Poor Michael Giardano! Many years afterwards I picked some violets from his grave in the Protestant cemetery at Rome, where an elaborate tomb had been erected to his memory by an English lady, who became his wife, not long after we had bidden him adieu at Naples. There could be no doubt of the admiration and affection in which she held this gifted man, whose epitaph she wrote, detailing his many virtues and talents, while the sculptured sides of the monument symbolised the many pursuits in which he was proficient. One evening, riding with my eldest brother, we resolved to go up to the castle of Sant’ Elmo (then the Chelsea Hospital of Naples) in order to view the sunset from the summit of the hill. When we arrived at the gates of the fortress, we found that we were too late to be admitted, but I looked so disappointed, and pleaded so piteously to be allowed to pass, that a soldier who was standing by offered to go in and ask the Commandant for his permission. The request was readily granted. We dismounted from our horses, and made our way on to the terrace, where we were welcomed by the good old general, who was enjoying his coffee, and kindly asked us to join him. He was already long past middle age, with a military bearing, for he had seen much good service, and with a kind, genial manner, which warmed into enthusiasm when he found we spoke his language with fluency. He did the honours of the place and of the pretty garden which embellished the grim old castle, and the magnificent view it commanded; for Naples lay beneath us, the blue Mediterranean dotted with islands, the country towards Baiæ on one side, Pompeii on the other, stretching out into the distance, the Villa Reale, enlivened by numerous groups of gay pedestrians, and the fire and smoke of Vesuvius in the back-ground. [Sidenote: CASTLE OF SANT’ ELMO] We lingered on the terrace a long time, until the moon rose over the bay, and then, bidding our new friend good-night, gratefully accepted his invitation to return there again, and, above all, to bring my sister and my brother Charles, who were shortly expected from England, to enjoy that beautiful prospect. Dear old General Ruberti! May I be forgiven if I boast of so decided a conquest. From that time till we left Naples, he would send me constant presents of sweet nosegays, of delicious fruits, and of different kinds of dried fish, and any other especial Neapolitan delicacy, the packets usually tied up with coloured ribbons, and invariably accompanied by a large square letter directed: “_Aa sua eccellenza, La nobil donzella, Donna Marietta Boyle, Palazzo Calabritti_,”