o famous a
rover may, one day, become the theme of song, and is likely to occupy the
leisure of the curious."

"The grace of the speaker may well excuse the irony! Sorrento is a village
on the southern shore of the renowned Naples bay. Fire has wrought many
changes in that soft but wild country, and if, as religionists believe,
the fountains of the great deep were ever broken up, and the earth's crust
disturbed, to permit its secret springs to issue on the surface, this may
have been one of the spots chosen by him whose touch leaves marks that are
indelible, in which to show his power. The bed of the earth, itself, in
all that region, appears to have been but the vomitings of volcanoes; and
the Sorrentine passes his peaceable life in the bed of an extinguished
crater. 'Tis curious to see in what manner the men of the middle ages have
built their town, on the margin of the sea, where the element has
swallowed one-half the ragged basin, and how they have taken the yawning
crevices of the tufo, for ditches to protect their walls! I have visited
many lands, and seen nature in nearly every clime; but no spot has yet
presented, in a single view, so pleasant a combination of natural objects,
mingled with mighty recollections, as that lovely abode on the Sorrentine
cliffs!"

"Recount me these pleasures, that in memory seem so agreeable, while I
examine further into the contents of the bale."

The gay young free-trader paused, and seemed lost in images of the past.
Then, with a melancholy smile, he soon continued. "Though many years are
gone," he said, "I can recall the beauties of that scene, as vividly as if
they still stood before the eye. Our abode was on the verge of the cliffs.
In front lay the deep-blue water, and on its further shore was a line of
objects such as accident or design rarely assembles in one view. Fancy
thyself, lady, at my side, and follow the curvature of the northern shore,
as I trace the outline of that glorious scene! That high, mountainous, and
ragged island, on the extreme left, is modern Ischia. Its origin is
unknown, though piles of lava lie along its coast, which seems fresh as
that thrown from the mountain yesterday. The long, low bit of land,
insulated like its neighbor, is called Procida, a scion of ancient Greece.
Its people still preserve, in dress and speech, marks of their origin. The
narrow strait conducts you to a high and naked bluff! That is the Misenum,
of old. Here Eneas came to lan