"She did n't even say she was sorry you had lost your pocket, after you were so kind to her," said Mary Jane.

Kitty did feel rather hurt at Sally's want of sympathy, but, after all, it did not matter whether anybody was sorry for her or not; sorrow would not help the matter. It was almost as bad as losing the baby! Kitty did not know but that it was fully as bad, for he was sure to be found, and the pocket was almost sure not to be found. Besides, she was younger when she lost the baby, and there was more excuse for her carelessness.

And she had wished to behave particularly well at Grandma's, because Jack had prophesied that she would n't, and because she wanted to come again soon. And Grandma, who was very neat and particular, would think it was a dreadful thing to pin in a pocket! And how mortified her mother would be when she heard of it!

Grandma had company to tea and forgot to ask about her spectacles. That was a great relief to Kitty at first, but after a while she began to think it would have been better if she had told of her loss at first. She could scarcely eat a mouthful, for dreading it, and she jumped every time any one spoke to her, and Grandma asked her if she did n't feel well.

At one moment, she wished Grandma's company would go, that she might tell her about it, and the next moment she wished they would stay forever, so that she need never tell.

She did hope all the time that Grandma would not speak of her spectacles until her guests had gone, for she would have to tell what had become of them, and they all would say, "Who ever heard of a girl so careless as to lose her pocket?" As soon as supper was over she tried to go out in the kitchen to find Absalom; she thought it would be a comfort to tell him all about it; but Grandma's visitors would keep talking to her, and Grandma praised her to them, and said she “ was feet and hands to her, and eyes, too, sometimes"; and then Kitty trembled lest that should make her think of her spectacles. But it did n't; and very soon after that, the visitors took their leave. Kitty tried to summon her courage to tell Grandma

then, but she went out of the room, and Kitty went to find Absalom. Just as she stepped into the kitchen there came a loud knock at the back door. Absalom opened the door, and in stepped Sally Pringle, followed by a boy, with clothes too small for him, and feet and hands too large.

Sally held up, triumphantly, Kitty's lost pocket. "I went right after Dave, for I knew he could find it," said Sally, "and we went right up to Redtop Hill, and we took a lantern, and we hunted and hunted; at last we saw one end of it sticking out of a snow-bank. I'm real glad we found it, 'cause you were good to me. I don't know as anybody like you was ever so good to me before, and it seemed as if I could n't stand it to see you cry. We must go right home, now, 'cause Mis' Meacham will be very cross; but I don't care so long as we found your pocket!"

And then Kitty threw her arms around Sally Pringle's neck, and kissed both her freckled cheeks. "I don't care what Mis' Meacham does, now!" cried Sally as she ran off.

Kitty told Grandma all about it; she did n't mind owning how careless she had been, now that the pocket was found with everything safe in it, even to the lucky-bone that Jack had given her, and she wanted Grandma to know what a nice girl Sally Pringle was. And Grandma was very much interested, and said she was going to make Sally's acquaintance. And the upshot of it was that Grandma liked Sally so much that she made a bargain with old Mrs. Meacham to let Sally come and live with her and be "hands and feet and sometimes eyes" for her, after Kitty had gone home.

And Sally improved so much under the kindly influences at Grandma's, and was so faithful and sweet-tempered and unselfish, that she soon became like a daughter of the house.

And Grandma, who never did anything by halves, discovered that Dave was an uncommonly bright boy and sent him away to school.

Kitty finds it better fun than ever to go to Grandma's now, because Sally is there. But though so much good came of it, Kitty never pinned her pocket in again.

V.

AROUND THE BAY OF NAPLES.

EVERY one of us who has ever read anything at all about Italy will remember that the Bay of Naples is considered one of the loveliest pieces of water in the world. It is not its beauty only which attracts us; it is surrounded by interesting and most curious places; and some of these we shall now visit.

Although Naples is the most populous city of Italy, it will not take us very long to see it as it is, and that is all there is to see. Her people have always lived for the present; they have never occupied themselves with great works of art or architecture for future ages; and the consequence is that, unlike the other cities of Italy, it offers us few interesting mementos of the past. Some of you may like this, and may be much better satisfied to see how the Neapolitan enjoys himself to-day than to know how he used to do it a thousand years

ago. If that is the case, all you have to do is to open your eyes and look about you. Naples is one of the noisiest, liveliest cities in the world. The people are very fond of the open air, and they are in the streets all day, and nearly all night. The shoemaker brings his bench out on the sidewalk and sits there merrily mending his shoes. Women come out in front of their houses and sew, take care of their babies, and often make their bread and cook their dinners in the open street. In the streets all sorts and conditions of men, women, and children work, play, buy, sell, walk, talk, sing, or cry; here the carriages are driven furiously up and down, the drivers cracking their whips and shouting; here move about the little donkeys with piles of vegetables or freshly cut grass upon their backs, so that nothing but their heads and feet are seen; and here are to be found noise enough and dirt enough to make some people very soon satisfied with their walks through the streets of Naples.

