CHAPTER XX.

MOUNT VESUVIUS.

I LEFT Naples at half-past six in the morning, by the first train for Resina, in order from that place to make the ascent of Vesuvius. The railroad runs along the shore of the bay, in and out among the long line of white houses that fringe it as far as Castellamare. In half an hour I was at Portici, the nearest station to Resina, which is only one mile from it. I descended amongst the usual crowd and the din which invariably arises when more than one Neapolitan is present, like the tumult of a village school after the master has fallen asleep. I was at once set upon by the vagabonds who always lie in wait at this place for tourists proposing to ascend the mountain. As it was unusually early, I found myself the only one of that fraternity present, and therefore had to bear the onset alone. With a great many "vias" and much gesticulation and many distinct intimations that I did not. consider them a pleasant feature in the landscape, and liked not the idea of meeting any of them on the top of the volcano, I at length shook off all but one, who clung to me with pertinacity. With him following, therefore, I walked towards the village.

As Pilone and his merciless banditti were said to be in the vicinity, and occasionally committing outrages on travellers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands, I did not think it exactly safe to venture any farther without a guide. One Gozzolino had been recommended to me as an excellent man in this capacity, and of the strictest integrity. Therefore I decided to apply to him. In order to do this, I stopped the first respectable-looking man I met, politely raised my hat, and asked him to show me the residence of this virtuous pioneer, this Kit Carson of Mount Vesuvius. To my surprise, he said he was Gozzolino himself; but I was astounded when my rear-guard stepped forward and said, with confidence, that he too was the original Gozzolino. I went on, they following, and each, with much volubility, presenting his claims for the privilege of introducing" il nobilissimo signore" to the volcano. I thought to decide this question of mistaken identity by asking another dignified-looking person who approached which was the genuine Gozzolino. He replied, "I am Gozzolino." "Ah," thought I to myself, "what a wealth of virtuous and brave Gozzolini this place possesses! What a paradise Resina must be! The cardinal virtues must blossom on every tree."

By this time the object of my expedition was pretty well noised abroad, and I was surrounded by what seemed to me the larger part of the population. All were chattering and gesticulating with great vivacity, every man, woman, and child

claiming that he or she was the genuine Gozzolino, inherited all the virtues of the age of gold, would not impose upon a traveller for worlds, and would like to see me safely up the mountain. I soon began to suspect that perhaps from motives of personal interest some of these good people might have changed their names, with no authority but their own sweet wills. As I farther advanced into the heart of the village I was convinced of the probability of this by seeing a sign on which was the great name of the patriarch of all the Gozzolini, with an intimation, in very good English, that he was the only person in the universe fit to show anybody the way to il monte. I went towards it, and the crowd at once fell back. "They knew his mounted sign, and fled." I subsequently learned that some of them, on a former occasion, having approached so near this abode of the virtues as to interfere with the business of its occupant, had been treated to a few doses of hot water, which la Signora Gozzolino, with virtuous indignation and nimble dexterity, threw from the window. They now kept at a distance, therefore, and I entered alone.

The high-souled Gozzolino received me with great affability, and was quite willing to go up the mountain. Yet, in spite of his blameless antecedents, I did not care to start without knowing the amount of his charges. He proved to have "an itching palm;" for he did not scruple to ask just double the amount usually paid for the trip. He demanded twenty-four carlini, the ordinary fee

being twelve. However, I told him that in consideration of his being the real Gozzolino, whose name adorned the pages of Murray, I would give him eighteen carlini. We started, and in the course of five minutes had attained to as great a height as could reasonably be expected, when he suddenly turned round and said, "Here comes my brother, who is just as good a guide as myself. He will go with you; but I can't, as I am engaged to an English family." Here was a dilemma! Could anything make one more disgusted with human nature than thus to find il veritabile Gozzolino suddenly appear in his true character, that he was only what the Spaniards term a bouli cougi, a veritable humbug, an unfigleafed delusion, a deceitful snare with all his tricks exposed to view, a guide-post with the direction gone, a monument with the virtuous epitaph erased? I told him I was now going on alone. I had agreed to pay him well, but was not going to take any of his cast-off relatives as substitutes. Then arose a great clamor; but I started off resolutely, though followed by the second-hand Gozzolino, who obstinately refused to go back. At length I reflected that the result was rather uncertain if I went guideless, and after some bargaining I agreed to give the man twelve carlini, if he saw me safe to the summit. This he finally consented to, with a look of despair, as if he felt like the fifth act and last scene of some soul-heaving tragedy. Turning round to the original G., who yet lingered in the background, and throwing up

his arms above his head, he twice exclaimed, with a sort of helpless expression, "Duodieci carlini solamente!" Having relieved his mind in this way he went doggedly on, and spoke not a word for at least half an hour.

Our way led over the débris of past eruptions, of which we saw at first only faint traces, in the form of lava cropping out here and there, or piled up in walls on either side of the path. The land around us, barren as it was, yet abounded in vineyards, which spread out their vines to the sun as far up the side of the mountain as their roots could find any foothold. They here mature their fruit under the vivid rays of an Italian summer, while their roots are warmed by the subterranean fires which still heat the lava that was poured forth years ago. The grapes have a peculiar flavor, and their juice is known far and wide as "Lachryma Christi.” The view from this part of the volcano is peculiarly impressive. Far above rise its precipices, black with tortuous masses of rough and craggy lava, while part-way down, and on the edge of former eruptions, is the observatory which modern science has established on this spot. It appears to diffuse the pure light of mind over the scene of majestic desolation around it. Before it are the long and intricate windings of former streams of lava, extending over the surface in every direction. The site seems a great battle-field of giant pythons, the blackened bodies of whose dead yet remain petrified upon it; whose wounded, covered with "many a scaly