It happened that I was the heaviest of our party, and it also happened that the man who took me did not weigh as much as I did by at least fifty pounds. He trembled beneath me like a plateful of jelly in the hands of an intoxicated waiter, and I expected every moment he would drop me into the water. We went out from the shore into the smoky darkness, and in less than a minute we were completely at sea. Water was beneath and around us, and there was a black sky above that we could almost touch. No horizon was visible, and altogether we seemed to be in a world about ten feet in diameter, and without sun, moon, or stars. Our porters splashed along in water about two feet deep, and I thought much more of the liability of my pack animal to stumble than I did of the Cumean Sibyl and her oracles. Nero was less in my mind than the garlic-eating Italian beneath me, and I was much less interested in the Roman kings than in a certain subject of Victor Emanuel. Our trio exchanged comments on this novel mode of travelling, and for the time we had very little appreciation of the wonderful history of Rome and her dependencies. [Sidenote: CUMEAN SIBYL.] As near as my recollection serves, we had about five minutes of this sort of travel, when the head of our procession came to a halt before a recess in the wall, which our leader described as the Sibyl’s Bath. It seems that before delivering her oracles, she used to take a bath, on the principle, doubtless, that cleanliness is next to godliness, and the purer her skin the more likely would the gods be to aid her with their inspiration. The artists represent her as a pretty woman, and of course she was well aware that frequent bathing had a tendency to preserve her good looks. The couch or bench where she reclined when delivering her oracles was pointed out, and as it then appeared, it was anything but comfortable. The presence of the water in the cave was explained to be something modern, and not at all in fashion when the Sibyl used to be at home to visitors of wealth and distinction. She used to keep her floor dry and well swept, and probably she had a little sideboard with a cold ham or two and a bottle of wine. Nero was a frequent caller, both in fashionable and unfashionable hours, and used to send her valuable presents. Mrs. Nero was jealous, but the old gentleman was in a position to do pretty much as he liked, and didn’t mind her scolding. One of my companions showed me a scrap of paper, which he said he found just inside the entrance to the cave, while I was paying off the guides. It ran as follows:— May 10, 4 P. M. DEAREST SIB: Expect me at eight. The old lady is going out this evening, and won’t miss me. Have the tea ready, and send out for a bottle of Clicquot. I will bring a mince pie and some Limburger cheese; also a new pair of ear-rings and a chignon. Your loving NERO.