NAPLES, POMPEII, SORRENTO.

It proved a very wet morning in Rome on the day we had settled to go to Naples (for it can rain in Rome remarkably well); but we had taken our rooms at a hotel in Naples, and were packed and ready to go, and accordingly left, arriving at the station at half-past eight for the train leaving at 9.20, and were not a bit too soon. The traveller has to hang on for his turn to get his luggage weighed and to purchase his railway tickets; and after these operations were accomplished, and admission was at last accorded to the salle-d’attente (for none, according to the evil custom which keeps ladies hanging about on their feet, can enter previously), we had but a few minutes to wait in that apartment until the doors were opened and announcement made that passengers might now hurry to the train.

For a considerable part of the way the rain fell and heavy clouds hung upon the mountains, so that little could be seen of the scenery in the early part of the journey, which is the most interesting, as the line commands in many parts historical ground. We passed the Alban and Volscian Mountains; the town of Capua, where are interesting Roman remains; Caserta, where there is an immense royal palace; and many curious old towns resting upon the hills which the railway skirted. It would have been well worth while to have stayed at Capua and Caserta to have seen them, but it is difficult to arrange for doing so without spending a night by the way, or continuing the journey by a night train, because trains do not suit. This being the 26th of March, vegetation was in a very backward state, the trees just beginning to show symptoms of being about to throw out their buds, so that everything looked somewhat dreary. At last we arrived in Naples, after a seven hours’ ride, just in time to settle down before dinner.

The following morning we took a cab to drive through and see the town, and, looking to select a good one, I was beset by a host of cabmen, all wanting to be engaged, even after I had engaged one, and told them so positively. There is very little choice among them. The vehicles are all equally shabby, and the drivers all equally dirty. Their fares are very low, which may account for the disreputable appearance of the men and cabs, which are as numerous as bees in a hive. The coachmen will take any amount of trouble to get a hire. If, upon going to a place, say the Museum, they be dismissed, they will hang about for an hour, hoping to get the return fare. But driving is really the only way by which one can see some parts of Naples. The town swarms with people to an extent which, unless seen, can hardly be either realized or credited. In England, every rod may maintain its man, but in Naples, and even all about the Bay of Naples, it would seem as if not merely every square yard, but almost every square foot maintained its man, woman, or child. But how they all live, or even where they all sleep, is a mystery. The main street, the Toledo, a mile long, is so crowded, that one wonders how the carriages can possibly penetrate; and the people are such notorious thieves and such adroit pickpockets, that it is dangerous to attempt to walk on foot. Even in driving, the passenger must be very careful, as a thief will think nothing of abstracting loose articles, even in his very sight. At the railway station the traveller should keep a sharp look-out that the very porter who is taking his portmanteau to a carriage does not quietly run off with it. Knowing these habits, we left the most of our luggage at Rome, and only took with us what was indispensable, as every additional package is in such a case an additional anxiety.

The Bay of Naples is naturally the first point of attraction. One hears so much of its transcendent beauty that expectation is highly raised. I thought the accounts of it exaggerated; but then it was not summer, and therefore we could not see it in perfection; while we had just recently come from Mentone, where we had been living for months in sight of lovely bays. The blue waters of the Mediterranean in brilliant sunshine are always charming, and here they are enclosed in a very large bay—for it is about twenty miles each way—with one long arm stretching away and terminated by the island of Ischia, and the other long arm stretching away and terminated by the island of Capri; the outlines of all being picturesque, and all sides being dotted with villages. In the centre of the landward side Vesuvius boldly rises (the eruptions from time to time causing variations in its height, which, however, averages about 4000 feet), with a stream of smoke, betokening its character, constantly ascending from the summit as if from some colossal chimney; while below, a line of houses stretches continuously from Naples, probably fifteen miles, or perhaps even more, indicating how populous is this part of Italy. In the distance, behind Naples and Vesuvius, a range of the Apennines lies.

