dows of the coach, and escape as soon as possible from misery, which could not be relieved.

Just before reaching Naples, a long vista in the road opens upon Mount Vesuvius and the hills beyond the bay; but the view is not commanding, disclosing nothing of the town. A pretty Doric temple, one story high, stands upon the verge of the plain. Making a short turn to the right, we descended a steep declivity into the great avenue of the city with as much rapidity, as the custom-house officers and sentinels who guarded the entrance would permit. Our coach was stopped at least half a dozen times, and a fee exacted by each of the placemen. Weary of so much delay and extortion, we at length directed the postillion to go on, and leave the authorities of his majesty to send for us if they chose. Frequent impositions of this kind are practised upon the traveller.

Our entrance into Naples, at 5 o'clock on a pleasant afternoon, the hour of the greatest activity and bustle, was calculated to give us a very favourable impression of the extent, architectural magnificence, and population of the city. The avenue, in approaching from Rome, terminates in the Strada Nuova, extending something like a mile in a right line, of about twice the width of Broadway, and bordered on both sides with handsome buildings, some of which are colossal in their dimensions. Among these are the Albergo de' Poveri, (the Asylum of the poor,) about two thousand feet in length, four stories high besides the attic, presenting a front highly embellished with Ionic pillars; and farther on, the Studii Pubblici, (the Royal Academy of Arts,) of nearly the same dimensions. From the latter building the Toledo, the principal street in Naples, corresponding with the Corso at Rome, opens at right angles with the Strada Nuova, and extends another mile in a right line to the quay. It is paved with flags like Florence, and bordered by palaces, churches, and other buildings, four, five, and even six stories high, with balconies or piazzas in front, and with terraced roofs. Near the foot of it, on the left, stands the King's Palace, and on the opposite side of the square, that of the Prince Leopold and the church of St. Francis,* not yet completed. From

*This enormous pile, with a circular portico in front, and a dome in imitation of St. Peter's, was begun by the late King, in consequence of a vow made during his exile by the French, that if he was restored to his throne, he would erect a temple to the Virgin or St. Francis.

the Toledo, we made another turn through the street, or more properly quay of St Lucia, winding round a bold point of rocks and bringing us in full view of the faubourg of the Chiaia, or west end of the town.

I have been more particular in tracing this route, because it leads through nearly all the magnificence which Naples can boast, and will serve to fix certain localities, to which allusion will hereafter be made. In the whole of this distance of something more than two miles, the streets were literally thronged with carriages and pedestrians, exhibiting the style, costumes, and manners of the country. Such a crowd, so busy, noisy, bustling and gay, led us to suppose that the whole population were abroad, on some great festival. But subsequent observation satisfied us, that the Toledo at all times exhibits the same spectacle, which will not appear so strange, when it is considered that the city contains a population of 450,000, a considerable proportion of whom literally live and even sleep in the streets. The bustle of the multitude appeared the more striking to us by way of contrast, in coming from the comparatively unpeopled hills of Rome. A strongly marked difference in the character of the inhabitants of the two cities is observable at the first glance. The Neapolitans form collectively the meanest, dirtiest, and most degraded population in all Italy. Something like 50,000 lazzaroni, with naked bronze legs, coarse kilts, caps, and shirts with their bosoms open, constitute by no means the most abject portion of this moral chaos, where wretchedness and gaiety, poverty and splendour are all mingled together. Even the higher classes exhibit little of that personal beauty, taste in dress, and refinement of manners, which characterize the Romans. Although Naples is a commercial place, the shops of the Toledo make no show in comparison with those of London or Paris, or even with those of Leghorn and Florence. Such are a few of the leading features, which strike the traveller at his entrance into the third city in Europe, in point of magnitude.

Our win

Soon after our arrival, we took private lodgings on the Chiaia, the most fashionable part of the town. dows and the balconies in front of them look down upon the Royal Garden at our feet, and command a view of the whole bay of Naples, which has justly been extolled for its picturesque beauty. A general idea of its outlines may be conveyed in few words. It is of a semicircular form, sweeping

round with a bold and almost unbroken curve from CapeMiseno, on the north-west, to Cape Campanella, on the south-east. The chord between these two promontories is about twenty miles in extent, and it is nearly the same distance from the open sea to the foot of Mount Vesuvius. Some have supposed from the shape as well as from the geological formation of the bay, that it was once the crater of an immense volcano. There are certainly strong reasons to favour such a hypothesis. The whole region in the vicinity of Naples is volcanic, and the fires along the shores in several places are not yet extinct. Disjoined fragments of the brim of the crater, shattered probably by earthquakes, and partly buried by irruptions of the sea, may still be traced in its whole circumference.

