The city of Naples was formerly surrounded by very high walls, about 22 miles in circumference; but on its enlargement, neither walls nor gates were erected.  It may be, however, defended by three strong castles.

Naples is divided into twelve quarters, or departments, and contains about 450,000 inhabitants.  It is consequently the most populous city in Europe, except London and Paris.  The streets are neither broad nor regular, and are paved with broad slabs of hard stone, resembling the lava of Vesuvius.  The houses are, for the most part, uniformly built, being about five or six stories high, with balconies and flat roofs, in the form of terraces, which are used as a promenade.  The churches, palaces, and public buildings are magnificent; but they suffer in comparison with the other architectural wealth of Italy.  Vasi states there are about 300 churches; and among the other public buildings he mentions 37 conservatories, established for the benefit of poor children, and old people, both men and women.

The environs of Naples possess many attractions for the classic tourist, as well as for the strange flies of fashion.  Among these is Virgil’s Tomb, which is, indeed, holy ground.  The temples, aqueducts, and arches of olden time are likewise stupendous records of the sumptuousness of the ancient people of this interesting district; and, apart from these attractions, the contemplative philosopher may read in the volcanic remains, and other phenomena on its shores, many inspiring lessons in the broad volume of Nature; as well as amid the neighbouring relics of Art, where

  Man marks the earth with ruin.

* * * * *

LEICESTER ABBEY.—­DEATH OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.

(For the Mirror.)

Few periods of English history are more pregnant with events, or more interesting to the antiquary, and general reader, than that which comprised the fortunes of Wolsey.  The eventful life of the Cardinal, checkered as it was by the vicissitudes of fortune, his sudden elevation, and finally his more sudden fall and death, display an appalling picture of “the instability of human affairs.”  This prelate and statesman, who even aspired to the Papal throne itself, “was an honest poore man’s sonne in the towne of Ipswiche,"[1] who having received a good education, and being endowed with great capacity, soon rose to fill the highest offices of the church and state; in 1515 he was created Lord High Chancellor, and in three years afterwards was appointed legate a latere by the Pope, having previously received a Cardinal’s cap.

Leicester Abbey was rendered famous as being the last residence of the unhappy Wolsey; “within its walls,” says Gilpin, “was once exhibited a scene more humiliating to human ambition, and more instructive to human grandeur than almost any which history hath produced.  Here the fallen pride of Wolsey retreated from the insults of the world, all his visions of ambition were now gone; his pomp and pageantry and crowded levees!  On this spot he told the listening monks, the sole attendants of his dying hour, as they stood around his pallet, that he was come to lay his bones among them, and gave a pathetic testimony to the truth and joys of religion, which preaches beyond a thousand lectures."[2]