XXIII.

RAMBLES AROUND NAPLES.

HAVING secured lodgings in the city, we engaged a valet de place, who told us to call him Joseph, and went out to explore the old ruins in the vicinity. The city was very gay and cheerful, it being the feast day of some saint, whose name and virtues I did not learn. The streets were full of people, and it was with some difficulty that we threaded our way out into the country. The festivity of the occasion brought out in squadron the famous Italian lazzaroni, who met us at every step, and ran along after us, sometimes for miles. This class of persons are a great source of annoyance to travelers. They rush out from the roadside, men, women, and children, uttering the most piteous cries, and hold up a torn hat or a filthy hand to receive the penny which you throw into it. Of all the specimens of humanity I ever saw, these were the most miserable. Deformed, crippled, bleeding, they were at once the most disgusting and pitiable creatures imaginable. Suffering and dying by the wayside, they cast imploring looks and utter imploring cries to every traveler. No human heart can withstand the appeals made by these objects of destitution and want. But while many are really needy, the great mass are undeserving of charity. They are strong men and women, who might work if they were disposed, but prefer to practice imposition upon the stranger. They perform all

kinds of tricks to secure a little money, and are ready to steal at the most favorable opportunity. We saw blind beggars who could see if a piece of foreign money was given them; cripples who could run faster than our horses while there remained the least chance of their receiving a gift; dumb men who could curse you in two or three different languages if you refused to aid them.

Escaping from these, and riding by the palaces of the king, the theaters, and several noble buildings, we leave the city by the grotto of Posilippo, a road dug out under a mountain, half a mile long, one hundred and fifty feet high, and wide enough for three carriages to drive abreast. It was hewn out at an immense expense of time and labor, and was probably the work of slaves; perhaps of the early Christians, who, incurring the displeasure of the pagans, were sent here to toil and die on the public road. As we entered the grotto or tunnel, a hermit rushed out, an odd-looking, dehumanized being, who besought charity. We gave him a contemptuous look, and drove on.

Emerging from the grotto, we ride through a country which bears various marks of volcanic influence. Hills have been cast up rudely by the wayside, and mountains overhang which look as if they had recently been disgorged from the bowels of the earth. The ruins of houses which have been shaken down by eruptions appear along the way, broken aqueducts and baths, and all the evidences of spoiled art and ruined luxury. On the side of one of these volcanic hills we saw at work, hewing stone, a party of convicts, clad in thin blue clothes, with a chain passing from the waist to the foot. These convicts are not obliged to work. They receive pay for what they do five or six cents

a day. Those who are laborious and diligent are released, about one fourth of their time being remitted. Thus, if a man is sentenced for twelve years, he not only receives his wages, but is liberated at the expiration of nine years. A guard of soldiers were stationed over them, so as to render escape impossible.

After an hour's ride, we arrived at the ancient town of Puteoli, where Paul tarried seven days, when he was on his way to Rome. The old Bridge of Caligula, now in ruins, remains, and the pier at which Paul landed is pointed out. The path which led to the Appian Way, and that famous old road itself, are visible. I seemed to dream, to be so near scenes and places consecrated by their connection with the labors and sufferings of the great apostle to the Gentiles. The interest felt in palaces, cathedrals, and volcanoes died away when we arrived amid the memorials of the servant of Jesus

Passing through Puteoli, we rode along the borders of Lake Avernus, surrounded by forests, in which Strabo says the Cimmerians, a race of fortune-tellers, lived in caves never lighted by the rays of the sun. On the banks is the Temple of Apollo, where Æneas went to consult the sibyls and the gods; and the forest behind is that in which he found the golden branch The lake is small, its noxious gases said to be fatal to the respiration of birds, and its depth eighty-five fathoms. It is a very respectable frog pond, and is more romantic in the lays of the old poets than in any reality.

We went down into Sibyls' Cave, which retreats from the shores of Averno, and enters the bowels of the mountain. Leaving the glorious sunlight, the clear air, and the beautiful scenes of nature, we took torches made of hemp, rosin, and tar, four feet long and two

inches square, and descended through a long, dark passage, begrimed with soot and smoke, slimy and slippery, damp as death, and hissing with reptiles. This long passage leads to the Chambers and Baths of the Sibyls, which were once dry, and beautifully decorated and frescoed. By a late irruption, water has been let in to the depth of about two feet. We were forced to explore these chambers on the shoulders of men. Several hideous, dirty, filthy-looking old fellows had followed us some miles for the purpose of taking us in; and when we had reached the water, we mounted each the shoulders of a cicerone, and on we went. The scene was a most laughable one, and, withal, somewhat serious. The waters splash, as the men pass along; the torches gleam and cast out an unearthly light; our human horses keep up an incessant sound, half way between a snort and a groan; and the caverns below us seem to echo with the music of the sibyls, whose beautiful forms have departed, but whose spirit voices seem to linger in their ancient halls. I do not wonder that one traveler who went in in this way began to 'imagine that he was sitting astride the devil's neck, and being borne along the road to the infernal world." Our friends at home would have enjoyed the spectacle, could they have stood in the Sibyls' Chamber, and seen us enter Mr. dragging his legs in the water, and Rev. Dr. M. striking his nice white hat against the smutty ceiling, until it was nearer black than white, each holding on to the grizzly hair of the animal we rode, expecting every moment he would stumble and pitch us we knew not where.

Having reached the chambers, we reposed a while where once Nero came to see the sibyls; then remounting, we soon found ourselves again in the world, safe

escaped from Tartarus, well satisfied with our ride and with what we had seen. The men who had run after our carriage, and had carried us down into the cave, demanded only a few cents for their labor, which we cheerfully paid, though I freely confess that riding such horses is not to my taste.

Leaving the lake, we passed on to the Baths of Nero, where a rude old man, stripping off his clothes, descended ninety feet, by a winding passage, and came back covered with perspiration, and fainting with exhaustion, bringing a bucket of boiling water from the boiling springs, in which we cooked an egg. We could not enter ten feet without being driven back by the sulphureous heat which is emitted by the volcanic elements below. Two or three rooms remain, and exhibit traces of former beauty and art; but the whole grotto now bears more of the appearance of being the cave of some frightful hag, who lives upon the fears of others, than the royal baths of a great emperor.

Moving on, we came in succession to the Temples of Diana, Mercury, and Venus, which are now in ruins, and have few traces of their former magnificence. The capille de Venus, or "Venus hair," is creeping over the broken walls, and covers the spot where once stood the altar. The green lizard and the asp have made their abodes here, and the hollow echo of the past comes back from the walls and broken domes. We reach next the Baths of Venus, which retain more of their original beauty, and which, with the spacious anterooms, are covered with bass-reliefs and frescoes of much perfection.

We next reach the immense reservoir connected with the Julian Port. This vast relic of Roman times was built to supply fresh water to the fleet which anchored