March 4.—­We have had delicious weather almost ever since we arrived at Naples, but these last three days have been perfectly heavenly.  I never saw or felt any thing like the enchantment of the earth, air, and skies.  The mountain has been perfectly still, the atmosphere without a single cloud, the fresh verdure bursting forth all around us, and every breeze visits the senses, as if laden with a renovating spirit of life, and wafted from Elysium.  Whoever would truly enjoy nature, should see her in this delicious land:  “ou la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour;” for here she seems to keep holiday all the year round.  To stand upon my balcony, looking out upon the sunshine and the glorious bay; the blue sea, and the pure skies—­and to feel that indefinite sensation of excitement, that superflu de vie, quickening every pulse and thrilling through every nerve, is a pleasure peculiar to this climate, where the mere consciousness of existence is happiness enough.  Then evening comes on, lighted by a moon and starry heavens, whose softness, richness, and splendour, are not to be conceived by those who have lived always in the vapoury atmosphere of England—­dear England!  I love, like an Englishwoman, its fireside enjoyments, and home-felt delights:  an English drawing-room, with all its luxurious comforts—­carpets and hearth-rugs, curtains let down, sofas wheeled round, and a group of family faces round a blazing fire, is a delightful picture; but for the languid frame, and the sick heart, give me this pure elastic air, “redolent of spring;” this reviving sunshine and all the witchery of these deep blue skies!—­

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Numbers of people set off post-haste from Rome to see the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, and arrived here Wednesday and Thursday; just time enough to be too late.  Among them our Roman friend Frattino, who has afforded me more amusement than all our other acquaintance together, and deserves a niche in my gallery of characters.

Frattino is a young Englishman, who, if he were in England, would probably be pursuing his studies at Eton or Oxford, for he is scarce past the age of boyhood; but having been abroad since he was twelve years old, and early plunged into active and dissipated life, he is an accomplished man of fashion, and of the world, with as many airs and caprices as a spoiled child.  He is by far the most beautiful creature of his sex I ever saw; so like the Antinous, that at Rome he went by that name.  The exquisite regularity of his features, the graceful air of his head, his antique curls, the faultless proportions of his elegant figure, make him a thing to be gazed on, as one looks at a statue.  Then he possesses talents, wit, taste, and information:  the most polished and captivating manners, where he wishes to attract,—­high honour and generosity, where women are not concerned,—­and all the advantages attending on rank and wealth:  but