centuries, human beings occupied a portion of that space. The scene was now the same as in those former times; the walls of the theatre, and the two arches in the back-ground, through which might be seen the same decoration as then—Nature itself—the mountains between Sorento and Amalfi. The singer, for fun, threw herself back into those ancient times, and sung; the scene inspired her; she reminded the listener of the wild horse of Arabia, when it snorts and careers away, with its mane lifted by the wind; there was the same ease, the same security; she brought to mind the agonized mother at the cross of Golgotha; there was the same heartfelt, deep sorrow. Once more resounded around her, as had resounded thousands of years before, the plaudits and acclamations of delight. “Happy! heavenly gifted one!” exclaimed they all. Three minutes after and the scene was changed; every one had departed; no tone was heard any longer; the whole party was gone; but the ruins still stood unchanged, as they will stand for centuries, and no one knows of the
