Once out of the influence of her bewildering beauty, my mind grew calmer--and the drive back to the hotel in my carriage through the sweet dullness of the December air quieted the feverish excitement of my blood and restored me to myself.

It was a most lovely day--bright and fresh, with the savor of the sea in the wind.

The waters of the bay were of a steel-like blue shading into deep olive-green, and a soft haze lingered about the shores of Amalfi like a veil of gray, shot through with silver and gold.

Down the streets went women in picturesque garb carrying on their heads baskets full to the brim of purple violets that scented the air as they passed--children ragged and dirty ran along, pushing the luxuriant tangle of their dark locks away from their beautiful wild antelope eyes, and, holding up bunches of roses and narcissi with smiles as brilliant as the very sunshine, implored the passengers to buy "for the sake of the little Gesu who was soon coming!" Bells clashed and clanged from the churches in honor of San Tommaso, whose festival it was, and the city had that aspect of gala gayety about it, which is in truth common enough to all continental towns, but which seems strange to the solemn Londoner who sees so much apparently reasonless merriment for the first time.

He, accustomed to have his reluctant laughter pumped out of him by an occasional visit to the theater where he can witness the "original," English translation of a French farce, cannot understand WHY these foolish Neapolitans should laugh and sing and shout in the manner they do, merely because they are glad to be alive.