and construction of ancient baths than either those of Diocletian or Titus. Passing through the Porta Latina, we stopped to see several Columbaria, (or tombs,) and among them the Columbarium of the slaves of Augustus. They consist of square vaults under ground, with rows of niches for urns, one above another. The bones of the deceased were placed in the urns, and inscriptions on the outside of the niche, showing the name, age, and death of each person. The tomb of the Scipios is the most ancient and interesting of all the tombs yet discovered; it is marked by a solitary cypress tree, and consists of a number of subterranean chambers, brought to light after having been undisturbed for more than twenty centuries. Several curious sarcophagi and numerous inscriptions of a very old date were excavated out of these chambers. Driving a little further, we passed the circus of Romulus, where the course of the chariots, the stations of the judges, competitors, and spectators, are yet as plainly to be seen as in old time; passed the tomb of Cecilia Metella, and entered the church of San Sebastiano, under which is the entrance to the catacombs, so celebrated as the place of burial, and also of the assemblage for the meetings of the early Christians. These passages have been explored for ninety miles, and form a chain of labyrinths sixty miles in circumference. We walked through various chambers, accompanied by a priest with wax candles, and found them to be nothing more than excavations out of the earth, and in appearance similar to our small caves. In one of the chapels of this church, the priest exhibited a stone in a glass case, upon which there is an impression of two foot-prints, said to be those of Christ when he visited St. Peter in Rome, who said to him, “Domini quo vades."

Tired of looking at broken aqueducts, broken temples, and broken tombs, we returned to the city over an excellent road, called the Nova Appia, and entered the Porta San Giovanni, situated near the church of St. John Lateran and the Scala Santa, in which are the marble steps upon which Christ descended when he was sentenced by Pontius Pilate. This holy staircase is composed of twenty-eight steps, said to have belonged to Pontius Pilate's house, and to be the identical stairs on which our Saviour trod. Pilgrims ascend it only on their knees. It is quite steep, and at the summit is a small chapel, said to be full of relics, into which the people peep through

iron bars, and then descend by one of two side staircases, which are not sacred, and may be walked on. Fifty to one hundred pilgrims, male and female, old and young, high and low, may be seen at any time ascending this staircase on their knees. I never, in my life, saw any thing else so ridiculous and absurd as this sight-ridiculous in the many incidents connected with it, and absurd in its senseless and unmeaning degradation. There are two steps to begin with, and then a wide landing. Those who are most zealous begin at the beginning and go up to the top very slowly, resting on each step to repeat a prayer and kiss a cross cut in the wooden planks that cover the marble. This covering has been renewed three or four times, having been worn out by the knees of the pilgrims. We saw two American gentlemen go up, merely for the sake of saying that they had performed the feat. They got on charmingly, as if they were doing a match against time, and were up and down before some of the ladies had accomplished their half dozen stairs. Most of the penitents came down looking as if they had been regenerated, and had accomplished some substantial deed, which it would require a great deal of sin to counterbalance.

The excursions in the vicinity of Rome are charming, and full of interest to the stranger, independent of the many changing views they afford of the broad Campagna. Hadrian's Villa, which was in early times so rich in every thing calculated to adorn a countryseat, still possesses an interest even in its ruined walls. Tivoli, where the river Arno is diverted from its natural course, and made to plunge headlong more than one hundred feet in the yawning caverns below, is also worthy of a visit. There, too, is the Villa d'Este, deserted and rapidly decaying, among groves of melancholy pines and cypress trees, where it seems to lie in state. Then, there

Frascati, and on the hill above, the remains of Tusculum, where Cato was born, and where Cicero lived and wrote and beautified his favorite home.

1

LETTER THIRTY-FIVE.

NAPLES, Italy.

Journey from Rome to Naples The Pontine Marshes-The Town of Fondi--A Night at Capua-Arrival at Naples-The Hotels-Lazzaroni-The Bay and General Appearance of Naples.

"This region, surely, is not of the earth:

Was it not dropt from Heaven? Not a grove,
Citron, or pine or cedar, not a grot

Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine,
But breathes enchantment."

