And I, as I rumbled back in the heavy old coach past the bridge of the Admiral George, thought myself mighty clever, for I did not believe there was one word about the Admiral in the letter; and the time sped even behind those horses, as I thought how Will's stern face would light up when he read what I took to be the real news in that letter. CHAPTER XXII.--How all Europe was at Sixes and Sevens. It seems to me, who spent so important a part of my life in those waters, that it would be difficult to find a greater contrast under the same skies than that presented by King Ferdinand's two kingdoms and two capitals. Naples, as the Admiral said, is a city of fiddlers and light-o'-loves, utterly irresponsible; willing to begin a war with a nation like France, without counting the cost; marching to battle with the intention of turning her back the moment the enemy stopped retreating and faced her; willing to squander money that was needed for the very existence of the kingdom on pasteboard decorations and mythological _fêtes_; willing to accept any strong master, as Delilah accepted Samson, and from the very first thinking how she might betray him. But Naples is a lovely city, reposing serenely on one of the world's most beautiful bays, surrounded by the most perfect ruins of the everyday life of the ancient world, but far enough off from the fiery mountain which first wrought their ruin and then preserved them, (hermetically sealed in lava, for the delight of people born two thousand years later,) to regard it as a mere incident in the landscape, or a curio for the amusement of the citizens and the attraction of strangers. Marvellous is the atmosphere in which Naples lives her lotus life: the blueness of the sky and sea are proverbial; there are hills for breezy villas, and mountains for sanatoriums all round; soft warm sea to bathe in, medicinal springs to drink; and a soil that would grow anything, to provide wine and oil and corn and fruit. While from the other side of the lofty range of mountains, which guards her health from the malaria, stretches the vast meadow between the Apennines and the sea, where countless flocks and herds wander round the eternal Temples of Paestum. Yes, Naples is a Delilah--a beautiful creature without morals, without chasteness, without honour, but capable of forgetting herself in soft love--a creature that loves banqueting and excitement and lights and music and flowers--a creature, in fact, typified by the merry music which her light-hearted beggars play in her streets. And as Naples is, so is her territory, except the grim Calabria, which saved her in her hour of need. But very different is Sicily, the beautiful slave, darkest of the daughters of Europe, who has worn the fetters of one master after another, sometimes after desperate resistance, sometimes with calm submission to the inevitable, but always with deep black hatred in her heart.