Naples itself, the largest and most populous city in Italy, is, from a little distance, picturesque, resting, somewhat like Genoa, on a half-circle of sloping heights, with a broad margin to the shore, the houses towards which are lofty, many being five and even six storeys high. In the central and denser parts of the town they are even higher, while in these portions the streets are mere lanes, 15 to 20 feet wide, and irregular; and if they be not absolutely unsafe to visit, must form a very labyrinth of perplexity to the stranger. In the newer parts of the city the streets are spacious and elegant. Every here and there, a jutting prominence or a bold height crowned with some peculiar structure gives character to the scene. The Chiaja is a long strip of land turned into a public garden or park lying in or towards the north end of the town, and fronting the sea. A broad street, the Riviera di Chiaja, flanks it, lined by the trees of the park on the one side, and by hotels and other buildings on the other, and terminated at the north end by Posilipo, a hill perforated by the famous grotto of that name, or tunnel, I presume half natural and half excavated, which affords an access to the other side. Up from the Chiaja, on a height, the Castle of St. Elmo stands, the interior of which our limited time did not afford us opportunity of seeing. Leaving the Chiaja by a handsome drive which has been formed by the shore, we pass the Castel del Ovo, which stands out into the sea, cresting a large rock or small island connected with the land by a mole or breakwater. It is ugly and old, but can scarcely, because it is so, be called picturesque, though at least it is striking or prominent; and I suppose it does or can, with other fortifications, offer some protection to the port; but it was, and perhaps still is, used as a prison, and, in spite of sunshine, is gloomy enough for that. From this point southward, commencing with the broad Strada San Lucia, the harbour lies, in which there is a moderate amount of shipping, but small as compared with that of Genoa. Life abounds about this harbour and the adjoining quays, along which broad streets run, filled with sellers of fish and other commodities, and with crowds of pedestrians and carriages. The road turns up from S. Lucia into the large open space called the Piazza del Plebiscito—one side occupied by a handsome semicircular colonnade, and the other by the royal palace, where the king was at the time of our visit residing, two equestrian statues in the centre of the piazza contributing to its adornment. The Toledo or High Street of Naples issues out of it. Proceeding farther along the harbour, and at its extreme south, we come to the Castel del Carmine, also forming a feature in the landscape, and from it a road leads up to the railway station, which is just outside the inhabited part of Naples. From the harbour, or any point which commands a view, the town looks bright and picturesque, and in rather striking contrast with its dirty population. Ascent of the lighthouse for the sake of the view is recommended.

The only church in Naples which we thought at all comparable to those in Rome was the cathedral, which is a large and handsome building. One of its side chapels is that of the famous St. Januarius, where the blood and other relics of the martyr are preserved.

The hotels are situated principally on the line of buildings facing the sea from the Chiaja southward to S. Lucia. But some new hotels have been opened on the high ground near the Castle of St. Elmo, thought to be a more healthy locality. This may or may not be, but one requires to be careful as to where he lives in Naples. In fact, the natural air of Naples must be extremely salubrious, to counteract, as it seems to a large extent to do, the evil influences arising from so large a population living upon so comparatively small a portion of the tideless Mediterranean. Were it otherwise, fever would be constantly raging, and Naples depopulated.

We spent the forenoon of the following day in the Museum. This is an immense collection of antiquities, principally from Pompeii, and is well worthy of several visits, without which, in fact, it cannot be properly studied. Illustrated catalogues can be procured, which are no doubt useful, but are expensive. Our time would only allow of a general examination. The Museum contains thousands of articles of great interest, and very many which show to what a state of perfection art had arrived at the time Pompeii was destroyed. The sculptures of all descriptions and pictures are very numerous, and among many others deserving of special note was the grand group called the Toro Farnese, of masterly power. It is composed of five graceful and pleasing human figures, besides the bull rampant and a dog, and other sculpture, and if cut out of one block of marble, would seem to be a miracle of art. Why it should have been removed from Rome to Naples I am not aware. But the Museum at Naples is very spacious and extensive, and may have afforded better accommodation than any place in Rome. Some of the rooms are filled with articles of domestic use recovered from the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii; and, what is very curious, in one room loaves of bread, grain of various sorts, dates, and other edibles 1800 years old are exhibited. Many of the curious frescoes found upon the walls of Pompeii have been removed to the Museum and built bodily into its walls. The colours of these frescoes are considerably faded, but copying them seems to afford employment to a number of artists, who, however, impart to their copies the supposed original brightness of the pictures, and one seldom sees an original Pompeian fresco possessing that vividness of colouring which representations of them usually manifest. One room is fitted up as a reproduction of a Pompeian bedroom, and gives a greater idea of luxurious comfort than one would imagine possible from the appearance of the rooms, now in ruins, which we afterwards saw in Pompeii itself.

