But there is a country where every one uses the same tongue that I do.

There is a little village at the foot of Vesuvius--merciful Heavens! Many a person would be afraid to stay there, even half an hour, when the mountain quakes, the ashes fall in showers, and the glowing lava pours out in a stream.

The houses there are by no means so well built, and the window-panes are not so clean as in this country.

I almost fear that there are few glass windows in Resina, but the children don't freeze, any more than they do here.

What would a Leyden house-keeper say to our village streets?
Poles with vines, boughs of fig-trees, and all sorts of under-clothing on the roofs, at the windows, and the crooked, sloping balconies; orange and lemon-trees with golden fruit grow in the little gardens, which have neither straight paths nor symmetrical beds.
Everything there grows together topsy-turvy.