any were up and watching that night; and often to the calm
vaulted sky above our heads, where thousands of stars (not twinkling
as through our hazy or frosty atmosphere, but shining out of "heaven's
profoundest azure," with that soft steady brilliance peculiar to a
highly rarified medium) looked down upon this frightful turmoil in all
their bright and placid loveliness. Nor should I forget one other
feature of a scene, on which I looked with a painter's eye. Great
numbers of the Austrian forces, now occupying Naples, were on the
mountains, assembled in groups, some standing, some sitting, some
stretched on the ground and wrapped in their cloaks, in various
attitudes of amazement and admiration: and as the shadowy glare fell
on their tall martial figures and glittering accoutrements, I thought
I had never beheld any thing so wildly picturesque.

The remainder of our party not yet appearing, we sent back for our
asses and guides, and determined to proceed. About half a mile beyond,
our companions came up, and here a division took place; some agreeing
to go forward, the rest turning back to wait at the Hermitage. I was
of course one of those who advanced. My spirits were again raised, and
the grand object of all this daring and anxiety was to approach near
enough to a stream of lava to have some idea of its consistency, and
the manner in which it flowed, or trickled down. The difficulties of
our road now increased, "if _road_ that might be called, which road
was none," but black loose ashes, and masses of scoria and lava heaped
in ridges, or broken into hollows in a manner not to be described.
Even my animal, though used to the path, felt his footing at every
step, and if the torch was by accident extinguished, he stopped, and
nothing could make him move. My guide, Andrea, was very vigilant and
attentive, and, in the few words of Italian he knew, encouraged me,
and assured me there was no danger. I had, however, no fear: in fact,
I was infinitely too much interested to have been alive to danger, had
it really existed. Salvador, well known to all who have visited Mount
Vesuvius, had been engaged by Mr. R. as his guide. He is the principal
cicerone on the mountain. It is his business to despatch to the king
every three hours, a regular account of the height of the eruption,
the progress, extent, and direction of the lava, and, in short, the
most minute particulars. He also corresponds, as he assured me, with
Sir Humphry Davy