The afternoon is the time for seeing the Chiaja, for then all the private carriages of Naples may be witnessed driving about; and on one occasion we had the good fortune to pass the Princess Margherita, now the Queen of Italy. Girls are on the watch to sell large and beautiful bouquets of flowers at marvellously cheap prices. An aquarium has been built near the centre of the Chiaja gardens, which we visited the morning of the day following, before going to Castellamare. It is not nearly so large as that at Brighton, but it is interesting enough. It contained, inter alia, a good many octopi, which repulsive fish is said to be sold and eaten in Naples, and, in all probability, occasionally appears under some disguised name at the hotel dinners.

Naples is a great place for the sale of photographs and articles of bijouterie in lava, and of coral and tortoiseshell. At Mr. Sommer’s Fine Art Establishment near the Chiaja, a large collection of beautiful photographs of almost all places in Italy is to be found. These are very moderate in price—the cheapest in Italy—as well as good, and in number exceed five thousand. I laid in a good stock, and only wish I had taken more. Any of them can be at once procured by reference to the number they bear. They are best kept flat, but if rolling be preferred, they should always be rolled up with the photograph side outwards. Why it is that photographs of a size which cost a shilling at Naples should be charged five shillings or six shillings, or even more, at home, I don’t know. But the consequence is that people buy the Italian photographs by the hundred, whereas at home, if they buy at all, it is by the unit. Our dealers plainly miss the market by their high prices. Mr. Sommer might do well to extend his operations to the towns of France and to Switzerland, where photographs are expensive.

Among other shops we also visited Squadrilli’s, which is recommended in BÆdeker. Here we found a well-stocked store of articles in lava and coral, but owing, I suppose, to the thieving which exists in Naples, and from which, no doubt, they have sometimes suffered, we were rather unpleasantly watched by three persons, a circumstance of which others who had been there also complained. The articles, however, seemed to be good, while the prices are fixed, though a discount of five per cent, was allowed for cash. The gold used in Naples for bijouterie is considered to be inferior to the standard quality of England, and even of Rome, which professes to be, like England, of eighteen carats. Squadrilli allowed that their gold was only fourteen carats, and perhaps his estimate might not apply to all his articles. There are many imitations, however, even of this inferior gold, and some articles, possibly ‘job lots,’ are sold in Naples at astonishingly low prices. The articles supposed to be of lava are, I believe, in reality cut out of the limestone rocks of Somma, one of the peaks of Vesuvius.

