Perfect weather.
I sang to myself with joy upon the sunny deck as we steamed along the Bay, past Portici, and Torre del Greco, and into the harbour of Torre Annunziata, where we had to take on cargo.

I was the only cabin passenger, and solitude suits me.

All through the warm and cloudless afternoon I sat looking at the mountains, trying not to see that cluster of factory chimneys which rolled black fumes above the many-coloured houses.

They reminded me of the same abomination on a shore more sacred; from the harbour of Piraeus one looks to Athens through trails of coal-smoke.

By a contrast pleasant enough, Vesuvius to-day sent forth vapours of a delicate rose-tint, floating far and breaking seaward into soft little fleeces of cirrus.