"In Mr. Delmé's case, therefore, I would recommend a temporary halt." Dr. Pormont then gave an account of the length of the stages, the nature of the post-house accommodations, and the probable degree of danger attached to each site. From all this, Delmé gathered, that malaria existed to some extent, on the line of road they were to travel--that sleep would be necessary for George--and that, on the whole, it would be most desirable to sleep at an inn, situated at a hamlet between Molo di Gaetà and Terracina, somewhat removed from the central point of danger. But the truth is, that Sir Henry Delmé was disposed to consider Dr. Pormont, with his pomposity, and wordy arguments, as a mere superficial thinker; and he half laughed at himself, for having ever thought it necessary to consult him. This class of men influence less than they ought. Sensible persons are apt to set them down, as either fools or pedants. Their very magniloquence condemns them; for, in the present day, it seems an axiom, that simplicity and genius are invariably allied. This rule, like most others, has its exceptions; and it would be well for all of us, if we thought less of the manner, in which advice may be delivered, and more of the matter which it may contain. The Doctor rose to take leave,--Sir Henry witnessed his departure with lively satisfaction; and, with the exception of enjoying a hearty laugh, at his expense, with George and Acmé, ceased to recollect that such a personage existed. Delmé, however, had cause to remember that Doctor Pormont. Were it not so, he would not have figured in these pages. The last evening they were at Naples, they proceeded, as was their custom, to the Mole; and there engaging a boat, directed it to be rowed across the bay. The volcano was more than usually brilliant, and the villages at its base, appeared as clear as at noonday. The water's surface was not ruffled by a ripple. A bridal party was following in the wake of their boat--and nuptial music was floating past them in subdued cadence. A nameless regret filled their minds, as they thought of the journey on the coming morrow. They had been so happy in Naples. Could they hope to be happier elsewhere? It was midnight, when they returned to the hotel. As they neared its portico, the round cold moon fell on the forms of the lazzaroni, who were lying in groups round the pillars. One of the party sprang to his feet, alarming the slumberers. The whole of them rose with admirable cheerfulness--took off their hats respectfully--and made way for the forestieri. During the momentary pause that ensued, Acmé turned to the volcano, and playfully waved her hand in token of farewell. Her eyes filled with tears, and she clung heavily to George's arm. She was doomed never to look on that scene again. Chapter III. The Beginning of the End. "Thou too, art gone! thou loved and lovely one, Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me."