We were anxious to make our stay in Naples as short as possible, as so much is heard of its insalubrity. After the general survey we had thus made of it, we took train to Castellamare, the railway passing Mount Vesuvius on the one side and the coast on the other, so that we were in view of the bay nearly all the way. Castellamare is a convenient halting-place for seeing Pompeii, which, however, may be visited from Naples itself, either by hiring a carriage from Naples,—making a pretty long drive, and, I believe, of little interest, the road being a continuous street of houses,—or by taking the train as far as Torre dell’ Annunciata, and a carriage thence to Pompeii, which is not two miles off. Castellamare is one of those populous unclean towns which lie upon the bay. Friends had said it was a remarkably nice place to stop at, and the Hotel Quisisana, on the height above the town, is a fairly comfortable one, commanding a splendid view of the bay, of Vesuvius, and of Naples beyond. Perhaps we did not remain long enough to acquire a knowledge of its beauties, but we were not taken with the dirty town; while the garden of the hotel, which might have been laid out to great advantage, and thus have helped to reconcile us to the place, was no better than such Italian gardens usually are. I suppose that Nature has been so lavish of her bounties when the sun shines, that the Italians think it unnecessary to supplement her labours. Yet I have sometimes thought that the time of waiters, who between meals in foreign places have often little to do, might, not unprofitably to the hotels, and with some advantage in health to themselves, be occupied in trimming the hotel gardens. Our bedrooms looked towards the bay, and therefore were, I presume, considered more choice; but being a northern or north-western exposure, we found them extremely cold at night. It was, however, intensely interesting to look across to Vesuvius, which I had seen emitting a red light on our second evening at Naples, without being aware, unfortunately, till afterwards that this light was unusual, and that had I watched it for half an hour longer I should have seen it become more intensely bright. People were then in full expectation of an eruption, and even the very day had been predicted, although the premonitory symptoms of streams drying up had not appeared; but expectation was not gratified.

We arranged the following morning to drive to Pompeii, which is about three miles distant.

Pompeii on being approached seems like a huge mound, somewhat akin in the distance to a fortified place. The excavated town itself is not visible from the road. The visitor is deposited at the door of what appears to be a sort of tavern or place of refreshment, through which, threading one’s way among tables, entrance is had to the excavations. We found the tavern filled with people taking an early dinner, or rather breakfast, rendering the access by no means an agreeable one. Here leaving with the cameriere our wraps,—not without some misgivings, fortunately not realized, that we should never see them again,—we passed up a stair, and through a magazine for sale of lava ornaments, etc., the prices asked for which, as usual in show places, were exorbitantly and forbiddingly high. Outside the magazine we paid two francs each for admission and for the assistance of a guide (children being charged only a half-franc each), and procured a little French-speaking guide in smart uniform and side arms, whom we found very obliging and attentive. These guides are necessary, and must be taken, though sometimes respectable people who have been there before are allowed to go without them; perhaps not always with advantage to the ruins, as it is a very common trick with people who should know better, and who might not be expected to do such a thing, to pocket stones which can be of no use whatever to themselves, but the abstraction of which is detrimental to the place whence they are taken. On one occasion in Italy, a lady of a party in which I was—who acknowledged to being in the habit of bringing away a stone from every place to which she had been—quietly pocketed a piece of marble lying on the ground, when the custodier, who was keeping a sharp look-out, went up to her and desired her to replace it. It was a numbered piece, and he would, he said, be responsible for it to the authorities. The practice of chipping stones from a building of note, or taking up loose pieces, cannot be too severely reprehended, and ought sometimes to be punished. The guides at Pompeii are not allowed to receive any gratuity from the visitors, but they make a little by an accorded permission to sell photographs of the ruins.

Passing through an old gateway, we were ushered into a museum, the contents of which are not numerous, as the bulk of the articles found is sent to the large Museum of Naples. It contains, however, some things of great interest, particularly the casts of men and women found in Pompeii who had perished in the great overthrow, and whose bodies had been so curiously enveloped with the scoriÆ as to form a close-fitting, indurated mould, and a cast from it, when the dust is blown out, reproduces every line of the body or of the clothing of the suffocated person. Some of the casts so taken give a clear representation of the form of the features; and I noticed that the dress of the men seemed to be very similar to what is still worn by those in the vicinity, particularly in the tight-fitting, wrought woollen jacket covering the body. If I was right in this supposition, it is another instance of the manner in which the people cling to ancient habits and modes of dress.

