and though dim
    Her day of empire—­and her laurel crown
    Torn and defaced, and soiled with blood and tears,
    And her imperial eagles trampled down—­
    Still with a queen-like grace, Italia wears
    Her garland of bright names,—­her coronal of stars,
    (Radiant memorials of departed worth!)
    That shed a glory round her pensive brow,
    And make her still the worship of the earth!

Naples.  Sunday 3rd.—­We left Gaeta early.  If the scene was so beautiful in the evening—­how bright, how lovely it was this morning!  The sun had not long risen; and a soft purple mist hung over part of the sea; while to the north and west the land and water sparkled and glowed in the living light.  Some little fishing boats which had just put off, rocked upon the glassy sea, which lent them a gentle motion, though itself appeared all mirror-like and motionless.  The orange and lemon trees in full foliage literally bent over the water; and it was so warm at half past eight that I felt their shade a relief.

After leaving Gaeta, the first place of note is or was Minturnum, where Marius was taken, concealed in the marshes near it.  The marshes remain, the city has disappeared.  Capua is still a large town; but it certainly does not keep up its ancient fame for luxury and good cheer:  for we found it extremely difficult to procure any thing to eat.  The next town is Avversa, a name unknown, I believe, in the classical history of Italy:  it was founded, if I remember rightly, by the Norman knights.  Near this place is or was the convent where Queen Joanna strangled her husband Andrea, with a silken cord of her own weaving.  So says the story:  non lo credo io.

From Avversa to Naples the country is not interesting; but fertile and rich beyond description:  an endless succession of vineyards and orange groves.  At length we reached Naples; all tired and in a particularly sober and serious mood:  we remembered it was the Sabbath, and had forgotten that it was the first day of the Carnival; and great was our amazement at the scene which met us on our arrival—­

    I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed:  and all
    The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

The whole city seemed one vast puppet-show; and the noisy gaiety of the crowded streets almost stunned me.  One of the first objects we encountered was a barouche full of Turks and Sultanas, driven by an old woman in a tawdry court dress as coachman; while a merry-andrew and a harlequin capered behind as footmen.  Owing to the immense size of the city, and the difficulty of making our way through the motley throng of masks, beggars, lazzaroni, eating-stalls, carts and carriages, we were nearly three hours traversing the streets before we reached our inn on the Chiaja.

I feel tired and over-excited:  I have been standing on my balcony looking out upon the moonlit bay, and listening to the mingled shouts, the laughter, the music all around me; and thinking—­till I feel in no mood to write.