of flame burning in the windows of invisible houses.

"Merrily did we drop"

down the bay, and presently caught the heavy swell of the open sea.
The other gentle being of our party then clutched my shoulder with a
dreadful shudder, and after gasping, "O Mr. Scribbler, why _will_ the
ship roll so?" was meekly hurried below by her sister, who did not
return for a last glimpse of Genoa the Proud.

In a moment heaven's sweet pity flapped away as with the sea-gull's
wings, and I too felt that there was no help for it, and that I must
go and lie down in the cabin. With anguished eyes I beheld upon the
shelf opposite to mine the innocent old gentleman who had lately
supped so confidently on sardines and fruit-pie. He lay upon his back,
groaning softly to himself.

VI.

BY SEA FROM GENOA TO NAPLES.

I.

Like the Englishman who had no prejudices, I do hate a Frenchman; and
there were many Frenchmen among our passengers on the _Messina_, in
whose company I could hardly have been happy, had I not seen them
horribly sea-sick. After the imprudent old gentleman of the sardines
and fruit-pie, these wretched Gauls were the first to be seized with
the malady, which became epidemic, and were miserable up to the last
moment on board. To the enormity of having been born Frenchmen, they
added the crime of being commercial travellers,--a class of fellow-men
of whom we know little at home, but who are met everywhere in European
travel. They spend more than half their lives in movement from place
to place, and they learn to snatch from every kind of travel its
meagre comforts, with an insolent disregard of the rights and feelings
of other passengers. They excuse an abominable trespass with a cool
"Pardon!" take the best seat everywhere, and especially treat women
with a savage rudeness, to which an American vainly endeavors to
accustom his temper. I have seen commercial travellers of all nations,
and I think I must award the French nation the discredit of producing
the most odious commercial travellers in the world. The Englishman
of this species wraps himself in his rugs, and rolls into his corner,
defiantly, but not aggressively, boorish; the Italian is almost a
gentleman; the German is apt to take sausage out of a newspaper and
eat it with his penknife; the Frenchman aggravates human nature beyond
endurance by his restless ill-breeding, and his evident intention not
only to keep all his own advantages, but to steal some of