We were then taken to the excavations which are being systematically carried on, and our examination commenced with the forum, a large open space, containing the remains of the pillars by which it was surrounded. From these remains and the remains of other public buildings, it is evident that Pompeii was a very elegantly adorned city. It had temples, no less than nine being marked upon the plan, but they are all in ruins; only fragments exist, the pillars and superincumbent building having been almost everywhere thrown down. In some of them, such as the temple of Venus and temple of Isis, a few columns, with their entablature, stand, to indicate the beauty of their construction. Besides temples there have been excavated two theatres and a large amphitheatre, in excellent preservation, capable of accommodating 20,000 persons, and nearly, in length and breadth, as large as that at Nismes; also, as usual in Roman towns, baths, besides other public buildings. But probably the greatest interest attaches to the remains of the private dwellings. It is rarely that private houses exhibit, after a lapse of nearly 2000 years, even in ruins, what they were when in occupation. Here, however, the lava or scoriÆ or dust of Vesuvius by hermetical seal closed up these houses, in order that they might be seen by the people of a long-distant age. Many of the houses in Pompeii belonged to men of wealth, and they are all laid out, in the better class at least, upon much the same plan, entering upon a square court, open in the centre to the outer air, in the middle of which a marble fountain played. The rooms were built around or beyond, the principal or public rooms being to the back—a mode of design probably suitable to the climate, at least in summer, and admitting, no doubt, of great elegance of arrangement and design, and of which such houses as those of Marcus Holconius, of the Faun, of Sallust, of the poet, of Meleager, and of Cornelius Rufus afford examples,—all containing beautiful fluted pillars and other decorations, sometimes in marble, still standing, while the walls were tastefully decorated with that peculiar description of painting well known as Pompeian. Some of the houses appear to be only one storey high, but stairs indicate a second storey, and it is even supposed that in some cases there may have been a third. But they had no appearance to the street, while the streets themselves are narrow, so much so that it is impossible to see how in many of them even the smallest carriages could pass each other without encroaching on the equally narrow footway or trottoir (discovery of the remains of it here revealing its use in ancient times); but the large stones or slabs forming the street pavement are in some places marked with a deep rut, indicating a good deal of carriage traffic. The shops on the streets are small, and are sometimes built into the dwellings, so that shop floors then were probably as remunerative as they seem to be now with ourselves, although persons now in similar rank of life in Great Britain would little like to allow a portion of their mansions to be so occupied. As, however, the streets were so confined, there could have been no view from the house itself upon the front facing the street; yet, no doubt, from some windows in the upper apartments behind there might be fine glimpses of the bay and of Vesuvius, as well as of the surrounding country. At all events, we obtained excellent views from the ruins, especially from the walls. Vesuvius appears close at hand, and one feels astonished at the foolhardiness of people building towns and houses so close under the fiery mountain after the tremendous warnings received in the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum. We were shown at one place in the ‘House of Diomede’ a long vault or cellar, in which the remains were found of seventeen unfortunate persons who had taken refuge there during the awful time when they knew not where to flee, and supposed that the walls of the house would cover them from calamity. We could not look upon such places without thinking what an appalling time it must have been, and what heartrending agonies must then have been endured. Notwithstanding all the elegance of the public portions of the houses, and perhaps even of the private chambers, it seemed as if the actual comfort of the inhabitants could not be great, and especially in the matter of bedroom accommodation, for I imagine the sleeping-rooms were of the smallest dimensions—mere closets, not such as people of the present day in good circumstances would approve.

It would, however, be impossible, in small compass, to give any adequate idea of these houses or of their decorations. Books have been written upon the subject, and an excellent recent account of Pompeii, its history, buildings, and antiquities, containing nearly 300 illustrations, has been written by Dr. Thomas H. Dyer. Nothing, indeed, but a visit to Pompeii itself can convey a sufficient idea of the resuscitated city; but a study of Mr. Dyer’s book before going, as well as after a visit, will help materially to an understanding of it. Pompeii is a place of engrossing interest entirely unique, and in some respects it offers, I think, more attractions to a visitor than any other in Italy, and well merits more than one visit. The excavations are still proceeding, and it will probably be many years before they are completed, as there is still a large piece of ground, probably as much again as has already been opened, on which to operate.

