lemonade he could swallow, was the only prescription
that the physician gave. And the simple remedy seems to have sufficed;
for the patient shortly after recovered.

Not the least agreeable portion of these travels, is the pleasant
impression they leave of the traveller himself, one who has his humours
doubtless, but who is social, buoyant, brave, generous, and
enterprising. A Frenchman--as a chemist, in his peculiar language, would
say--is a creature "endowed with a considerable range of affinity." Our
traveller has this range of affinity; he wins the heart of all and
several--the crew of his _speronara._ We will close with the following
extract, both because it shows the frank and lively feelings of the
Frenchman, and because it introduces a name dear to all lovers of
melody. The father of Bellini was a Sicilian, and Dumas was in Sicily.

"It was while standing on this spot, that I asked my guide if
he knew the father of Bellini. At this question he turned, and
pointing out to me an old man who was passing in a little
carriage drawn by one horse--'Look you,' said he, 'there he is,
taking his ride into the country!'

"I ran to the carriage and stopped it, knowing that he is never
intrusive who speaks to a father of his son, and of such a son
as Bellini's. At the first mention of his name, the old man
took me by both hands, and asked me eagerly if I really knew
his son. I drew from my portfolio a letter of introduction,
which, on my departure from Paris, Bellini had given me for the
Duchess de Noja, and asked him if he knew the handwriting. He
took the letter in his hands, and answered only by kissing the
superscription.

"'Ah,' said he, turning round to me, 'you know not how good he
is! We are not rich. Well, at each success there comes some
remembrance, something to add to the ease and comfort of an old
man. If you will come home with me, I will show you how many
things I owe to his goodness. Every success brings something
new. This watch I carry with me, was from _Norma_; this little
carriage and horse, from _the Puritans_. In every letter that
he writes, he says that he will come; but Paris is far from
Sicily. I do not trust to this promise--I am afraid that I
shall die without seeing him again. You will see him, you----'

"'Yes,' I answered, 'and if you have any commission----'

"'No--what should I send hi