ate flush. In the latter the light sent from beneath through the
water played upon a roof of rock; reflections intermingled with
translucence; and a greater variety of light and shadow compensated
the lack of that strange sense of being shut within a solid gem.

Numberless are the caves at Capri. The so-called green grotto has
the beauty of moss-agate in its liquid floor; the red grotto shows a
warmer chord of colour; and where there is no other charm to notice,
endless beauty may be found in the play of sunlight upon roofs of
limestone, tinted with yellow, orange, and pale pink, mossed over,
hung with fern, and catching tones of blue or green from the still
deeps beneath.

Sheets of water, wherever found, are the most subtle heighteners of
colour. To those who are familiar with Venetian or Mantuan sunsets,
who have seen the flocks of flamingoes reflected on the lagoons of
Tunis, or who have watched stormy red flakes tossed from crest to
crest of great Atlantic waves on our own coasts, this need hardly be
said. Yet I cannot leave this beauty of the sea at Capri without
touching on a melodrama of light and colour I once saw at
Castellammare. It was a festa night, when the people sent up rockets
and fireworks of every hue from the harbour-breakwater. The surf
rolled shoreward like a bath of molten metals, all confused of blue,
and red, and green, and gold--dying dolphin tints that burned
strangely beneath the purple skies and tranquil stars. Boats at sea
hung out their crimson cressets, flickering in long lines on the
bay; and larger craft moved slowly with rows of lamps defining their
curves; while the full moon shed over all her 'vitreous pour, just
tinged with blue.' To some tastes this mingling of natural and
artificial effects would seem unworthy of sober notice; but I
confess to having enjoyed it with childish eagerness like music
never to be forgotten.

After a day upon the water it is pleasant to rest at sunset in the
loggia above the sea. The Bay of Naples stretches far and wide in
front, beautiful by reason chiefly of the long fine line descending
from Vesuvius, dipping almost to a level and then gliding up to join
the highlands of the north. Now sun and moon begin to mingle: waning
and waxing splendours. The cliffs above our heads are still blushing
a deep flame-colour, like the heart of some tea-rose; when lo, the
touch of the huntress is laid upon those eastern pinnacles, and the
horizon glimmers with her