Delmé had therefore a dull time of it; which he strove to enliven by conversing, one after the other, with the Captain and his two mates. From all of them, he learnt something; but from all he turned away, as they commenced discussing the comparative merits of the United States, and the old country; a subject he had neither the wish to enter on, nor fortitude to prosecute. Not daunted, he attacked mate the third; and was led to infer better things, as the young gentleman commenced expatiating on the "purple sky," and "dark blue sea." This hope did not last long; for this lover of nature turned round to Sir Henry, and asked him in a nasal twang, if he preferred Cooper's or Mr. Scott's novels? Delmè was not naturally a rude man, but as he turned away, he hummed something very like Yankee-doodle. And then the moon got up; and Sir Henry felt lonely and sentimental. He leant over the vessel's side, and watched it pictured on the ocean, and quivering as the transient billow swept onwards. And he thought of home, and Emily. He thought of his brother, his heir,--if he died, the only male to inherit the ancient honours of his house,--married to a stranger, and--but Acmé was too sweet a being, not to have already enlisted all his sympathies with her. And as if all these thoughts, like rays converged in a burning glass, did but tend to one object, the image of Julia Vernon suddenly rose before him. He saw her beautiful as ever--gentleness in her eye--fascination in her smile! And the air got cold--and he went to bed. Chapter XIX. A Dream and a Ghost Story. "Touching this eye-creation; What is it to surprise us? Here we are Engendered out of nothing cognisable-- If this were not a wonder, nothing is; If this be wonderful, then all is so. Man's grosser attributes can generate What _is_ not, and has never been at all; What should forbid his fancy to restore A being pass'd away? The wonder lies In the mind merely of the wondering man." It was the fourth evening of the voyage. Hardly a breath fanned the sails, as the vessel slowly glided between the Calabrian and Sicilian coasts, approaching quite close to the former. The party, seated on chairs placed on the deck, gazed in a spirit of placid enjoyment on one of those scenes, which the enthusiastic traveller often recals, as in his native clime, he pines for foreign lands, and for novel impressions. The sun was setting over the purple peaks of the Calabrian mountains, smiling in sunny gladness on deep ravines, whose echoes few human feet now woke, save those of simple peasant, or lawless bandit. Where the orb of day held its declining course, the sky wore a hue of burnished gold; its rich tint alone varied, by one fleecy violet cloud, whose outline of rounded beauty, was marked by a clear cincture of white, On their right, beneath the mountain, lay the little village of Capo del Marte, a perfect specimen of Italian scenery.