Having seen Pompeii, we did not care to stay longer at Castellamare, and next day, taking a carriage with three horses, the bells jingling cheerily all the way, drove to Sorrento. The drive occupied an hour and a half, and is considered to be one of the finest to be had in Italy. The road borders the bay, and passes through several large Italian villages most picturesquely situated, and across a deep ravine, evidently the result of an earthquake, by a beautiful bridge. Sorrento is a long town, and the road through its suburbs is shut in by lofty and most objectionable garden walls. As we drove down the road towards it, from the height to the eastward the place looked very charming, surrounded by hills on every side except the north, which is open to the sea. Turning down a long narrow lane, we arrived at the Tramontano Hotel (kept by an Irish landlady, an active and most obliging woman), where everything is remarkably comfortable, and the accommodation is ample. It is situated on classic ground, Tasso having resided in a house which, or its site, is now part of the hotel. A garden, where, no doubt, Tasso often meditated, encloses the hotel upon the south, while the north windows and terraces command magnificent views of the bay, of the islands, of Naples lying opposite, and of Vesuvius, whose smoke, always ascending, is an excellent indicator of the direction of the wind. The garden extends away to the eastward, where a dependence or additional house is kept for the accommodation of the guests. A large public room, with windows to the bay, was being added to the main house, so that now both salon and salle-À-manger are large rooms. Having had experience of the cold of northerly chambers at Castellamare, we chose cheerful rooms on the south side overlooking the hotel yard, with all its enlivening bustle, and the garden and green hills behind.

Sorrento lies upon a platform or broad level space of land, the seaward side being high perpendicular cliffs, so that one looks sheer down from the hotel windows on the north to the water far below, which is reached from the hotel by a winding tunnel cut into the rock. It is placed, like Mentone, under the guard of a semicircle of hills, although these are both nearer and much lower than those at Mentone; but as the town faces the north, instead of the south as at Mentone, it is rather a summer than a winter residence. We had it very cold there during the night, but in the glowing mid-day sun it was charming to look out upon the water and land, and see everything bathed in an atmosphere of light, while vegetation was now beginning to advance, lending an additional charm to the landscape. We were not, however, altogether without rain. One night was particularly stormy and wet.

There are excursions from Sorrento upon the hills which can be accomplished by aid of donkeys, and it is also possible to cross over the hills to Amalfi, though this was not reckoned altogether safe from bandits. Boats can be had for boating, but the main excursions are by steamboat to Capri, and driving to Massa, a picturesque town a few miles westward; the road to it by the coast being a continuation of that from Castellamare, and affording lovely views at every turn. The excursion to Capri is made by steamboat, and every fine morning two rival steamers (a paddle and a screw boat) from Naples approached Sorrento to take excursionists to Capri and its blue grotto. In addition to the fare there and back of 5 francs, innumerable other little charges for boats, etc. make the expense up to 8 francs each. When the sea is stormy, the boats do not go, as it is impossible to enter the grotto when there is the least swell upon the water. This is annoying to unlucky persons who are left on the island, as it sometimes happens in consequence that the boats may not leave Naples for weeks together. I met on board the steamer two American friends who had come from Naples, were to sleep a night at Capri and return the next day, having taken their passage for the day following in a steamer for Genoa. The next day, however, proved stormy, and the steamboats did not make their appearance for several days afterwards, so that our friends must have been kept prisoners on the island and lost their passage besides. We had, however, a very beautiful day for the trip, the steamboat taking about two hours to reach Capri from Sorrento, and it was most enjoyable. The views from the deck are enchanting. When we arrived off the grotto, the vessel was surrounded by a multitude of little boats; and as three persons only are allowed to each, it took a long time for all the visitors to get off. The sea where the steamer stopped was of a most lovely blue colour, perhaps due to some great local saltness of the ocean. On approaching the entrance to the grotto, all were desired to lie down on the bottom of the boat, otherwise, by catching the crest of a wave, we might have broken our heads against the rocks of the entrance, which is very low,—although it might, one would think, be enlarged,—while the boatmen carefully pushed the boat inside. Once we were in, however, there was space enough for several boats to paddle about. We found everything bathed in the blue light of the sea reflected on the walls of the cavern. It is this which gives the name to the grotto. The rocks themselves are just ordinary colour, and do not, as might from the name be supposed, consist, like those of the blue John Cavern of Derbyshire, of actual blue spar.

