ight soon made its appearance.

"What! None on the floor? Capital; I think I must have them all in my
pocket, then:" saying which, he drew out the notes, and laid them on the
table.

"Fire and Furies! These are the forged notes! The rascal has whipped up
the other heap!"

While all this was going on, I stepped toward the window, but had not
stood there long, before I heard the clanking hoofs of a horse beyond
the paling, and a shout wafted into the room--"Sloped for Texas!"

The worst part of the story remains to be told: it was _my_ horse on
which the rogue was now galloping off.

[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.]

THE VOLCANO-GIRL.

It is an axiom among travelers, that the Bay of Naples is the most
beautiful place in the whole world. Every one who beholds it repeats the
same statement with unvarying uniformity; and if any quaint person were
to make a contrary assertion, he would not be argued with, but laughed
down. I dislike paradoxes, and therefore shall subscribe to the general
opinion, although I never saw a scene so dismal as when I first entered
the bay. Dismal, but grand! We had left Civita Vecchia the day before,
steaming through a restless, nasty sea, in the midst of as filthy a fog
as ever defiled the surface of the Mediterranean during the merry month
of May. Sometimes we could see nothing but the dirty-looking short
waves; but now and then a dim streak of Roman territory, or two or three
ghost-like islands, rewarded the efforts of our winking eyes. The night
was boisterous, if not tempestuous; but when morning came the wind had
abated, though without driving away the mist, and the sea rolled still
in a turbulent and uncivil way.

The _Maria Christina_ was undoubtedly the worst steamer it has ever been
my lot to voyage in. There seemed to be not a well hung piece in her
whole composition; so that, in addition to the usual sea-sounds, there
was a perpetual slamming of doors and creaking of timbers. The
villainous little craft appeared to be in constant hesitation whether it
would go to pieces or not; and I believe has since taken that freak into
its head. The captain, as seamanlike a fellow as ever crossed my eyes,
kept up our confidence, however, even in the most ugly moments; although
it could not be denied that our expedition was something like a visit to
the northern seas in a Margate boat.

We crawled on at the rate of some three or four knots an hour, until,
after passing San Stef