splinters for fuel, and use them with such close economy as astonishes an American. There is no coal nor large wood; the fire-places in some of the houses, however, are immensely large, as if expected to accommodate the huge back-logs of western America. The hearths are raised two feet above the floor. On each side is a bench where, when not at work, the peasant sits and smokes. I saw a woman one cold day fill a small bucket with hot ashes and put it under her stool to keep herself warm; it made me think of Sellers and his candle in the stove. The item of lodging for a poor man is small-four cents if you are willing to room with others, and only fifteen cents. where you have a bed and curtained room all to yourself. Let us see what his food costs. For three cents, a pound of excellent black bread may be obtained; a large bowl of milk costs two cents; macaroni costs two or three cents a plate; figs four cents a pound; so-called wine, the last squeezings of the grape, not intoxicating, little more than sour water, costs eight to twelve cents a quart. My daily expenditures for food in Naples averaged seventeen cents, divided about thus: Bread, one pound Macaroni.... Half pound of figs.. Finocchio, a kind of coarse celery, wholesome and good. Wine... Milk Lodging. Total cost of food per day.. Total daily cost of living in Naples... 21 cents. This diet was varied occasionally by an egg omelette cooked with oil (this in place of macaroni), or by artichokes, pomegranates, chestnuts, etc. The total cost, however, remained the same. This bill of fare will probably recommend itself to very few, yet it is better than that of the average Italian mechanic; and, for my own part, I must add that I found it both palatable and wholesome. My health improved; my weight increased. A daily walk of twenty or twenty-five miles gives one such an appetite, everything tastes good, and proves good for the human system. In Naples there are no dairies, no milkman to waken you at 6 A.M. with a big bell, and sell you a quart of milk-and-water for nine cents. Instead, men walk from street to street leading cows by strings, and when a customer comes the cow-man stops and milks the desired quantity. I purchased a small tin bucket, and every morning and evening took a short stroll until I saw a man with a cow, from whom I got a quart of milk, and on this, with bread and figs, made an economical and nutritious meal. One would imagine this method would absolutely preclude surreptitious watering of the milk. I thought so, but soon found my mistake. I noticed the milk I drank was peculiarly thin, yet, as I had stood by while it was milked I was at a loss to understand the cause. Could it be that the cows drank too much water? One day the mystery was explained. It happened that when I came across my cow-man he was milking for an Italian. I was surprised when I saw the Italian suddenly step up and squeeze the cow-man's arm, and still more surprised when, as a result thereof, I saw a stream of water spurt from the cowman's sleeve. I mentioned this incident to the American consul, who told me it was a very common trick. Cow-men keep a bag of water under their coats, letting it down into the milk through a rubber tube concealed in the sleeve. When detected, a shrug of the shoulders, a "Santa Maria, what difference?" is the cool reply; when not detected, the Neapolitan cow-man silently laughs as he squirts water through his sleeve and sells. it to you at six cents a quart. CHAPTER VI. A GALLERY OF SKULLS AND BONES.-IL SANTO BAMBINO.-A NEW ENGLAND LADY IN ST. PETER'S. APPEARANCES in Rome are often deceptive. The most costly galleries and magnificent palaces may on the outside look like dilapidated rookeries. Treasures of curiosities are concealed in the same way. One day when strolling down a very narrow and crooked street, I happened to glance through the iron grating of a window of a house which looked like the rest of the houses in Rome-solid, and a thousand years old. There was nothing extraordinary about the window; there was, though, something very extraordinary about what I saw through the window. I saw a ghastly array of grinning skeletons, some propped up on sticks, others reclining on couches, others in a kneeling posture, a rosary and a prayer-book clutched in their fleshless fingers. That dingy-looking house so like its neighbors, right in the heart of Rome, passed daily by dozens of unsuspecting tourists —that house is the home of the Capuchin order of monks. My knock at the door was answered by one of the monks, a grayheaded man clad in coarse sack and cowl, with beads and rope -in fact, he was a walking St. Jacob; that is, if the St. Jacob's Oil Company have not been giving the American public spurious likenesses of their pious patron. This St. Jacob very willingly showed me through the establishment, and seemed to take a delight in tapping the skulls of deceased saints. "This," he said, picking up a skull still covered with skin, and with the ears attached-"this was Fra Guillaume of Modena, the city I came from. I knew him when he was a boy. He has been here sixteen years." "Where? In the monastery or on this shelf?" 66 Oh, on the shelf. He has been in the monastery thirty years. This niche was the one intended for my head," he continued, pointing to a place adjoining the shelf where reposed the skull of Fra Guillaume of Modena. "I liked the place because it is near my friend; but we must submit to the will of the Lord." "Why, what is the matter? If you wish, what is to prevent your skull from decorating the niche, and keeping company with your friend?" 66 Ah, the government," with a profound sigh. "Since 1872 we are forbidden to place any more skeletons in our vaults, and when we die now we are taken to the cemeteries. Poor Guillaume, he will miss me," picking up the skull and fondling it, "he will miss me. It was all arranged, and he expected me to fill the niche next to him." This gallery of skulls and skeletons has been in progress of formation upward of one hundred and fifty years. In one niche, standing upright, clothed in cowl and gown just as in life, is the skeleton of "Fra Benedetto da Riete, morto 21 Febrairo, 1728" (Brother Benedetto, of Ricte, died 21 February, 1728). The same cross and string of beads which he used one hundred and fifty-seven years ago are in his hands now, and his fingers are in the act of telling those beads just as they told them in the days when America was a small British province, half a century before Washington and Napoleon were born. Gazing at Brother Benedetto, one thinks of the changes that have taken place since he was first stood up there in that nook of the Capuchin monastery. The world has moved since that time. How much more must it move before men will cease repining because they are not permitted to ornament the walls of their rooms with human bones and skulls! This skeleton gallery is eighty or one hundred feet long. The ceiling is lined with finger-bones; from the centre of the vaulted arches depend flower- baskets, scales and weights, scythes, lyres, hour-glasses, all made out of the different bones of the human skeleton. Pinned on a skull are a couple of verses in Italian. The first verse, in English, runs about thus: "This form, bereft of every grace, Which thou beholdest with wondering eye, As thou art now, oh, passer-by." The monk who conducted me around said their object was to make familiar the idea of death, so that when the final hour comes the grim monster may be greeted with equanimity. If all the monks are like the old fellow I saw, the gallery of skulls is a success-a large success. Not even a grave-digger could appear less concerned at the thought of departing this world than the gray-haired friend of Guillaume of Modena. When on a second visit to Rome during the following winter, I went again to the Capuchin monastery. It chanced to be All Souls' Day, and the gallery of dead men's bones was illuminated with hundreds of candles and lamps. Guillaume of Modena had not been forgotten. When I looked for his skull I found it lighted up by two tapers, which were spluttering and dripping wax down into the eye-holes and ears. Returning from a trip to the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, I had scarcely entered the Appian gate when I espied a church where I thought it would be well to stop and rest before walking. into the city. Externally it was a dingy, poor-looking edifice, but internally it was more interesting than St. Peter's. On entering the door I beheld a crowd of men, women, and children climbing up a steep staircase on their hands and knees. They kissed every step with resounding smacks, and accompanied this osculatory process with what were intended for pious ejaculations, but what seemed to me like grunts arising from indigestion. This staircase, the "Scala Santa," was brought from Jerusalem in 326 by the mother of Constantine. It is supposed Christ ascended it once, so those Catholics weighted down by unusually heavy sins, crawl up these steps and drop money in |