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. An tonio 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 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

,

had the Vesuvius of "the books" before me, and was disappointed no longer.

The Bay of Naples, gazed upon from the sea, or from the surrounding shores, is an object of great interest; and long we stood enraptured with the charming arrangements of nature and art. The beauty of the bay arises from a variety of circumstances. Its form is regularly curved, and all around are shining palaces, looking down upon its shores, and off upon its waters. Behind the towns and villages, the hills and mountains rise abruptly, and seem to stand as high towers charged with molten torrents, which they are ready to pour out upon the surrounding country.

On reaching the harbor of Naples, we were perplexed a while with the inconvenient and unnecessary arrangements of the port. Every thing seems to be designed to extract money from the traveler, and delay him in his journey. The landlords and the police seem to have entered into copartnership to pillage the purses of all who wish to enter the city. We escaped, at length, from the "port plague," and soon found ourselves in a comfortable hotel, where the gentlemanly proprietor used every endeavor to render our visit agreeable.

Naples has about three hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, and is a very fine city. On approaching it from the sea, one would hardly imagine how many human beings are huddled together. The streets are narrow; the houses rise story on story, until they lose themselves from the view of the gazer, and both streets. and houses are crowded with as miserable and dirty a class of beings as can be found in Italy. The lower order of Neapolitans are very meanly clad, and approach a step nearer barbarism than any I had

previously seen. The men wear a coarse crash shirt, with coarse trowsers, which are tied around the waist with a cord. An old straw hat completes the rig. The legs and feet, from the knees downward, the arms, from the elbows, and the shoulders, brown and sunburnt, are generally uncovered. As to shoes, they are a luxury or a superfluity which the poorer people seldom indulge in. The women dress correspondingly, and are seen moving through the streets singing, with loads upon their shoulders which would almost break the back of a donkey.

The better class, however, dress very neatly; and on gala days the crowded streets present a gay and brilliant spectacle. The soldiers in uniform, with waving plumes, and the young women, with their muslin scarfs, and gay, laughing features, give a showy appearance to the whole town.

I found a home for a few days at "Hotel de New York," my windows looking out upon the mountain and the bay. Hour after hour have I sat and gazed upon that fine sheet of water, terminated on the right by Cape Misenum, and on the left by Cape Minerva, and closed in and guarded by the Island of Capri, while a succession of hills sloping to its shores forms what the Neapolitans call the "water crater."

The city of Naples is twelve miles in circuit, with ample fortifications; three hundred churches; forty asylums for the poor and orphans; with a vast variety of objects connected with the past and the present, to interest the traveler, and make him feel that the sentiment of the Neapolitan enthusiast, who exclaims, "Vedi Napoli, e poi mori," is not altogether a vain boast, or a mistaken idea, as we shall find in a few succeeding chapters.