Beginning at Cape Miseno, the islands of Procida and Ischia extend several miles into the Mediterranean, preserving a line which might lead to the belief, that they formed a section of the periphery. Both bear evident marks of having been torn asunder by a convulsion of the elements; and in the latter, the subterranean fires are still burning, though there has been no irruption since the 14th century. Between Ischia and Capri, another large island situated near Cape Campanella, there is a chasm of perhaps ten miles, forming the principal entrance of the bay, and through which the view of the sea is boundless. Capri exhibits the strongest evidence of being a mere ruin, which has withstood the warring elements, and now lifts its shattered rocks above the waves. Its position is precisely such as to form another link in the chain of fragments, and to favour the foregoing hypothesis. From Capri to the shores of Sorrento, there is another channel four or five miles in width. This line of islands, in conjunction with the long promontories projecting out on either side, in some measure serves to break the violence of the sea, and to render the waters of the bay comparatively tranquil. Nothing can be more picturesque than these high, shapeless, fantastic rocks emerging from the azure waste, and bearing upon their tops little villages and tufts of trees, visible from the transparency of the air at the distance of Naples.

From Cape Campanella to the village of Castellamare, on the southern side of the bay, the hills of Sorrento rise boldly from the very margin, to the height of perhaps two thousand feet, and are extremely romantic, exhibiting a few

white buildings, scattered along their wild declivities. At the above named village, the principal chain of the Apennines retreats towards the east, and thence sweeps to the north, forming a vast amphitheatre, in the midst of which Vesuvius rears its insulated cone three thousand feet above the level of the sea. Along the base of the mountain, on the eastern shore of the bay, extends an almost unbroken line of white villages, comprising Castellamare, Torre dell'Annunziata, Torre del Greco, Resina, and Portici. Near the last of these towns, the faubourg of Naples commences, and the city stretches thence along the northern side of the basin, for a distance of five or six miles, including the western suburbs. The remainder of the cape, whence we set out in tracing this circuit, is lofty and solitary with the exception of a few buildings sprinkled over the woody hills. So much for the most prominent features in the great and splendid panorama, which has been surveyed from almost every possible point of view, as well as under every variety of aspect, and never without delight. I have seen it in storm and sunshine; in the dimness of morning and evening twilight; in the glories of noon-day; and under the softer light of the full moon.

The outlines of Naples itself may perhaps be traced to the best advantage from the water, in an excursion we made along nearly the whole extent of the city. A small stream divides the eastern faubourg from the royal village of Portici. It is said that a large river here once fell into the bay, but was dried up and its fountains changed by the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius in the year 79. Coasting from this point westerly, the voyager soon makes the light, standing oddly enough upon the wharf, with a snug reading-room in the basement, not for the benefit of sea-faring men, but of the citizens, who see the lantern poised at an elevation of some fifty feet, and scarcely more prominent than a lamp at one of the windows of his Majesty's Palace.

The port of Naples is small and unimportant, in comparison with many others, even in Italy. It is far inferior in dimensions, as well as in the quantity of shipping, to that of Genoa or Leghorn. It is of a square form, covering only a few acres, and defended on two sides by moles, constructed while the French had possession of the city in the 14th century.

That part of Naples, which extends from the port north

erly to the Strada Nuova and westerly to the Toledo, comprising the most populous district, is generally mean and dirty. Its situation is comparatively low, and its streets narrow and dark. At the foot of the Toledo commences what may be denominated the court end of the town. Here

are the Royal Barracks, covering several acres on a level with the water, under the windows and terraces of the King's Palace.

The façade of the Palace from the water. looks like a large brewery. It exhibits neither taste nor spendour in its exterior, as seen in this direction. The terrace, shaded with domestic orange trees, is pretty. At a short distance to the east stands the Castello Nuovo-a shapeless pile, ornamented with Gothic bas-relief, and intended as an arsenal, something in the style of the Tower of London. It is yet in an unfinished state, and its vacant halls are without interest of any kind. The stately palace of the king at Capo di Monte, seated on the top of a woody hill two miles from town, forms at a distance a very prominent object. Prince Leopold's palace is a lofty edifice, and appears to much better advantage, than does that of his Majesty.

West of the Toledo, the city assumes a more romantic character. The Tufo hills here become broken and rise to the height of more than a thousand feet, ranging along nearly parallel with the shore, and terminating in a high promontory at Baiæ. Back of the town, they are moderately clothed with trees and sprinkled with villas. The large old castle of St. Elmo hangs upon the brow, and completely overlooks the city and bay. It is much the most conspicuous object in Naples. Its commanding situation and the recommendations of guide-books, induced us to climb to the old convent of San Martino standing under its battlements--an undertaking of no small labour, on a warm day. The view of the hills and sea is very fine; but of the town you see little, save a waste of terraces and flat roofs. Even at this aerial height, the eye cannot fathom the fissures of the deep streets. The convent is at present occupied as a hospital of invalid soldiers. A small church is attached to it; but neither in its costly embellishments, nor in the neighbouring villas, to which we extended our excursion, was any thing observed particularly worthy of notice. The gardens are delightful in situation; but their walls of evergreen have been spoiled by the shears and pruning-hook. Terra cotta statues, Ve