Yes, * Vive l'Amerique !’ I’m sure, if I was any¬ 
body else, I should call the Stars and Stripes 
the prettiest flag that sails the seas; and if I 
shout, it only proves that my soul isn’t so dead 
as was his who never said, * This is my own, my 
native land!’ etc.” 
The Mistral, 
which is a “Nor’-eastor” that dissects peoplo 
anatomically, and whirls them around like 
leaves in an autumn wind, was in full glee when 
we sailed out of the harbor for Naples. The 
ship was en route tor Constantinople, and wo 
ing days have been infiltrated into my life like 
golden tlireads in an oriental fabric. It Is to 
see Naples, and then be willing to die. r had 
not “counted” on Naples. To lie sure, there 
was the Bay and Mount Vesuvius and Hercula¬ 
neum and Pompeii; and Virgil, lived hero and 
wrote the -Kneid, anti the aid Greeks and Ho¬ 
mans held high carnival on this enchanted spot. 
"But it Is heaven begun below," and (hat, 
too, in spite of fearful odds. There are no hand¬ 
some buildings, oxcept. for princes; no hand¬ 
some streets; the Neapolitans are exceedingly 
take the trouble to report them. And there 
aro such quantities of poor! but everybody 
seems to be happy. The habits of the poor peo¬ 
ple aro so simple, that they live on a few sous 
per day. If they can clothe their children, well 
and good ; ir not,they «<> about half naked,and 
seem to enjoy it. Nature and humanity moot, 
and have no fear of each Other. The fisherman’s 
boat serves for Ills house. Ilia family sleep in 
it at night and in the morning he dumps them 
out on shoro; they can wash themselves in the 
sea-which I hoy probably never do—and dry 
OUR EUROPEAN LETTER 
Naples, April 15,1873. 
The Journey from Paris to Marseilles 
Is most fatiguing. In some respects, the sys¬ 
tem of railways in Europe is equal to our own. 
There are cars or compartments exclusively for 
aw*ssawStt 
LACE FICHU EEOJSrT 
women traveling alone, and into one of these 
Jankttb and myself took refuge the bright 
morning wo rode out of Paris, so fresh and 
bright in its springtime newness. 
“If you will slip two or throo francs Into the 
hands of the Conductor," said one of our friends 
at the station, “ he will allow you to rotalu it 
all to yourselves." That system of bribery is 
largely Indulged in. even by I ho most honest of 
people, as no one is specially defrauded of 
lights, and the bribe-giving travelers are made 
much more comfortable. So wo rode through 
to Lyons undisturbed — a long twelve hours’ 
journey, as monotonous as over a Western prai¬ 
rie. True. France is everywhere beautiful, but 
everywhere are (lie same rows of trees, the 
earth cultivated in strips, the hills terraced In 
the same precise manner, and the rivers hrlfloe.l 
"V iE W- (Eatce 303.) 
. were the only Americans. There was a large 
party of Greeks on board, some as voyagers and 
others as friends to see them “off.” When 
they said “good-bye," the rnon ali kissed each 
other like a lot of women, putting their arms 
around each others’ necks in truo feminine 
fashion. And why not? 
A young Turkish gentleman on board fur¬ 
nished much amusement by his odd ways and 
brusque way or talking. To steady himself on 
deck—and the ship rocked like a cradle—he 
walked like an animated letter A; and in con¬ 
versation questioned all statements made by 
others. He spoke French like a Parisian, but 
his manners were those of a Turk. There Is 
one thing as true as it Is strange—it ia that cul¬ 
tivated people ure alike the world over, let the 
nationality be what it may. They all havo the 
same hopes, the same desires, the same tastes, 
the same sense of honor. It proves. Indeed, 
that of one blood Goo made all the nations of 
the earth. 
We had been ten minutes from land when 
Janette succumbed to sea sickness, and until 
the ship anchored (forty-two hours later) In the 
Bay of Naples, she never left her couchette. As 
usual, f escaped absolute sickness ; but a Greek 
baby, named Sappho, who cried both nights in 
an adjoining stateroom, together with a plung¬ 
ing ship, kept all sleep from my eyes. But the 
crowning disaster was the rain, which Tell all 
the morning as we sailed into the wondrous 
Bay of Naples. All those mystical, mythical, 
classical islets were draped In rain fringes. 
