But they never met. The Countess and the priest could do nothing; and Rose and her husband soon tired of the fruitless search and returned, to remember in after years the delights of the Bay of Naples—‘the most beautiful spot in the world,’ writes George Eliot. Everything takes us back to the past. It was in the bay that pious Æneas landed. Caligula, and Nero, and Tiberius, all loved the spot. The grotto of the Sybil was near, too; the tomb of Virgil is yet shown in that neighbourhood. Capua, famed for its luxury and ease, was not far off. No wonder the world flocks to the Bay of Naples. I stay at the Hotel de Vesuve, kept by Mr. Mella, well-known to English members of the Coaching Club, and where I find excellent accommodation. And he tells me 80,000 visitors pass through his hotel in the course of a year. It is a classical education to stop in Naples for a while. I love it best in the summer, when you can revel on green figs, and apricots, and peaches, and oranges for a song. In the winter there are fogs and snow at times. But there is this drawback in the summer, and that is its intense heat, which drives everyone away. From the deck of the steamer the view is charming, as Naples with its terraces, and castles, and hills rises before you; and at night, when all is still, and the gas-lamps glitter all round the bay for miles, it looks like fairyland. In Naples itself there is little to see, with the exception of the museum, which, when Garibaldi was Dictator, was thrown open to the public, and in which some, or rather all, the most precious works of art discovered in Pompeii are preserved. It is not enough to go to Pompeii—you must visit the museum in Naples as well. But the brasses and the marbles in the museum are especially fine, such as the Farnese Bull, and the Farnese Hercules, and the Roman Emperors. In the churches there is little to see, and nothing to admire. There are showy shops in the Toledo, and at the end, as you enter, an arcade as handsome as is to be found anywhere in Europe. There are good public gardens where you may hear excellent music on a summer night, and no city has better tramcars, and more civil drivers and conductors. I have no fault to find with the cabs, except that their drivers never leave you alone, and lie in wait for you at your going out and coming in. It is in its crowded and bustling streets that the charm of Naples consists. Surely there never was a people who lived so much in the open air, and drank so much water flavoured with lemon. The Neapolitans are a sober people, and industrious as well. They are fearfully taxed, and, with their scanty wages, how they manage to make both ends meet is a mystery. They are much given to sleep in the summertime anywhere, on the broad street or the sea-wall; and of a Sunday afternoon they are much given to crowd into some rickety old cart, and tear along as fast and far as the horse can go.