To suppress a paper here involves the ruin of the publisher, almost.  But in Naples I think they speculate on misfortunes of that kind.  Papers are suppressed there every day, and spring up the next day under a new name.  During the ten days or a fortnight we staid there one paper was murdered and resurrected twice.  The newsboys are smart there, just as they are elsewhere.  They take advantage of popular weaknesses.  When they find they are not likely to sell out, they approach a citizen mysteriously, and say in a low voice—­“Last copy, sir:  double price; paper just been suppressed!” The man buys it, of course, and finds nothing in it.  They do say—­I do not vouch for it—­but they do say that men sometimes print a vast edition of a paper, with a ferociously seditious article in it, distribute it quickly among the newsboys, and clear out till the Government’s indignation cools.  It pays well.  Confiscation don’t amount to any thing.  The type and presses are not worth taking care of.

There is only one English newspaper in Naples.  It has seventy subscribers.  The publisher is getting rich very deliberately—­very deliberately indeed.

I never shall want another Turkish lunch.  The cooking apparatus was in the little lunch room, near the bazaar, and it was all open to the street.  The cook was slovenly, and so was the table, and it had no cloth on it.  The fellow took a mass of sausage meat and coated it round a wire and laid it on a charcoal fire to cook.  When it was done, he laid it aside and a dog walked sadly in and nipped it.  He smelt it first, and probably recognized the remains of a friend.  The cook took it away from him and laid it before us.  Jack said, “I pass”—­he plays euchre sometimes—­and we all passed in turn.  Then the cook baked a broad, flat, wheaten cake, greased it well with the sausage, and started towards us with it.  It dropped in the dirt, and he picked it up and polished it on his breeches, and laid it before us.  Jack said, “I pass.”  We all passed.  He put some eggs in a frying pan, and stood pensively prying slabs of meat from between his teeth with a fork.  Then he used the fork to turn the eggs with—­and brought them along.  Jack said “Pass again.”  All followed suit.  We did not know what to do, and so we ordered a new ration of sausage.  The cook got out his wire, apportioned a proper amount of sausage-meat, spat it on his hands and fell to work!  This time, with one accord, we all passed out.  We paid and left.  That is all I learned about Turkish lunches.  A Turkish lunch is good, no doubt, but it has its little drawbacks.