The Argosy — page 324: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

310 In Sunny Climes. of the links in the world of nature. Throw yourself down at midday on a forest greensward, close your eyes, and listen to the winds as they whisper amongst the tree tops, and you may fancy yourself on some far away sands revelling in the sound of the advancing tide. But this will not apply to the Mediterranean, for it 1s tideless ; and for the present we have to do with this tideless sea, and with no other. Nowhere is it more beautiful than at Naples. No other bay, perhaps, has so grand an expanse; that matchless curve of thirty- five miles, bounded by hills and plains—fertile and luxuriant as any in the world. Perhaps it is more for its surroundings, its environs, its excursions, that Naples is so famous, than for the attractions of the city itself. These, indeed, are rather doubtful. The Chiaja, with its waving trees, bounded on one side by imposing houses, on the other by the blue flashing waters, is a magnificent thoroughfare ; but the streets of Naples are narrow, noisy and crowded. It is, of course, a picturesque scene. Show me the town in Italy that is not more or less so. The people themselves cannot help being picturesque, however neglected their costume, however indo- lent their habits. Their towns follow their example. The tall houses have open balconies, tier above tier, and, in the poorer quarters, these balconies are decorated with clothes hung out to dry or to air. You might almost fancy them the only wardrobes the people possess. Very often the walls are frescoed. As if the perpetual sunshine were not sufficient, they must gild the rainbow and paint the butterfly’s wing. The warmth of their imagination compels them to surround themselves with the brightest, most glaring colours. In England the effect would be hopelessly vulgar ; but then the English are essentially prosy and matter-of-fact. Warmth of imagination and all that follows in its train is a sealed book to them ; a mystery. The crowded streets of Naples resemble the shifting scenes of a kaleidoscope. The people flash and dart about. There is no “ order in their walking ;” no “right of way.” They jostle each other, but are in no wise put out. Now and then you heara quarrel between two drivers, as loud and startling as it is quickly over. It is likea short, sharp thunderstorm, and clears the air. You would think that knives were about to be produced, and murder committed ; but suddenly they whip up their horses, and away they tear in opposite directions, as if the very spirits of evil were in pursuit. Each may have a “fare” inside, and one of them may be hastening to catch a train; but all they can do is to fold their hands and sit like Patience smiling at Grief: not on a monument, but in an uncomfortable, ram- shackle, rattling vehicle, that does its best to reduce you to a jelly. To attempt to stop a Neapolitan in his rage is a more hopeless task than to endeavour to stem the tide with a broom. CORNICE LOOKS (GO)