midnight
Their hotel was near the mole ; its windows commanding an extensive view of the purple sea , beyond which the eye took in the changeful volcano ; and many a vista -- sunny , smiling , and beauteous enough , for the exacting fancy of an Englishman , who conjures up for an Italian landscape , marble-like villas -- and porticoes , where grapes cluster , in festoons of the vine -- heaving mountains -- a purple sky -- faces bronzed , but oh how fair ! -- and song , revelry , and grace . But what struck Acmé , and even Sir Henry , who was more inured to the whirl of cities , as the characteristical feature of Naples , was its moving life . In the streets , there was an incessant bustle from morning until midnight . Each passer by wore an air of importance , almost amounting to a consciousness of happiness . There was fire in the glance -- speech in the action -- on the lip a ready smile . In no city of Italy , does care seem more misplaced .