8th.—­Forsyth might well say that Naples has no parallel on earth.  Viewed from the sea it appears like an amphitheatre of palaces, temples and castles, raised one above another, by the wand of a necromancer:  viewed within, Naples gives me the idea of a vast Bartholomew fair.  No street in London is ever so crowded as I have seen the streets of Naples.  It is a crowd which has no pause or cessation:  early in the morning, late at night, it is ever the same.  The whole population seems poured into the streets and squares; all business and amusement is carried on in the open air:  all those minute details of domestic life, which, in England, are confined within the sacred precincts of home, are here displayed to public view.  Here people buy and sell, and work, wash, wring, brew, bake, fry, dress, eat, drink, sleep, etc. etc. all in the open streets.  We see every hour, such comical, indescribable appalling sights; such strange figures, such wild physiognomies, picturesque dresses, attitudes and groups—­and eyes—­no!  I never saw such eyes before, as I saw to-day, half languor and half fire, in the head of a ruffian Lazzarone, and a ragged Calabrian beggar girl.  They would have embrase half London or Paris.

I know not whether it be incipient illness, or the enervating effects of this soft climate, but I feel unusually weak, and the least exertion or excitement is not only disagreeable but painful.  While the rest were at Capo di Monte, I stood upon my balcony looking out upon the lovely scene before me, with a kind of pensive dreamy rapture, which if not quite pleasure, had at least a power to banish pain:  and thus hours passed away insensibly—­

    “As if the moving time had been
    A thing as stedfast as the scene,
    On which we gazed ourselves away."[N]

All my activity of mind, all my faculties of thought and feeling and suffering, seemed lost and swallowed up in an indolent delicious reverie, a sort of vague and languid enjoyment, the true “dolce far niente” of this enchanting climate.  I stood so long leaning on my elbow without moving, that my arm has been stiff all day in consequence.

“How I wish,” said I this evening, when they drew aside the curtain, that I might view the sunset from my sofa, and sky, earth and ocean, seemed to commingle in floods of glorious light—­“how I wish I could transport those skies to England!” Cruelle! exclaimed an Italian behind me, otez-nous notre beau ciel, tout est perdu pour nous.

THE LAST EVENING AT NAPLES

    Yes, Laura! draw the shade aside
      And let me gaze—­while yet I may,
    Upon that gently heaving tide,
      Upon that glorious sun-lit bay.

    Land of Romance! enchanting shore! 
      Fair scenes, near which I linger yet! 
    Never shall I behold ye more,
      Never this last—­last look forget!