I tried to find out where Lady Hamilton and Sir William lived in the Nelson time. Her letters in that most curious book by J. C. Jeaffreson,' Lady Hamilton and Lord Nelson,' were generally written from what Mr. Jeaffreson calls 'her villa in Caserta.' The few people I was able to ask seemed never to have heard of the Hamiltons, or even of Nelson. But I saw no educated Italians.They would doubtless know all about it, for I fear hate lives longer than anything, and they will perhaps never forgive the terrible story which is recalled with great historical precision in the introduction to 'The Autobiography of Giuseppe Garibaldi,' finished by his friend Jesse White Mario. This book ranks to-day as almost an old one, having been published in 1899. It gives the Italian version of what I suppose is now universally recognised as Nelson's great crime, in helping the King and Queen of Naples to forsake their country, and despoiling it of its treasure and jewels, at the time of the French invasion in 1799. No anecdote in history sticks so much to its locality as that of the murder of the noble Admiral Caracciolo, who, when condemned on board the British flag-ship for not obeying the orders of his disloyal King, was hanged at his own yard-arm, having been refused the only favour he asked after his trial, which was to be shot. No one can look at the Bay of Naples without remembering how the Italian admiral's body, in spite of its heavily shotted shroud, rose to the surface and floated under the windows of the King's cabin on board the English admiral's flag-ship. Not content with this, we must never forget that the English banner waved over Naples in those terrible times when the early martyrs of Italian liberty and thirty thousand prisoners suffered inhuman cruelties, which Mario says 'defy description and surpass belief.'

The day we went to Pompeii was perversely unfavourable - grey, thick, and very warm. We thought we should be superior and do things in old-fashioned style by driving there instead of going by rail. This almost anyone could have told us was a great mistake. The rail is infinitely the better, though in fine weather I should think it would be possible to go by water - for those who like it. We drove through miles and miles of continuous slums, broken here and there by a handsome old villa.All picturesqueness of costume has disappeared - no lazzaronis, no red caps, no eating of macaroni in the streets. The street often runs close to the sea, but the double row of houses hides everything. Murray says the drive is interesting if you have time to visit the towns at the foot of Vesuvius; but we had not, and we slightly resented his not having warned us against the badness of the road and the dreariness of the drive, though he does say that those who are pressed for time had better go by rail. In this I entirely agree. All along the drive I kept thinking of Dr. Axel Munthe's wonderful 'Letters from a Mourning City,' written at the time of the cholera epidemic in 1884. I have often heard Naples described as the hot-bed of every vice. But in making that no doubt true accusation, how few remember the sanitary condition of the place, which is worse and more crowded than in any other city of Europe ! Munthe gives the following description of the hygiene of Naples in 1885, and it is a great consolation to be told, as I was, that with the sacrifice of much of the picturesque, there is also a great improvement now in the sanitary housing of the poor. Munthe says : 'The laws of hygiene teach us how close a connection exists between the sanitary conditions of a locality and the density of its population. The history of the Neapolitan epidemic furnishes us with an example of this law concerning density of population. Upon a surface of eight square kilometres (amount of surface that has been built over), there dwell no less than 461,962 human beings. And according to the official statistics no less than 128,804 of these people inhabit underground dwellings and cellars. But there is something worse than these bassi and sotto terrain; another step down the shelving ladder of society and we come to a still more wretched form of habitation - to the fondaci. You have often heard me speak of these places as the scenes of the most appalling misery out here. There are eighty-six fondaci in Naples at the present moment; formerly they were still more numerous, but more modern constructions have done away with a good many. ... A third sort of dwelling place consists of the so-called locande, where lodgers are received for the night at two and three soldi a head. I have even seen locandi where they are received for one soldi a head, but there the people sit and lean their arms and heads against a rope that is stretched across the room from one wall to another, not a bad idea for accommodating a crowd.' Dr. Munthe refers in such kindly words to the superstition which means so much to Italians and is often only an irritation to northern minds, that I must make one other quotation:-

And those who sneered at their superstitions and forbad their processions, what had they to offer them in exchange for their obscure but rock-like faith? Ah yes, sanitary rules, veritable sarcasms on their poverty, printed advertisements, which most of them were unable to read and none of them were able to understand, recommending them to live in airy rooms, to avoid vegetables, and take to meat, to disinfect constantly, either with carbolic acid or with "corrosive sublimate," the most effective microbe antidote according to Dr. Koch. . . . And what has the obtuse brain of a lazzarone to do with Koch and microbes? - he whose thoughts have never crossed the bay beyond which the whole of the remaining world is "Barbaria" to him; he who knows a host of Saints' days, a few prayers that he has been taught as a child, the names of a dozen fish he has seen jumping in the nets at Mergellina ; he who can play at morra and sing Santa Lucia, and that is about all! How is he to manage to "air the room" - he who lives with ten or twelve others in one of those fondaci, into which the light of day has never been known to penetrate, where one of us is unable to remain for more than a moment without going out to take a breath of fresh air ? And he is, forsooth, to choose his food; he whose expenses at the best of times never exceed one or two soldi a day; he who never in his life has had the chance of tasting meat, and whom you may perhaps see standing in front of the baker's shop, watching with the expression of a hungry animal in his eyes the piece of bread which you have just given your dog, and then fighting over the remaining crumbs with a crowd of others such as himself.