and light-hearted South? Have we not heard them under the cool shade of
the olive-trees, with the hot sun blazing on the garden-paths of the
Villa Reale; and the children playing; and the band busy with its
dancing _canzoni_, the gay notes drowning the murmur and plash of the
fountains near? Look now!--far beneath the gray shadow of the
olive-trees--the deep blue band of the sea; and there the double-sailed
barca, like a yellow butterfly hovering on the water; and there the
large martingallo, bound for the cloud-like island on the horizon. Are
they singing, then, as they speed over the glancing waves?... "_O dolce
Napoli! O suol beato!_" ... for what can they sing at all, as they leave
us, if they do not sing the pretty, tender, tinkling "Santa Lucia?"

"Venite all' agile
Barchetta mia!
Santa Lucia!
Santa Lucia!"

... The notes grow fainter and fainter. Are the tall maidens of Capri
already looking out for the swarthy sailors, that these turn no longer
to the shores they are leaving?... "_O dolce Napoli! O suol beato!_" ...
Fainter and fainter grow the notes on the trembling string, so that you
can scarcely tell them from the cool plashing of the fountains ...
"_Santa Lucia!... Santa Lucia!_"....

"Natalushka," said her father, laughing, "you must take us to Venice
now."

The young Hungarian girl rose, and put the zither aside.

"It is an amusement for the children," she said.