LIFE IN AN ISLAND, 



BY MRS OLIPHANT. 

 [MAGA. JAN. 1865.] 



THIS island is not a desolate island, nor far from 

 the boundaries of civilisation ; neither is it one 

 of the insulated fortresses which are more of man's 

 making than God's. No position under heaven can 

 be more glorious than that in which this rock reposes 

 " like a vessel eternally at anchor " regarding from 

 its lofty heights that bay which once in a lifetime 

 intoxicates every man who looks upon it, and rouses 

 even the most languid soul into a sense of beauty 

 ineffable and beyond description. It is Xaples which 

 lies in the depth of that wonderful bow, radiant in 

 the sunshine. It is Vesuvius which rises in front of 

 us, blue and splendid, now and then exhaling out 

 of his burning bosom a deep breath that shows white 

 against the sky like a man's breath in an English 

 Christmas. That is Posilipo, the first break in the 

 even arch of coast, which afterwards goes wavering 

 out and in, as if, like the spectator, confused with so 



