declaration of tobacco, ordered only a small valise, the Benjamin of its
tribe, opened and then closed untouched; and his courteous forbearance,
acknowledged later through the hotel porter, cost me but a dollar. The
hotel itself was inexpressibly better in lighting, heating, service, and
table than any New York hotel at twice the money--in fact, no money
could buy the like with us at any hotel I know of; but this is a theme
which I hope to treat more fully hereafter. It is true that the streets
of Naples are very long and rather narrow and pretty crooked, and full
of a damp cold that no sunlight seems ever to hunt out of them; but then
they are seldom ironed down with trolley-tracks; the cabs feel their way
among the swarming crowds with warning voices and smacking whips; even
the prepotent automobile shows some tenderness for human life and limb,
and proceeds still more cautiously than the cabs and carts--in fact, I
thought I saw recurrent proofs of that respect for the average man which
seems the characteristic note of Italian liberty; and this belief of
mine, bred of my first observations in Naples, did not, after twelve
weeks in Italy, prove an illusion. If it is not the equality we fancy
ourselves having, it is rather more fraternity in effect.

The failure of other researches for that sketch of Neapolitan history
left me in the final ignorance which I must share with the reader; but
my inquiries brought me prompt knowledge of one of those charming
features in which the Italian cities excel, if they are not unique. I
remember too vaguely the Galleria, as they call the beautiful glazed
arcade of Milan, to be sure that it is finer than the Galleria at
Naples, but I am sure this is finer than that at Genoa, with which,
however, I know nothing in other cities to compare. The Neapolitan
gallery, wider than any avenue of the place, branching in the form of a
Greek cross to four principal streets, is lighted by its roof of glass,
and a hundred brilliant shops and cafes spread their business and