we entered, a monk, with his face covered with a black nightcap, with holes for his hateful eyes to glare out, came to beg, and, in a piteous, whining tone, entreated us to give something to the church.

Near the duomo is the baptistry, which was built in the eleventh century. It is a large building, in the form of an immense dome, which rises to a hight of one hundred and seventy-nine feet. The external and internal appearance of the structure has great effect. The pulpit is a hexagon, and rests upon nine pillars, and is covered with basso-rilievo work. The basin is in the middle, and is large enough for ten or fifteen persons to occupy at one time. The whole appearance of the basin and the building gives unequivocal evidence that immersion was here performed. The same remark may be made of the baptistry at Florence, which is constructed on a similar plan.

Close at hand is the wonderful leaning tower, which has seven bells, and is two hundred and seventy-eight feet high. We ascend by a winding staircase, and from the top enjoy a fine prospect of the surrounding country. The deviation is from fifteen to eighteen feet; and as I stood looking down, the danger of falling appeared so great, that I was glad to descend as soon as possible. One naturally clings to the rail of the gallery as he looks down from the dizzy elevation upon the earth beneath, which seems to be passing from under him. Whether the tower was built as it is, in a leaning position, or whether the foundations have settled, is a matter of question, nor can an examination settle the point. I incline to the latter opinion, which accords with the view taken by most travelers. This group of buildings, with the Campo Santo, forms one of the most interesting objects of study and

interest that can be found in Italy. The leaning tower is in itself a wonder, and the whole group, where millions of dollars have been expended, deserves a visit from every person who goes within a hundred miles of the spot.

Returning to Leghorn a while, we wandered about, and at length went down to the steamer, determined never to set foot on the soil of that place again. The ways in which the people contrive to get at the pockets of the traveler are legion. You are compelled to pay as you enter the port, and as you leave it; as you go to a hotel, and when you come away, shaking off the dust of your feet. You can neither eat, drink, or sleep, walk, or play, without being charged for it. Contrary to our expectations, we were thrown into this place again, a while after, and took breakfast at Hotel du Nord, where we were detained, abused, fleeced, and, at length, fed. Before we went away, the keeper of the hotel, or rather a servant, for the keeper was a woman, requested us to write some recommendation in his commonplace book, that he might show it to other American travelers who should happen to fall into the hands of the official and unofficial plunderers of Leghorn. This was too much; and one of our company sat down and wrote the following lines, to which we all appended

We gave the book to the servant, who could not read a word of it, and, supposing it to be, instead of the truth as it was, a lying compliment to his house, done up in poetry, and signed by five respectable names, took it with a profusion of bows and nods, unintelligible thanks, and gracious smiles.

Leaving Leghorn, after our first visit, we set sail for Civita Vecchia. As we went out of the harbor, a boat manned with galley slaves rowed across our bows. There were fifteen of them, chained together, and to the boat. They were dressed in red flannel frocks, and wore caps of the same material. They were all murderers; and it would be interesting to converse with them, and draw out the personal history of each, and learn how, step by step, the amiable and virtuous young man descended from respectability to the daring deed for which he wears the chain and lives in prison.

CIVITA VECCHIA,

the next town at which the steamer stops, is one of the most disagreeable in Italy. I said there was one place worse than Avignon; this is it. We were not allowed to land on our way down the coast, but unfortunately went there on our return. We arrived in a diligence from Rome about midnight, and pursued our way to the Hotel Orlando, the best in the place, but wonderfully poor at that. We found all asleep; but, by storming the citadel, we at length aroused the inmates, who came down to us grumbling and scolding in a most furious manner. By dint of Italian, French, English, and Cossack, we finally made them understand that we wished to go to bed; but for a long time it remained doubtful whether we should succeed. Antonio called to Alfieri, and Alfieri shouted to Scipio

and Pompeius, and they together ran after Signore, who came, at length, and put us four into two as dirty chambers as was ever the lot of unoffending travelers to fall into. However, we had each a bed, minus sheets and pillows; and, as the insides were altogether too bad, we threw ourselves upon the outsides, and in a moment were as comfortably asleep as filth and fleas would allow. We might have remained asleep about ten minutes, when a disturbance in the entry gave signs of an assault upon our dormitory. A violent pounding upon the door was heard, and a man and woman, in an unknown tongue, demanded admittance. What was to pay we did not know, and, for a while, we let them work. But it was "no go," and my companion, in no enviable mood, sprang from the bed, exclaiming, "I'll know what the matter is!" and, throwing open the door, he confronted the servants, with sheets and pillows for our beds. Giving them a good round scolding, of which they understood not a word, he shoved the door in their faces, turned the key, and threw himself upon the bed, which creaked and groaned beneath the burden, while the discomfited servants went away puzzled to know why Signore should wish to sleep in a bed full of fleas without sheets.

In the morning, our baggage was examined by the custom-house officers. Mine passed without much trouble; but a friend had in his trunk an oration which he had delivered a while since in New York, before some society that requested its publication. The official found a copy of this printed document, and thumbed it over a while without being able to know whether it was incendiary or not. His eye was attracted by the word "Society," on the title page, and his mind conjured up some terrible danger in having

that little pamphlet in a man's trunk going through Italy. Thus he detained us an hour or two, when he told the owner to call at the police office at a given hour, I believe the next day, and he could have his book. But we declined waiting so long; and for aught I know, the authorities of that abominable place are gravely investigating the contents of my friend's oration up to the present time.

Pursuing our way down the Mediterranean, we at length arrived at Naples. We were called up at sunrise to gaze upon the finest prospect ever presented to mortal sight. We had passed a troublous night. Nameless insects had been disturbing our dreams, and it was with unfeigned delight that we heard the cry, "All up! We are entering the bay." I went on deck; and though I had expected a beautiful view, the reality more than equaled the idea which I had pictured to my imagination. The full, yellow moon was setting behind us, in the dim and shadowy west. On one side was Naples, and all around the watery amphitheater were stretched goodly cities in one continuous and unbroken course. In the background towers Vesuvius, the object of deepest interest, like a giant amid its rocky compeers, a dim and indistinct cloud hovering around its summit. The first view of Vesuvius was not what I had imagined; and Rev. Mr. at my side, exclaimed, "What a cheat!" and turned away, half vexed that the old mountain was not bellowing, and thundering, and pouring down its torrents of lava upon the plains below. We were all unprepared for its quiet, modest, inviting look, though we might have expected it. But as we gazed, the peak seemed to rise higher, the cloud appeared to expand, and in a little while, with the slight aid of imagination, I confess I