Corinne, however, notwithstanding the painful thoughts that occupied her, received a deep impression from the spectacle which she witnessed.  Nothing, in truth, speaks more to the soul than divine service performed on board a ship; and the noble simplicity of the reformed worship seems particularly adapted to the sentiments which are then felt.  A young man performed the functions of chaplain; he preached with a mild but firm voice, and his figure bespoke the rigid principles of a pure soul amidst the ardour of youth.  That severity carries with it an idea of force, very suitable to a religion preached among the perils of war.  At stated moments, the English minister delivered prayers, the last words of which all the assembly repeated with him.  These confused but mild voices proceeding from various distances kept alive interest and emotion.  The sailors, the officers, and the captain, knelt down several times, particularly at these words, “Lord, have mercy upon us!” The sword of the captain, which dragged on the deck whilst he was kneeling, called to mind that noble union of humility before God and intrepidity before man, which renders the devotion of warriors so affecting; and whilst these brave people besought the God of armies, the sea was seen through the port-holes, and sometimes the murmuring of the waves, at that moment tranquil, seemed to say, “your prayers are heard.”  The chaplain finished, the service by a prayer, peculiar to the English sailors. “May God,” say they, “give us grace to defend our happy Constitution from without, and to find on our return domestic happiness at home!” How many fine sentiments are united in these simple words!  The long and continued study which the navy requires and the austere life led in a ship, make it a military cloister in the midst of the waves; and the regularity of the most serious occupations is there only interrupted by perils and death.  The sailors, in spite of their rough, hardy manners, often express themselves with much gentleness, and show a particular tenderness to women and children when they meet them on board.  We are the more touched with these sentiments, because we know with what coolness they expose themselves to those terrible dangers of war and the sea, in the midst of which the presence of man has something of the supernatural.

Corinne and Lord Nelville returned to the boat which was to bring them ashore; they beheld the city of Naples, built in the form of an amphitheatre, as if to take part more commodiously in the festival of nature; and Corinne, in setting her foot again upon Italian ground, could not refrain from feeling a sentiment of joy.  If Nelville had suspected this sentiment he would have been hurt at it, and perhaps with reason; yet he would have been unjust towards Corinne, who loved him passionately in spite of the painful impression caused by the remembrance of a country where cruel circumstances had rendered her so unhappy.  Her