BETWEEN our return from the Illyrian provinces and our departure for Sicily there was an interval of more than eighteen months, the greater part of which had been passed in Switzerland and Italy. Consistent with my first resolution, I say nothing of those countries, now as easily travelled over by a library fireside as in a voiture de poste; and, where tourists, in general, shut the book, I beg to reopen my Journal.

CHAPTER I.

NAPLES TO PALERMO.

Here gushing founts and streams, that never fail,
Pour health and plenty through the smiling vale;
Fair smiles the vale, with myrtle hedges crown'd,
And aromatic fragrance breathes around.

Wright's Hora Ionia.

We are now leaving Italy, and fain would my pen run wanton in her praise; but have I not been anticipated by every traveller who has passed to the south of the Alps? The associations interwoven even from infancy with her name, which press upon us, as we enter Italy, have been described by an elegant enthusiast. The feelings, on bidding her farewell, have burst from one of her own sons; one truly her own in genius and in principle. Yet the impressions of Ugo Foscolo are too melancholy for me to encourage, when I leave a

* The archbishop of T-, a great friend of Eustace, and an Italian, still termed him an enthusiast.

country, where, in the admiration of what she has retained, I have forgotten what she has lost; where the arts, manners, climate, scenery, have contributed to the happiest hours of my past life, and will form the most pleasing recollections of my future; nay, to sum up all with Alfieri," Dopo molti altri viaggi e molta piu esperienza, i due soli paesi dell' Europa che mi hanno sempre lasciato desiderio di se sono stati la Inghilterra e l'Italia."

It was the evening of the 24th of March when we embarked on board the St. Antonio. The happy crowd of Naples, as we passed through the Largo di Castello, the doors of the Fondo open for the night's spectacle, made us almost repent of our resolution in leaving a place where five months had been passed without a moment of satiety and ennui. The next morn ing when we rose, we were south of the island of Capri, and its bold rocks shut out the happy bay from our sight. The early part of our voyage was prosperous: on the morning of the 26th we were near the island of Ustica, and in view of the shores of Sicily. Far to the left rose a huge conical mountain, covered entirely with snow, which our captain called "il Vesuvio di Sicilia;" in fact, it was Etna. Though actually