The greatest attraction of Naples is its famous museum, which contains more valuable sculptures

SMALL SHOPS IN NAPLES.

and works of art, and more rare and curious things than we could look at in a week. There is nothing in it, however, which will interest us so much as the bronze figures, the wall paintings, the ornaments, domestic utensils, and other objects, which have been taken out of the ruins of the buried cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. The collection of these things is immense, for nearly everything that has been dug from the ruins since the excavations began has been brought to this museum. Some of the bronze statues are wonderfully beautiful and life-like; and such figures as the "Narcissus " from Pompeii or the "Reposing Mercury" from Herculaneum have seldom been surpassed by sculptors of any age. There are many rooms filled with things that give us a good idea of how the Pompeiians used to live. Here are pots, kettles, pans, knives, saws, hammers, and nearly every kind of domestic utensil, and all sorts of tools. There is even a very complete set of instruments used by a dentist. In one of the cases is a bronze bell with its cord hanging outside, by which, if we choose, we may produce the same tinkle which used to summon some Pompeiian servant to her mistress. Little furnaces, bath-tubs, moneychests, and hundreds and hundreds of other articles, some of which look as if quite good enough for us to use, meet our eyes at every turn. In another room there are many cases containing articles of food which have been taken from the houses of Pompeii. The loaves of bread, the beans, the wheat, and many other articles,

are much shrunken and discolored, but the eggs look just as white and natural as when they were boiled, eighteen centuries ago.

The sight of all these things makes us anxious to see the city that was so long buried out of sight of the world, and only brought to light again about a hundred years ago. A short ride by railway takes us from Naples to Pompeii, and, after being furnished with guides, we set out to explore this silent little city, whose citizens have not walked its streets since the year 79 A. D.

This unfortunate place, which, as you all know, was entirely overwhelmed and covered up by a terrible shower of ashes during an eruption of Vesuvius, at the base of which it lies, is now in great part uncovered and open to view. The excavations which have been made at different times since 1748 have laid bare a great many of the streets, houses, temples, and public buildings. All the roofs, however, with the exception of that belonging to one small edifice, are gone, having been burned or crushed in

A STREET IN NAPLES.

donkeys. Along street after street we go, and into house after house. We enter large baths with great marble tanks and arrangements for steam heating. We visit temples, one of which, the temple of Isis, bears an inscription stating that, having been greatly injured by an earthquake in the year 63,

have raised sidewalks, which leave barely room enough between for two chariots or narrow wagons to pass each other. Here and there are high steppingstones, by which the Pompeiians crossed the streets in rainy weather, when there must have been a great deal of running water in these narrow roadways. Everywhere we see the ruts which the wheels have worn in the hard stones.

it was restored at the sole expense of a boy six years old, named N. Popidius Celsinus. There are two theaters and a great amphitheater, or outdoor circus, besides an extensive Forum, or place for public meetings. The more we walk through these quiet and deserted streets, and into these desolate houses, the shorter

seem to us the eighteen centuries that have passed since any one lived here. It is scarcely possible to believe that it has been so long since these mills were turned, these ovens in use, or people came in and out of these shops. In some places there are inscriptions on the walls calling on the citizens to vote for such and such a person for a public office.

There are remains of a great many private houses; and some of these which belonged to rich people have their walls handsomely ornamented with paintings, some of them quite bright and distinct, considering the long time that has elapsed since they were made. There are also a great many shops, all of them very small, and in some of these still remain the marble counters with the jars that held the wines and other things which were there for sale. In a bakery there remain some ovens, and large stone mills worked by hand-power or by

A building has been erected as a museum, and in this are preserved plaster casts of some of the people who perished in the eruption. These people were covered up by the fine ashes just where they fell, and in the positions in which they died. These ashes hardened, and although the bodies, with the exception of a few bones, entirely disappeared in the course of ages, the hollow places left in the ashes were exactly the shape of the forms and features of the persons who had been there. An ingenious Italian conceived the idea of boring into these hollow molds and filling them up with liquid plaster of Paris. When this became dry and hard, the ashes were removed, and there were the plaster images of the persons who had been overtaken and destroyed before they could escape from that terrible storm of hot ashes,

which came down in quantities sufficient to cover a whole city from sight. In some of these figures the features are very distinct, and we can even distinguish the texture of their clothes and the rings upon their fingers. There are eight of these figures men, women, and girls, besides the cast of a large dog. To stand and look upon the exact representation of these poor creatures who perished here seems still more to shorten the time between the present and the days when Pompeii was a lively, bustling city. Could this poor man with the leather belt around his waist, or this young girl with so peaceful an expression, have fallen down and died in these positions just fortysix years after the death of Christ?

We may walk until we are tired and we can not in one visit properly see all that is interesting in the excavated portions of Pompeii, and there is so much of the little city yet covered up, that, if the work of excavation goes on at the present rate, it will be about seventy years before the whole of Pompeii is laid open to the light. Men are kept steadily at work clearing out the ruins, and it may be that we are fortunate enough to be the first visitors to see some little room with painted

It is the most natural thing in the world, after we have explored this ruined city, to desire to visit the volcano which ruined it. There it stands, the same old Vesuvius, just as able to cover up towns and villages with rivers of lava and clouds of ashes as it ever was. Fortunately it does not often choose to do so, and it is on the good-natured laziness of their mountain that the people who live in the plains all about it, and even on its sides, depend for their lives and safety. There are few parts of the world more thickly settled than the country about Vesuvius.

The ascent of the mountain can be best made from Naples because we can go nearly all the way by railroad. Vesuvius is not always the same height, as the great cone of ashes that forms its summit varies somewhat before and after eruptions. It is generally about four thousand feet high, although a great eruption in 1872 is said to have knocked off a great deal of its top. At present it is steadily increasing, because, although there have been no great eruptions lately, the crater is constantly working, and throwing out stones and ashes. Still there is no danger if we are careful, and we shall go up and see what the crater of a real live vol