Excerpt from A Girl's Winter in India

Rosper merimee, writing of the transition from Rome to Naples, said: It is comedy suc ceeding tragedy, which is certainly a Vivid com parison. However, at night one City looks very much like another. Reaching Naples about seven in the evening, we were driven through the ruts and holes of the Neapolitan streets by a most circuitous route to the Hotel Grande Bretagne, Opposite a beautiful park, that Watteau might have painted as a background for his stately ladies. Leaving the Roman Campagna, the railroad journey was through a succession of blue Albanian mountains, their rugged peaks softened by filmy clouds, While the greenest of grasses and climbing roses bordered the hillsides, until now we are in Naples, more clear and dirty than poet or realist ever described.

This morning the sun burst through our rooms; and rushing to the window, we saw, full in front, the matchless Bay Of Naples, and the blue islands beyond, so soft in coloring, and bluer still than the deep blue water and the cloudless sky above them. The day proved sunny and warm, and we ordered a pair Of good horses for a drive to Pompeii. The courier stows away our lunch in the big landau, leaps to a seat beside the driver, and with a scream to the horses we are flying down toward the bay The air was delightful and breezy, although the wind sometimes came in gusts and stirred up the dust of the road. In the distance are the purple hills, bleak and rugged, Where a white patch on a seemingly inaccessible point means a convent retreat Of some Neapolitan sisterhood. Out on the wide streets which lead into the town there was life and bustle, and all the sights and sounds Of human activity. Donkeys, with panniers Of fresh green vegetables on each Side, bigger than the best of them, were trotting to the market-place, their gayly studded harness surmounted on the saddle with brass weather-vanes, which answer purposes Of color and usefulness. Little Neapolitan children, sitting at the doors of their houses bronzed and happy, were busy plaiting baskets; while the older girls, with ker chiefs and little peasant caps, sit demurely with their knitting. Farther on, among the suburban gardens.

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