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When all had seen the grotto, the steamboats took us to the town of Capri, which, with another on the hill, is picturesque. There are good hotels near the landing-place. A long ascent leads to the high town, near which the palace of Tiberius once stood. From the height I had a view of the southern coast of Italy; but the day was hot, and the atmosphere therefore hazy, so that we could not see far. We returned to Sorrento in the afternoon.

Sorrento is a great place—in fact, the chief place—for the manufacture of articles of inlaid wood. It is the industry of the town, and everywhere we found workshops for its manufacture, having attached to them shops for its sale, although, I presume, the larger part of the manufacture is for export or transmission elsewhere. As may be supposed, there is considerable diversity of skill among the workmen, and many articles exhibit inferiority; but I soon found out in which shops the best workmanship prevailed, and in particular considered the articles manufactured by M. Grandville were both well finished and wrought in good taste. Garguilo also, who has a more imposing establishment, had some very fine specimens of work. Every visitor buys more or less, principally, doubtless, to take home as gifts to friends, and I did not escape the contagion. Some of the articles are extremely beautiful; and one I secured, which seemed to be one of the finest examples, was so delicately inlaid that at first sight it seemed as if it were a painting on the wood. I saw, however, the process by which the inlaying is effected, which satisfied me with the reality of the inlaying. A picture is drawn on paper, and little pieces, corresponding in colour to the pattern, are cut out of larger coloured pieces with an extremely slender steel saw—almost a thread for fineness. These are glued down upon the pattern so closely that the joinings are invisible, and it is in the comparative skill with which this nice operation is conducted I presume the difference of quality and effect is mainly found. In purchasing these articles, however, one has not to lose sight of the fact that the transaction is taking place in the South of Italy, and sometimes a considerably higher price is asked than the seller is prepared to take. I had the specimens purchased put in a box, carefully packed, to send from Naples home by sea, and found on entering Naples that octroi duty upon it was exacted, and this not according to value, but to weight. The wood shops are among the best in Sorrento, but I was struck with the marvellous likeness there was, in size at least, in the common small shops of Sorrento to what had been shops in Pompeii.

We led a quiet life very pleasantly among friends and acquaintances at the hotel in Sorrento for about a fortnight, glad of rest after so much previous sight-seeing; but the hotel was always full, and the constant jingling of horses’ bells, denoting the arrival or departure of carriages, kept it lively, while, among other diversions, we witnessed the Tarantala dancing entertainment, to which I have elsewhere alluded (p. 72). We had at first thought of going to Cava, with a view to taking trips thence to Amalfi and PÆstum; but preferring rest, left that, like many other excursions, to another opportunity, which might never come. We returned to Naples on 11th April, having a glorious day for the return drive to Castellamare. The trees were only budding, so that we did not see things in perfection. As we drove out of the hotel yard, a man, neither clothed in plush and fine linen nor recently washed, jumped up and sat on the luggage behind, an undesirable-looking and unengaged lackey. The driver explained it was to guard the luggage, which sometimes, I believe, is, by the nimble-fingered inhabitants of the bay, quietly abstracted if not well roped. It was only, however, a genteel method of begging for 30 centimes, with which at Castellamare he was well satisfied. The beggars of Sorrento are certainly industrious in their calling. I stayed a few minutes at one place to make a little sketch, and was immediately surrounded by half-a-dozen women, and at least as many children, all wanting copper. One regular beggar, a man, old to appearance, who was constantly sauntering about, stick in hand, amused me much. His address was, as you approached him, arrestively and decisively, ‘Signor!’ You proceeded a yard farther, and it was more decisively, or rather imperatively, ‘Signor!’ You passed him, and it was ‘Signor! Signor!’ (weepingly) ‘povero vecc. he he per amor di Dio,’ a phrase generally employed by the Italian beggars. It is, however, but fair to add, that begging in Italy is not nearly so bad as it once was, for the authorities are setting their face against it. Still, in some places, it is a great annoyance that one cannot walk along the streets of a small town like Sorrento without being assailed by the same everlasting beggar, giving to whom only encourages to ask again.

