he squabble which had deprived us of our fat driver, I
relapsed into indifference when I found that neither of the men to whose
lot we had fallen was desirous of explaining the affair. It was
sufficient cause for self-congratulation that no blood had been shed,
and that the Procuratore del Re would not require our evidence.

The Grotta di Posilippo was a sight of wonder, with the afternoon sun
slanting on its festoons of creeping plants above the western
entrance--the gas lamps, dust, huge carts, oxen, and _contadini_ in its
subterranean darkness--and then the sudden revelation of the bay and
city as we jingled out into the summery air again by Virgil's tomb.

NIGHT AT POMPEII.

On to Pompeii in the clear sunset, falling very lightly upon mountains,
islands, little ports, and indentations of the bay.

From the railway station we walked above half a mile to the Albergo del
Sole under a lucid heaven of aqua-marine colour, with Venus large in it
upon the border line between the tints of green and blue.

The Albergo del Sole is worth commemorating. We stepped, without the
intervention of courtyard or entrance hall, straight from the little inn
garden into an open, vaulted room. This was divided into two
compartments by a stout column supporting round arches. Wooden gates
furnished a kind of fence between the atrium and what an old Pompeian
would have styled the triclinium. For in the further part a table was
laid for supper and lighted with suspended lamps. And here a party of
artists and students drank and talked and smoked. A great live peacock,
half asleep and winking his eyes, sat perched upon a heavy wardrobe
watching them. The outer chamber, where we waited in arm-chairs of ample
girth, had its _loggia_ windows and doors open to the air. There were
singing-birds in cages; and plants of rosemary, iris, and arundo sprang
carelessly from holes in the floor. A huge vase filled to overflowing
with oranges and lemons, the very symbol of generous prodigality, stood
in the midst, and several dogs were lounging round. The outer twilight,
blending with the dim sheen of the lamps, softened this pretty scene to
picturesqueness. Altogether it was a strange and unexpected place. Much
experienced as the nineteenth-century nomad may be in inns, he will
rarely receive a more powerful and refreshing impression, entering one
at evenfall, than here.

There was no room for us in the inn. We were sent, attended by a boy
with a lant