high overhead, and the dark blue of the sea under us, the whole giving a strange and almost unearthly sort of twilight, we sighted superb Stromboli, a small volcanic island off the northern coast of Sicily.

2. His torch was out; his fires were smouldering; a tall column of smoke that rose up and lost itself in the growing moonlight was all the sign he gave that he was a living Autocrat of the sea, and not the spectre of a dead one. Later on in the night we swept through the Straits of Messina; and although I looked out, from my cabin window, for those fabled monsters of old-Scylla on the one side and Charyb'dis on the other-which Prof. Howard had just been telling us about, I saw nothing of them, and heard nothing of the dread sea-dog's howl. The dangers of the passage must have greatly lessened since Virgil wrote the following:

3.

"Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:
Charybdis, roaring, on the left presides,

And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;
Then spouts them from below: with fury driven,

The waves mount up, and wash the face of heaven.
But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,

The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,
Then dashes on the rocks."

4. Passing around the southern coast of Italy, we could see Mount Etna in the distance on our right, for it rises more than ten thousand feet above the sea, and from its crater a vast volume of smoke is constantly ascending. Twenty-three hundred years ago a Greek poet wrote thus about this famous volcanic mountain :—

"By day a flood of smouldering smoke,
With sullen gleam her torrents pour;

But in the darkness, many a rock,

And crimson flame, along the shore,

Hurls to the deep with deafening roar."

Pindar.

Verse 3.-Let the pupil point out, and explain as far as he can,

many figurative expressions in this verse.

the

5. When Prof. Howard read to us that description of Etna, I could not help wondering whether her fires would ever go out! He also told us some old fables and legends about this famous mountain. One was, that the monstrous giant, Enceladus, was imprisoned there; and that his writhings caused the eruptions of the volcano. Another was, that the fabled god Vulcan, who was a blacksmith, had his forge there; the one-eyed Cyclops were his workmen; as they always kept the bellows blowing, the smoke from the crater never ceased; and they sometimes blew so hard as to throw out ashes, and stones, and melted lava.

6. In conclusion, the Professor told the story of Emped'ocles, the Grecian philosopher, who-wise as he was-was silly enough, as tradition relates, to throw himself into the crater of the blazing volcano, trusting that the people, unable to account for his mysterious disappearance, might think that he had gone to heaven. An American poet represents the philosopher thus meditating:—

"It may be, some one, starting in his sleep,
May hear the voice, 'Empedocles!' and see,
Or fancy that he sees, a light from heaven,
And say hereafter, 'The gods called him hence,
His comrades, from this banquet to their feasts
Immortal, far removed from reach of fate,

Or any touch of wan and wasting age.'"' Wm. Gibson.

7. I dreamed, that night, about the great giant that lay buried there; and I thought I could see him twisting, and turning himself, in his efforts to throw off the heavy burden from his breast. Then I dreamed that I saw Vulcan's workshop, and the one-eyed workmen standing around in the ruddy glare of the forge,-some of them blowing the bellows, others heaping on the coal and stirring the fire, and others still, with brawny arms and heavy strokes, shaping the ponderous iron on the anvil. When I awoke, I was in a tremor of excitement; and I

was glad that we were getting farther and farther away from the light of that burning mountain.

8. Since passing out of sight of Etna we have been. making our way, for two days past, up the Adriatic ;—and now, late in the afternoon of an April day, there is slowly coming into view, in the shadowy distance, a great city, that seems to rise out of the sea;—

"From out the wave her structures rise,

As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand ;"

and as we come nearer, towers, and domes, and steeples grow into shape;-and all seem drowsing in a mist of sunset. And this is Venice! I am now at the end of my sixth letter.

9. After the reading of the letters of the "Around the World" series at Wilmot Hall, they were placed in the hands of Mr. Agnew, to be read before the school. There they formed the basis of many useful geography lessons, and their fine poetic and other selections were found serviceable for instruction in the elements of rhetoric and elocution.

10. Thus, the poetry pertaining to Rome and her ruins, and to St. Peter's Church, was found to abound in figures of speech. Rome herself was called "the mother of dead empires;" her "proud temples" were indeed gone, but around the places where they once stood "Ruin's handiwork" had piled her "idle columns;" and "eagle-winged mandates" were said to have gone forth from her ancient Forum. St. Peter's was called an "ark of worship;" and beneath her "pompous dome," "Majesty, Power, Strength, and Beauty" (personified) were said to stand forth in all their grandeur. These and numerous other like figures of speech were pointed out by the pupils, and commented on by them and their teacher.

CHAPTER XIII.—THE HOLIDAY SEASON.

When the foregoing letter had been read at the Hall, the conversation, after dwelling for a time upon the places, scenes, and incidents mentioned, chanced to turn upon the Christmas festivities, at Rome and elsewhere, to which Freddy had alluded. A copy of Irving's Sketch-Book was lying on the table, and Colonel Hardy, taking it up, read from it several beautiful passages about Christmas observances in England. We think a few of these may be appropriately introduced here.

I.—Holiday Customs in England.

1. "Nothing in England exercises a more beautiful spell over my imagination," says this delightful author, "than the lingerings of the holiday customs and rural games of former times. They recall the pictures my fancy used to draw in the May morning of life, when as yet I only knew the world through books, and believed it to be all that poets had painted it; and they bring with them the flavor of those honest days of yore, in which, perhaps, with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was more home-bred, social, and joyous, than at present. I regret to say that they are daily growing more and more faint, being gradually worn away by time, but still more obliterated by

modern fashion.

2. "Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment. The services of the church, about this season, are extremely tender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral scenes that accompanied its

announcement. They gradually increase in fervor and pathos during the season of Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee on the morning that brought peace and goodwill to men. I do not know a grander effect of music on the moral feelings, than to hear a full choir and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphant harmony."

3. Then the Colonel read the following account, which the author of the Sketch-Book has given, of a pleasant incident that occurred on a Christmas morning,-the morning after his arrival at one of the old family mansions in England, where he had been invited to spend the Christmas holidays.

II-A Merry Christmas Morning.

1. "When I awoke, the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of the preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of the ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was

'Rejoice, our Saviour he was born

On Christmas day in the morning.'

2. "I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and singing at every chamber door; but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a sly glance from under their eyebrows,