themselves the pleasure of ascending Vesuvius, and felt an added delight in thinking of the danger they thus should brave together. CHAPTER III. There was at that time in the harbor an English ship of war, where divine service was performed every Sunday. The captain and other English persons then at Naples invited Lord Nevil to attend on the morrow. He promised; but while thinking whether he should take Corinne, or how she could be presented to his countrywomen, he was tortured by anxiety. As he walked with her near the port next day, and was about to advise her not to go on board this vessel, a boat neared the shore, rowed by ten sailors, dressed in white, wearing black velvet caps, with the Leopard embroidered on them in silver. A young officer stepped on shore, and entreated Corinne to let him take her to the ship, calling her "Lady Nevil." At that name she blushed, and cast down her eyes. Oswald hesitated a moment, then said in English, "Come, my dear:" she obeyed. The sound of the waves made her thoughtful, as did the silence of the well-disciplined crew, who without one superfluous word or gesture, rapidly winged their bark over the element they had so often traversed. Corinne dared not ask Nevil what she was to anticipate; she strove to guess his projects, never hitting on what, at all times, was most probable that he had _none_, but let himself be borne away by every new occurrence. For a moment, she imagined that he was leading her to a Church of England chaplain, to make her his wife; this thought alarmed more than it gratified her. She felt about to leave Italy for England, where she had suffered so much; the severity of its manners returned to her mind, and not even love could triumph over her fear. How she would in other circumstances have wondered at these fleeting ideas! She mounted the vessel's side; it was arranged with the most careful neatness. Nothing was heard from its deck but the commands of the captain. Subordination and serious regularity here reigned, as emblems of liberty and order, in contrast with the impassioned turmoil of Naples. Oswald eagerly watched the impression this made on Corinne, yet he was often diverted from his attention by the love he bore his country. There is no second country for an Englishman, except a ship and the sea. Oswald joined the Britons on board to ask the news, and talk politics. Corinne stood beside some English females who had come to hear prayers. They were surrounded by children, beautiful as day, but timid like their mothers, and not a word was spoken before the stranger. This restraint was sad enough for Corinne; she looked towards fair Naples, thought of its flowery shore, its lively habits, and sighed. Happily, Oswald heard her not; on the contrary, seeing her seated among his sisters, as it were, her dark eyelashes cast down like their light ones, and in every way conforming with their customs, he felt a thrill of joy. Vainly does an Englishman take a temporary