his way through masses of vapor; the atmosphere and I were both considerably refreshed, and his Majesty, the King of Naples, proceeded in a magnificent steamer, which seemed to fly over the sea, past this place, on his way to the town of Ischia, where he has a summer residence. White flags waved from various houses, and in the evening, lamps were lighted. The King is tolerably popular here, and people are pleased at his arrival.
The midsummer week has brought storms, dark clouds, and cool weather, such as I have never witnessed at this season in my high northern latitudes. But the storms and the abundant showers of rain have refreshed the air; flies, and other creatures are gone, and the state of things is improved, both for soul and body. The island rises gloriously green out of the dark blue waves, which break in foam upon its shore.
During one of these stormy days the young fatherless and motherless girl from Rocca Tarpeia came, light and gay as a bird; came alone across the agitated sea, the pretty child with her delicate figure, her abundant hair, her thoughtful eyes, her thoughtful rich soul, her beautiful voice and her gift of singing, my summer-daughter; the girl with the many names, Puck, Puss, Psyché, and to whom I gave two new names after I had become better acquainted with her. She is now called by me the Princess Elsa. Hast thou read the pretty saga about her? but in my heart I designate her “my summer-daughter.” How she could manage to arrive alone amidst the rapacious facchini who watch for strangers on the shore of Ischia, and fight
