y
the cunning and ingenuity of a priest, who, perceiving that Bony's
followers had very loose ideas of mine and thine, painted the rails wood
colour, and thus preserved them inviolate.

Once more in busy, bustling, Strada Reale, with its gay shops filled
with a tempting display of gold and silver filigree work, corals and
laces, the latter very fine specimens of needlework indeed.

Thus far, we have performed all our movements on foot, but now, as we
have to go a rather long distance over very uninteresting ground, we
think it more convenient to sling our legs over a horse's back, for the
journey to Civita Vecchia, better known to sailors as "Chivity-Vic."
This was the former capital of the island, though now, as deserted
almost as Babylon, its streets overgrown with grass, its buildings
crumbling ruins, and echoing to the tread of our horses' hoofs. But it
is not so much to view these ruins that I have brought you here, as to
visit the Catacombs, or subterranean burying grounds of the early
inhabitants. These are not much compared with those at Naples, or
Palermo, for instance, but to those who have seen neither the one nor
the other, they will present all the charm of novelty. Though only a
charnel house it is laid out with great care, in street, square, and
alley, just like the abodes of men above. The bodies are mostly in a
fine state of preservation, reposing in niches cut out of the dry earth,
some of the tombs being double, others, again, having an additional crib
for a child. It is next to impossible that organic matter can fall to
decay, owing to the extreme dryness of the place, and, except that the
colour has changed a little, the dead people around would have no
difficulty in recognizing their own faces again if brought suddenly to
life. Some of the bodies seem actually alive, a deception further borne
out by their being clothed in the very garments they wore when sentient,
joyful dwellers, in the city above. It is worthy of remark that, though
there is but one and the same means of ingress and egress, the air is
wonderfully pure, and free from any offensive odour or mustiness.

Its extreme dryness though, seems somehow to have a reciprocal effect on
the palates of our party, for I hear vague murmurs of "wanting something
damp," which, by-an-bye, break out into a general stampede. If there be
any bye-laws in existence against hard riding, we are happily ignorant
of them, nor have we the slightest sympathy