mantic incident of which her mind is full, and which pours out, during our quiet evenings, as from a fresh, ever-flowing fountain. Then, half reclining on the floor of the balcony, she relates scenes from her childhood, or from the life of others, and all the romantic legends of the magic-ring; and figures of all kinds, from the witchcraft of the Blocksberg to the lovely moonlight form of Lady Minnetrost, stand forth afresh before my gaze, but now on the scene of reality. No figure however amongst them all seems so beautiful as that of her father, who, whilst yet under the shadow of approaching death, prepared and arranged every thing for his “little daughter.” Since his decease she has never enjoyed either health or happiness. The beauty and the art of Italy have restored to her a waft of the joy of life, and—the Prince Villa Ambrosa. But this carnival flame had not its place in the heart, but plays in her imagination like a lovely meteor. He is a beautiful Prince of Faerie, whom an earnest wind will easily blow away.
We have seen some glorious sunsets, on La Piccola Serina, where a bench invites the passer-by to rest in the shadow of some mulberry-trees. At no great distance from this spot, is a little chapel, where, in the evenings, a nun, una monaca di Casa, reads aloud the mass and the prayers to the assembled congregation. The people of Sorrento seem to us good-humored, nice, cheerful people. Frequently, as we walk along the streets of the town, we are saluted by the exclamation:
“Ah, come questa Signora e bella!” or “Ah Signorina come sieta bella!” And more than one good