We were anxious upon our return to Naples to have ascended Vesuvius, at least as far as the Observatory, but unfortunately a heavy cloud hung over the mountain, and reluctantly we had to give it up. Instead, we took a drive to Puteoli, or, as it is now called, Pozzuoli, about two hours distant. Our way lay through the grotto of Posilipo, which is lighted up with gas, and is about a third of a mile long, about 21 feet wide, and varies in height from 70 to 25 feet; thence along an uninteresting road till again we reached the sea, when the islands and Puteoli looked very picturesque. One could hardly imagine from its appearance that it was formerly a great Roman port; but it has been subjected to many changes, and bears evidence of the forces below agitating the ground, by which some parts have been alternately submerged and upheaved, and the recurrence of such events would be sufficient of themselves to account for its desertion. Here we drove over the southern termination of the Appian Way, paved with the large old Roman stones; and our coachman pointed out the part of the old Roman pier (now in fragments, like a row of giant stepping-stones lifting their heads above water) at which he alleged the Apostle Paul had landed. There are some ruined temples in Puteoli and its neighbourhood, and the ruins of a large amphitheatre, which the guide said had held 45,000, but, as is more credibly stated by others, 25,000 spectators, for it is not so large or so imposing as that at Nismes, while the measurements are considerably less,—Nismes exceeding it in length by 75 feet, and in breadth by 120 feet. Chambers underneath were discovered in 1838, and are very interesting. They contained dens for the confinement of the wild beasts, and rooms where the gladiators were trained to fight. We had, previous to entering Puteoli, taken a side road to Solfatara. This is a scarcely extinct crater, supposed to have a direct communication underground with Vesuvius, twelve miles distant. However, there has been no eruption since 1198, when it sent forth a current of lava. A man who appeared as guide threw a heavy stone upon the probably thin crust of sulphurous matter constituting the ground over which we were treading; the reverberation from the fall indicated that it was hollow below, and in all likelihood a slender protection from a fiery furnace which it might not be safe to expose to the air and light of day. And as Solfatara is quiescent when Vesuvius is active, and active when Vesuvius is quiescent, which it then was, the thought, as we were intruding upon the domains of these angry forces of nature, that some sudden impulse might burst the earthy covering and blow us all up into the air, like Paul Pry peering about the steamboat when the boiler burst, was not comfortable. The guide took us to a hole from which sulphurous fumes were issuing, and for a few coppers entered it at some risk of suffocation, and by means of a long stick pulled out some pieces of hot sulphur from the boiling natural caldron, which we carried off as souvenirs of our visit to a place which some day may become the scene of a terrible disaster.

Taking a different route on returning, we passed the supposed tomb of Virgil; and crossing over the hill, came again in sight at some distance of Naples, and the continuous stretch of houses along the coast to the southward. Altogether it was a very interesting drive. Had we had time for it, we should have gone farther, as far as to BaiÆ, which is a few miles beyond Puteoli.

As illustrative of the method of selling and clutching at a profit, however small, I may here mention that, going out with a friend from the hotel, we were waylaid by boys offering walking-sticks for sale. The first boy asked 2 francs for a cane, my friend offered 1 franc, and it was at once taken. Thereupon another with much better canes came up. My friend picked out five of the best, for which he was asked 15 francs, and they were really very cheap at the money. He offered 5 francs and then 6, and to throw in the stick he had just bought of the other boy. The offer was at once closed with, so that he got for 7 francs five beautiful canes, which, judging from prices asked in the shops, were worth 20 francs at least.

We had still a good deal to see in Naples; but, not feeling very well, we were anxious to leave a place the reputation of which for salubrity is by no means assuring, and departed for Rome by a morning train, leaving at 7 o’clock and arriving before 2 p.m.