No people in the world are so much attached to each other, or evince in foreign lands so much clannishness, as the citizens of the several States of the American Union. The Englishman, the Frenchman, the German, and most travellers in this part of the world, go from one end of the continent to the other without forming a valuable acquaintance, and apparently caring very little for their own countrymen whom they meet en route. With the Americans, it is totally different; they generally travel in parties, always make inquiries at the hotels about their countrymen, and are pretty well posted relative to each other's movements. To illustrate this fact, I will merely mention that our party consisted of four while in northern Italy, and that we set out from Rome with our number increased to twelve, which I confess was rather too large for agreeability. We drove down the Corso after an early breakfast, gazed on the Capitol, Forum, and Coliseum, probably for the last time, and took leave of the “city of the soul" through the lofty Porta San Giovanni, from which begins the Via Appia Nova. All the forenoon was occupied in making our way to Albano, situated on a high hill, at the southern extremity of the broad Campagna. Here we stopped at a hotel that was a few years since occupied by some family, who abandoned it on account of the political troubles of the country. It is a magnificent building, commanding a view of Pompey's Villa, the sea, and the city of Rome. After dinner we proceeded as far as Cisterna, the place near which the "tres taberna" mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles were situated. Here the early Christians repaired to meet St. Paul on his way to Rome. I do not know

what it was then, but this whole region is any thing but inviting at present. The habitations of the peasantry along the roadside are made in the rudest manner, being nothing more than a few poles placed on end and covered with straw, giving them the appearance of hay stacks. Having no floors, they build their fires in the cen-. tre, and the smoke escapes through the door, which is the only aperture. In one place, we saw an entire village laid out regularly and built up with these hay-stack habitations. The people living here are mostly shepherds, who spend their lives with their flocks and dogs, secluded from the world, and perfectly content if they make enough to keep soul and body together. Soon after leaving Cisterna, we entered the Pontine Marshes, which, in ancient times, contained the site of twenty-three of the most flourishing cities in Italy. An excellent road is made across them, shaded by a long, long avenue of elm trees. The marshes are twenty-four miles in length, and from six to fifty-two in breadth, covering some of the best lands in Italy, which might be easily reclaimed, if they were in the hands of an energetic people. At Terracina our cocher bribed the officers of the doganna, (which is a regular business,) and we passed into the Neapolitan dominion without the vexation of having our baggage overhauled-which, together with passports, is so annoying as to almost make one swear to leave the country. Passing the second night at Mola, situated on the sea in sight of Gaeta, where Pope Pius IX. found refuge during the troubles of 1848, we proceeded to the city of Capua, passing through the ancient town of Fondi, so celebrated in robber stories. I made a note of this place, because the people whom we saw in the streets presented many peculiarities of feature, dress and manner, differing entirely from any we have heretofore seen. One main street, or channel of mud and refuse, divides the town, in the centre of which is a square and churches, into which the beggars were pouring from all quarters. We stopped in the square to change horses, and in a few minutes our carriage was surrounded by a wretched set of hollow-cheeked and scowling beggars, who demanded charity in a tone of voice indicating utter despair and recklessness. The men were habited in frowsy brown cloaks, thrown over their shoulders after the manner of the Spaniards, with conical-shaped hats, and countenances fierce and haggard, reminding me strongly of the sieges and pillages enacted here in

early times by Barbarossa and his companions. The women occupied the windows, encouraging by signs and words the group of miserable, naked children that surrounded us, to persist in their importunities for charity. Poor, ignorant, and degraded people! they know nothing of the comforts of life, the beauties of religion, or the duties of man.

Surrounded by this motley concourse, we moved on, expecting to reach Naples the same evening, but were disappointed; our horses gave out, and we were compelled to pass the night at Capua; and a miserable night it was. The town is occupied by the king's soldiers, and the hotels all appropriated, compelling us to seek lodging elsewhere. As a dernier ressort, we quartered ourselves in a large room, in a house belonging to a widow lady, which was also occupied by soldiers. A large brasier, filled with live coals, was placed in the centre of the room by the good lady's daughter, who retired in a most gracious manner, wishing us a comfortable rest; while we felt well assured that we would have no rest at all. I do wish you could have seen us, sitting cozily around that brasier, discussing the inclemency of the weather, our eternal horror of all vetturini and Italians generally, the great annoyance occasioned by the nocturnal visits of fleas and other vermin, the filthiness of Capua, and the rowdyism of the military. Having disposed of our spleen, we retired for the night-five of us in four beds, and our servants in the carriage. The following morning we sipped coffee in a miserable caffee, and left for Naples on the railroad, fully satisfied that Capua was not so seductive to a traveller now as the soldiers of Prætorian Rome were wont to find the ancient city of that name.

We reached Naples at an auspicious time; there was a storm at sea, and the whole bay was in commotion-dashing the waves over the quays, flooding the streets with water, and driving vessels furiously from their anchorage. It was a glorious sight; and hereafter, when I think of Naples, it will be in connection with that storm. The rain descended in torrents, and we reached our hotel, situated on the bay, some distance from the railroad station, perfectly drenched, and fully satisfied with the labors of the day.

The hotels in Naples are nearly all situated on the quays, and we were so fortunate as to secure rooms commanding a beautiful view of the bay, the islands of Capri and Ischia, Mount Vesuvius, the