enkins and his
wife--all crowded into what, I believe, is called a _corricolo_. The
sea, along the brink of which we went, was still stormy, and the waves
washed with a slushing noise up into the very street. The drive was
beautiful to Portici, the white houses and vine-wreathed porticoes of
which I noticed with pleasure. At Portici, after some wrangling in the
house of the guide, we were transferred to horses and donkeys; and off
we went, first up a hot lane between stone walls, and then along a fine
paved road. The party was merry, and not unpicturesque, but out of
character with the scene. Not one of us was subdued by the tranquil
beauty of the little landscapes, the bright green nooks that opened here
and there. Our temperaments were still too northern. We were not yet
soothed down by the sunny sky and balmy air of Italy; and got stared at
in consequence with contemptuous curiosity by the languid peasants in
the fields.

At length a zig-zag road commenced, and up we went, turning round ever
and anon to view the expanding bay, softened down into apparent calm by
distance. Green gullies and ravines of lava began to be intermingled;
but tranquil observation was soon interrupted by tremendous gusts of
wind that came roaring down the sides of the mountain, and enveloped us
in whirlwinds of dust, sometimes mingled with pebbles, at every turn of
the road. It was hard work to get on; and we were glad enough to reach
the Hermitage and Observatory, where we tossed off a glass of _Lachryma
Christi_ to restore us.

The rest of the road was along a narrow ridge leading to the foot of the
great black cone. On either side were gullies of green, and beyond great
red fields of lava. It was not remarkably safe riding, and by no means
commodious. Sometimes one's nose touched the horse's or ass's neck;
sometimes the back of one's head was whisked by the tail. It was a sort
of rocking-horse motion. But we arrived safe at the dismounting-place;
and, I must confess, looked rather dismayed at the desperately steep
cone up which we were bound to scramble. But in traveling, "on, on," is
the word; so on we went, stumbling up through the triturated and block
lava, as if Fame, or something else equally valuable, had been at the
summit. Mrs. Jenkins was in an open palanquin, borne by eight men, who
grunted, staggered, crawled up or slid back, shouted, laughed, and
belabored one another with their climbing-poles, while the undaunted
lady sat as