was foreman-mason on a new building erecting in the neighborhood, and after finishing the macaroni I accepted his invitation to go to the building and look at his men working. It was interesting. Instead of having a ton of brick or stones shot up at once on a steam-elevator as an American would do, the stones were brought up block by block on the backs of little boys. When one block of stone is laid, the mason whistles, or meditates, or looks at the scenery while the boy is gone for another block.

In Italian cities the higher up the room the higher the rent; for the streets are very narrow, and only the upper floors receive sunlight. My friend the foreman, who asked me to stop with him, had a large family, and he mentioned that fact by way of apology as he stopped before an open door in one of the narrow, crooked streets, and showed me that his room was on the ground-floor. With his large family he was not able to rent a room higher up.

In the centre of the room was a pan of smoking embers; near by sat a little girl knitting, and with her feet rocking a cradle. A dog in one corner was suckling a kid-the poor thing is not allowed to have its mother's milk, that being reserved for the family or sold in the market. A piece of salt pork was hanging from one of the rafters, and as we entered, the foreman's wife was on the point of cutting a slice to fry with the artichokes-a dish much relished by those who can afford it.

"Il signore è un Americano," said the husband, smiling, and pointing to me, as if showing off a dime museum curiosity; "he comes from his country to find out what we have and how we live. He stays with us to-night."

The wife bustled up to me with a "ben venuto [welcome], signore," the children crowded around to stare, and another slice of bacon was cut and two extra artichokes put in the pan. The foreman went out and returned with a bottle of wine, the little girl bought two pounds of macaroni with half a franc that I gave her, and in about an hour the family with their

guest sat down to as jolly a repast as could be found in all Italy.

The Italian laborer usually retires early, but in honor of the visit of a "real live American" late hours were kept, the time being spent in discussing the customs of the country.

What most strikes a stranger is the crowded condition of the masses. A whole family, consisting of parents and sometimes five to ten children, live in one room—a room stone paved, damp, and, even if looking on a street, surrounded by such high walls that the sunlight scarcely ever enters its portals. During the day, the beds that at night, perhaps, cover every inch of the floor, are rolled up and piled in one corner, leaving the bedroom to serve as a workshop for the father and the family.

A marvellous degree of economy is practised even in the smallest details. Coffee-grounds from the wealthy man's kitchen are dried and resold to the poor. In a similar way oil is twice and sometimes three times used, the drippings after each successive frying being gathered from the pan and sold to the poor. Old shoes, hats, clothes, candle - ends, dried coffeegrounds, "second-hand" oil, and a hundred other articles are spread out upon the broad stones of the Piazza, or square of a town, and it is here to a great extent that the Italian workman procures his supplies. A laborer's suit, consisting of breeches, jacket, vest, shirt, socks, necktie, and slioes, costs anywhere from $4.45 up. His food is as simple as his clothing and his habitation. In the morning a great loaf of black bread is passed around; each member of the family gouges out a piece of the inside, until finally only the hard crust is left. At noon this crust is eaten, softened by a little wine. A plate of macaroni costing two or three cents finishes the bill of fare. At night more macaroni, then the beds or pallets are spread and the family goes to sleep, to get up and go through the same routine on the morrow.

The rent of one of these rooms is from ten to twelve dollars per year; the cost of the macaroni, wine, and bread is about ten cents per day for each person; but even at this cheap rate of

living the workman who has a family often finds it difficult to make both ends meet. A skilled bricklayer averages only two lire and a half (fifty cents) a day.

All this and much more my host told me, and then unrolling a straw mattress on the floor, we said good-night and retired. The next morning, as we had all slept in one room together, so we jumped into our clothes together. The foreman's wife and eldest daughter, a comely lass of thirteen or fourteen, did not have much toilet to make, simply slipping their light-colored gowns over their heads and lacing the corset they wear around the waist, on the outside of the dress; this little they did without minding in the slightest the presence of a masculine stranger.

Nothing is so apt to confirm our belief in republican institutions as a view, first of the palaces, then of the hovels, of Italy. The king's palace in Naples is magnificent; its art collections and decorations and furnishings are the finest that human ingenuity and skill can provide; but as I walked through its gilded saloons and softly carpeted galleries, I could not help thinking of the hovel of my friend the foreman. What privations and squalor do the masses endure that kings and nobles may revel in ease and luxury.

CHAPTER III.

A NIGHT ON VESUVIUS, A NIGHT IN POMPEII, AND A NIGHT IN JAIL.

THE Bay of Naples forms a crescent. Naples is at one horn, at the other, nine miles to the south, is Mount Vesuvius. The ascent of the mountain is very easy if one have a pocketful of money. For five dollars a carriage takes the traveller to the inclined railway-station, seven miles from Naples; for another five dollars the railroad takes him to the summit of the old cone; he is then passed on to guides and "strap-bearers" and "chair-carriers" and "stick-renters," and so forth, and so on, who carry him to the crater without the slightest personal inconvenience. The stick-renter charges for the use of his stick, the strap-bearer for his strap, the chair-carrier for his muscle and chair, and altogether, one hundred and sixty lire. will hardly more than cover the trip. With such figures how is a poor man to ascend Vesuvius?

The problem was a difficult one, but I attempted its solution. Relieving my knapsack early one morning of its few changes of underclothing, its one or two books, and the pads of writing-paper that constitute a pedestrian's outfit, I substituted a bottle of wine, several pones of bread, some cheese and figs, and accompanied by a chance travelling companion picked up in Naples, set out on foot for the famous volcano.

For six miles the way lies along the bay, on easy, level ground; then a gradual ascent begins, and after another six miles the tourist finds himself at the foot of the cone, three thousand feet above his starting-point. After the village of Resina is passed, all vegetation is left behind, and the tramp is through a vast field of lava, the picture of barrenness and desolation no verdure, no fertility, not even a twig, only lava

and ashes, a forerunner of the cone which still remains to be scaled, a steep mountain of soft ashes.

It rises at an angle of thirty degrees-it seems ninety. The ashes, soft and penetrating, permeate the clothing, get down the boot-legs, are blown in the face, ears, and eyes. Hour after hour I toiled up that steep ascent, sinking to my knees in the loose ashes, taking two steps up and sliding down one, until I began to think that our task of climbing Vesuvius greater than Hercules's twelve labors combined. When about half the way up we entered a rain-storm, and for the rest of the journey were enveloped in mist and cloud. By the time we had achieved the summit night had set in, and the rain had given place to snow. I was cold and miserable. After all this effort and fatigue was there to be no view? no glimpse at the crater? I determined to investigate the possibility of getting quarters for the night with the nan who stays in the little shanty built at the base of the crater, attending the upper end of the railroad.

"Do you sleep here?" I inquired.

"Yes," answered the man, after a pause; "but why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, only I was thinking it must be rather lonely. I will stay with you to-night, though, if you like. I am in no hurry to return to town before to-morrow."

A younger bird might have been caught by such chaff. This Italian, however, had been too long in the business.

"Young fellow," he said, "if you want to stay up here you can, but not until you have paid me ten lire."

Ten lire-two dollars! I saw at once that he mistook me for a duke, and to undeceive him I offered “ una mezza lira " ten cents for his accommodations. There was considerable haggling; I was compelled to raise on my ten cent offer, but the Italian came down from his two dollar demand, and at last we struck a compromise on one lira-twenty cents. Immediately on striking this bargain I spread on the floor the quilt which my host gave me, and after leaving directions to be