There was no blue sky and no delicious sunnl- 
neas In the air. We descended a pair of stairs 
at the ship’s side, and wore tumbled, trunks 
and all, into a small boat—only Janette and I 
—and two villainous fellows to row us to shore. 
They jabbered their Neapolitan patots , which 
we did not understand, and after a half hours' 
rowing delivered us up to the Custom-house 
officials, who searched our baggage for tobacco 
and cigars. We reached our hotel at last, and 
with the rain on the roof and scent of orange 
flowers iu the air, we slept the remainder of 
that rainy day away, and awoke next morning 
as if from a dream, with the sun pouring in at 
the windows—and it was 
Italy ! 
That was nearly a week ago, and the interyeu- 
E-A.CE FICHU E-A-OK 
Ugly; tlm streets aro full of filthy, dirty, miser- 
aide wretches; (lens crawl over you by the 
dozen; smells of the most indescribable char¬ 
acter accost your olfactories whonover you 
chance to come to the end of a drain, which is 
too often and yet it is the most bewitching, 
fascinating, charming, entrancing city 1 know 
anything about. I have fairly cried from ex¬ 
cess or happiness, and if I die here, don’t say It 
was from the “ fever,” but of joy. We can sit 
under orange trees and eat oranges, or under 
palms and slug psalms. I can buy a boquet oT 
(lowers as large as my bead for five or ten cents. 
I can ride in a gaily-painted barouche, drawn 
by a fleet pony, bearing a harness that covers 
him and gilds him like a golden armor, for 
twenty-five cents an hour. And then the sights 1 
The children make mud pics all day long un¬ 
disturbed. There are queer old streets all stairs, 
where the ragged, dark-eyed Italians go up and 
down all day, selling oranges and radishes. 
The women coiub their hair in the front door 
and dry their clothes from the front windows. 
The rich and the poor meet together. Oxen are 
yoked with mules to a cart. Half-naked boys. 
themselves In the sun. They cun breakfast on 
fish and make their dinner on raw cubbage or 
salad, as many actually do. The pity, with Its 
matchless environs, is like an oriental poem 
that, I should eternally enjoy to hear read. 
When I tire of all the world, ( shall pray to 
Come to Naples. 
We look upon Vesuvius from the window, 
and Janette trembles. The old mountain 
smokes, and everybody is fearing an eruption. 
The other night the heavens were darkened, 
and Janette talked about packing her trunks 
for Rome. Then, after dark, the rain began to 
fall, and she opened I he window, believing it 
was lava being rained down. If It only had been! 
If an eruption only would take place i If one 
could only be had to order, how soon I would 
order one! 1 suppose the poor people of Sail 
Sebastian the little village that Vesuvius de¬ 
stroyed last year—hardly enjoyed having their 
domestic rights so tyrannically usurped. Naples 
may one day experience the rate of Pompeii: 
but fur the sake of living here, 1 think I would 
risk ft. 
But Naples needs a BmtGti. The fleet little 
Neapolitan horses only live about eight years, 
for their owners beat them iiTimercIfullv and 
half feed them. In riding toward Baio tiio 
other day, unr driver constantly cracked his 
whip and whipped the poor pony until I was 
enraged, and pulled his coat tail to make him 
stop- But ho only laughed at my reproof, for I 
could only ioo/c my indignation, not knowing 
his language. Janette was afraid I would 
make him angry, and then he would Mow a 
whistle and bandits would Issue forth from 
some of those ravishing hill-sides and rob ns. 
But bandits or no bandits, I was armed, like 
Sai.lv Brass, with an umbrella, and the next 
time he uselessly struck the horse, I gave him 
a whack with my umbrella. He looked back In 
astonlslimeui.siiwan American Vesuvius In my 
face, and ceased thereafter his brutalii v. 
Then, how do you think they prepare the 
young goats for meat? Tic tl.cir four legs to¬ 
gether, hung them up alive, and when Hie blood 
lias run down in their beads and they have suf¬ 
fered a thousand hangings, they arc killed. 
That is true; for 1 accidentally saw the begin¬ 
ning of t.l|© process and nearly fainted-and I 
never quite fainted In all my life. But that 
isn’t Uke Naples—it shall have no place In the 
l’oooi. 
It is nine o’clock in the morning. The skv is 
as blue and clear as was my sister’s eyes ; the 
air is as full of sunshine as was her smile. She 
is in Heaven, and I, too. Three hours hence 
aud I shall be in Pompeii. 
Mary A. E. Wager. 
