Her veil had been thrown back by accident or design, and for one brief moment I drank in that soul-tempting glance, that witch-like smile! The procession passed--the vision faded--but in that breath of time one epoch of my life had closed forever, and another had begun! * * * * * Of course I married her.

We Neapolitans lose no time in such matters.
We are not prudent.

Unlike the calm blood of Englishmen, ours rushes swiftly through our veins--it is warm as wine and sunlight, and needs no fictitious stimulant.

We love, we desire, we possess; and then?
We tire, you say?
These southern races are so fickle! All wrong--we are less tired than you deem.

And do not Englishmen tire?
Have they no secret ennui at times when sitting in the chimney nook of "home, sweet home," with their fat wives and ever-spreading families?
Truly, yes! But they are too cautious to say so.
I need not relate the story of my courtship--it was brief and sweet as a song sung perfectly.