandering German sculptor that we received this report, and he told us such marvels respecting some little-known Roman baths, at a place called Villarossa, among the mountains, that we could not help hiring mules and guides, and setting out. We were four well-armed Englishmen, for the marine officer, who was of the party, had brought his servant, a resolute fellow, and we did not accept the offer of an escort of carabiniers on the part of the military authorities. Indeed, there was no serious danger. The mountaineers were cowed by the stern severity with which the murder I have alluded to had been punished; and as we slowly wound our way among the stony spurs of the hills, we often caught sight of a gibbet, whereon swung in rusty chains the grisly skeleton of one of the band by whom the crime was done.

We were rather disappointed with Villarossa, so called from the red colour of the Roman brick and tile of which its shattered buildings were composed. No doubt the baths and villas had once been tasteful and sumptuous; but constant depredations on the part of those who wished to erect farmhouses or walls, and were too lazy to mould bricks or hew stones for themselves, had reduced the ancient structures to mounds of rubbish. However, the scenery was fine, and the pure thin air of the hills was very refreshing after the sultry heat of the low country. We found the syndic of the place a very obliging person; he apologised for the shortcomings of the Roman ruins, as if he had been personally to blame, invited us to his house, and finally devised for us a treat of a novel order.

Illustrious ones,' said the syndic, we have little to exhibit worthy your excellencies' attention. Were it the season, we could shew your honours good sport with our mountain-hares; but now we have no amusement to offer, unless your worships will condescend to inspect our prison.

Your prison?'

Carissimo Inglese, yes; the prison of Villarossa. Were it a place of confinement for common malefactors, for poverini of smugglers, thieves, or clippers of our Lord Ferdinand's coin, I would not permit myself the suggestion; but our tower is a place of note. It gives lodging to none but political offenders; and but that the lieutenant-governor is my cousin brother [a relationship peculiar to Italy], I could not obtain you admission."

We visited the grim old tower, or rather collection of towers, which served as the jail of Villarossa, and which, by the Arabic flourishes carved over the arch of its gateway, was probably the erection of some of Manfred's Saracen colonists.

There were about eighty prisoners, for the tower was one of the smallest and least known of the prisonfortresses in the kingdom, and they were in a less deplorable condition than those captives who were immured at Procida and elsewhere. Not that we did not see much to pain and shock us-not that the state of the inmates was not one of chronic squalor and discomfort, but that the prisoners, if in rags, were tolerably fed and not unduly crowded, and that there was evidently truth in the syndic's boast, that his brother-cousin' was a humane man.

Most of those imprisoned were of the agricultural class-farmers or small proprietors; but there were among them several professional men, whose threadbare coats and thoughtful faces contrasted with the dulled look of the contadini. Our entrance made a little stir among the more intelligent of them, but it soon died away when they found we were not government officials; and though they answered our questions politely, they asked none in return. They were evidently almost dead to hope. As for the peasants there incarcerated, they eyed us with absolute indifference, until they saw us distributing cigars and other trifling luxuries, precious to a prisoner, when they came eagerly up to clamour for their share. But there was one man who followed us to and fro, not speaking, but watching us with wistful eyes, and whose earnest face contrasted with the dull apathy of the others of his class, for he, though dressed in patched garments of nondescript aspect, had still the dark sun-browned tinge of one used to open-air labour, struggling with the pallor of sickly captivity. He was a hale man, not much bowed by age, but his hair was quite white, and his forehead deeply wrinkled. Such as he was, this man followed us along the gallery in which all the prisoners, save only half-a-dozen who were sick, were lodged; but he never addressed us until we were on the point of leaving, when he sprang forward and caught the marine officer, Maxwell, by the sleeve, crying out: For the love of Heaven, noble English, tell the great Signori of Naples the truth. I am a most unhappy man. I am innocent-the victim of a mistake. I am not Carlo Barucci !'

'Briccone! cur! pig viler than a Jew! hands off!' cried the turnkey, quite indignant at the captive's audacity, and shaking him violently, to compel him to let go his gripe of Maxwell's sleeve. But we all interfered to prevent the poor old man from being roughly handled: there was genuine anguish in his tone and manner, and we felt sorry for him.

'Hear me, gentlemen. I am innocent-I swear it by the Thorns. I am not Carlo Barucci.'

I looked inquiringly towards the syndic and his relative; the former tapped his forehead with a significance which there was no mistaking, while the latter laughed and arched his eyebrows, bidding his warders remove the prisoner to a cell.

harmless creature, gentlemen-officers, and that delusion about his own identity is his only one. His brain is out of tune on that one point-he maintains that he is not the person sentenced, and denies that he is the real Carlo Barucci.'

Is his sentence a long one?'

For life. Silly fellow, he must needs conspire against our good king, and ecco! behold what comes of it. Addio! noble sirs; I am the humblest servant of your bountiful graces.'

So saying, the lieutenant-governor pocketed the few ducats we slipped into his hand, and gave us our money's worth in bows and gesticulations as we left the terrace. But as we descended the rugged road, the head of the old captive was thrust out between the iron bars of a turret-window, and we could hear him screaming to us that he was unjustly condemned, that if the king knew it, he would be released, and that he was suffering in the place of another. We pushed on, anxious to get away from the painful scene; but even when we reached the distant angle in the road where the tower was last perceptible, we could see the poor lunatic's white hair fluttering in the wind, and hear the shrill cry with which he pursued us, and of which the burden ever was: 'I am not Carlo Barucci !'

Some weeks passed by. Easter was over; and such of us as could be spared from duty, of whom I was not one, had come back from Rome, after witnessing the strange splendours of the Holy-Week, when a new whim took possession of the gay world of Naples; this whim was no other than a passion for horseracing, in the English style, and though ephemeral, it was strong while it lasted. I believe the whole thing originated in a sort of random handicap, which our middies got up with the aid of any rawboned hack that they could obtain for cash or credit. But the ambassador, Lord B-, happened to be a man of sporting tastes; and there were several of the rich Neapolitan nobles, whose idleness chanced to take the form of a frenzy for the possession of blood-horses, tandems, grooms, and ‘boule-dogs,' all equally English.

As for the king, he lent his hearty encouragement to any scheme which promised to afford a new amusement to his subjects, and a new distraction to their thoughts; and thus it was settled that there were to be races of all sorts and distances, and for prizes of all values.

"Gentlemen-riders '--a word which continental lovers of sport have adopted with a wider and vaguer meaning than it bears in England-were in high request, for although the Marchesi and Principi of Naples owned many valuable horses, they had no idea of riding them, and were wholly dependent on foreign skill for winning the various cups and salvers which they already reckoned as their own. British jockeys were not to be had, but it was firmly impressed on the Neapolitan mind that every Briton is a Centaur by right of his birthplace, and accordingly the younger of the English residents, as well as the junior officers of the fleet, were obliged either to don the gay silk jacket, or to make a mortifying confession of incapacity.

I was among the former class. Sailors seldom ride well, but it happened that I had been very familiar with horse-flesh ever since, at eight years old, I followed hounds on my Shetland pony. This fact was known in the Hecla's wardroom, and our purser introduced me to a wealthy landed proprietor who had come on board to seek an ally capable of backing a vicious thoroughbred, Pyrrhus by name, which he had bought at Rome, and which was considered certain of winning the hurdle-race, a prize for which was offered by the Duke of Salerno.

This Neapolitan gentleman was called the Cavaliere -something or other; what I could not well make out, for our purser's Italian was defective, and he slurred over every word he did not fully comprehend;