ere quite civil to him. He had orders for yet more
pictures, and having worked very hard, thought himself authorised to
accompany Mr. Clive upon a pleasure-trip to Naples, which the latter
deemed necessary after his own tremendous labours. He for his part had
painted no pictures, though he had commenced a dozen and turned them to
the wall; but he had sketched, and dined, and smoked, and danced, as we
have seen. So the little britzska was put behind horses again, and
our two friends set out on their tour, having quite a crowd of
brother-artists to cheer them, who had assembled and had a breakfast for
the purpose at that comfortable osteria near the Lateran Gate. How the
fellows flung their hats up, and shouted, "Lebe wohl," and "Adieu," and
"God bless you, old boy," in many languages! Clive was the young swell
of the artists of that year, and adored by the whole of the jolly
company. His sketches were pronounced on all hands to be admirable: it
was agreed that if he chose he might do anything.

So with promises of a speedy return they left behind them the noble
city, which all love who once have seen it, and of which we think
afterwards ever with the kindness and the regard of home. They dashed
across the Campagna and over the beautiful hills of Albano, and sped
through the solemn Pontine Marshes, and stopped to roost at Terracing
(which was not at all like Fra Diavolo's Terracing at Covent Garden,
as J. J. was distressed to remark), and so, galloping onwards through
a hundred ancient cities that crumble on the shores of the beautiful
Mediterranean, behold, on the second day as they ascended a hill about
noon. Vesuvius came in view, its great shape shimmering blue in the
distant haze, its banner of smoke in the cloudless sky. And about five
o'clock in the evening (as everybody will who starts from Terracing
early and pays the postboy well), the travellers came to an ancient city
walled and fortified, with drawbridges over the shining moats.

"Here is CAPUA," says J. J., and Clive burst out laughing: thinking of
his Capua which he had left--how many months--years it seemed ago! From
Capua to Naples is a fine straight road, and our travellers were landed
at the latter place at suppertime; where, if they had quarters at the
Vittoria Hotel, they were as comfortable as any gentlemen painters need
wish to be in this world.

The aspect of the place was so charming and delightful to Clive:--the
beautiful sea stretched before h