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some of which, had they struck him, would have crushed him to the earth, and calculate their descent so nicely that with a slight movement he could escape each. When the scoria cooled, the coppers were left imbedded in it, and thus carried off as remembrances of Vesuvius. We went around the crater, continually descending until we came to the lowest part, close to the base of the cone. Here the lava was gathering and cooling and cracking off in large rolls, with that low continuous sound which is always made by the rapid cooling of an intensely heated mass. ascended a little eminence which the lava was slowly undermining, and thrust my cane into the molten substance. It was sc hot that I had to cover my face with my cap in order to hold my stick in it for a single moment. As I stood and saw fold after fold slowly roll over and fall off, and heard the firing of the volcano above me, and saw, nearly a hundred feet over my head, red-hot masses of scoria suspended in the air, I am not ashamed to say I felt a little uncomfortable. I looked above and around, and saw that it needed but a slight tremulous motion to confine me there for ever. It was not the work of five or ten minutes to reach the lofty top, and a little heavier discharge of fire—a small shower of ashes-and I should have been smothered or crisped in a moment. There may have been no danger, but one cannot escape the belief of it when at times he is compelled to dodge flaming masses of scoria, that otherwise would smite him to the earth.

We ascended by a different and much easier path. It is longer, but far preferable to the one we came down. It led us to the other side of the crater, from which we looked down on Pompeii. I could trace the stream of lava to the plain, and could well imagine the consternation of the inhabitants of the doomed city, as the storm of ashes shot off for its bosom. Weary and exhausted, we descended by a different route through a bed of ashes that reached from the top to the bottom of the hill, mounted our horses and rode homeward. The glorious plain was spread out before us, but we were too tired to enjoy it. At the bottom of the hill we found our supernumerary guide half-drunk on our credit, who told us he had soup, fish, beef, fowl, fruit, et cetera, provided for our entertainment in a neighboring house, which

proved to be a hovel. The provisions, he said, had cost but little more than a dollar, while the man asked only about the same for cooking them. I was thoroughly vexed, and told him to say to the man he might have the provision to pay for cooking them; and as for him, considered him the greatest scoundrel I had yet met with, and I had seen many. He replied that he regarded me as his son-that he would not see me cheated of a grana for the world. I told him I thought the proofs of his affection were rather dubious, that it had cost me about three dollars that day, and it was altogether too expensive for me, and I thought, notwithstanding the intensity of his love, that we had better part. And yet, would you believe it, this fellow had the impudence to come up to the carriage and ask me to make him a present of a few carlines, as a sort of farewell gift! It was really the coolest rascality I had yet encountered. But the day passed away, and the evening, with its welcome repose, came. That night I slept, as I had never slept before. It was like oblivion, it was so deep and unbroken.

Truly yours.

ITALIAN WOMEN.

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LETTER XVIII.

The Ladies of Italy and the Ladies of America.

NAPLES, March, 1843.

DEAR E.-Who has not heard the exclamations, "The blackeyed Beauties of Italy-The Blue Heavens of Italy!" and that, too, in contrast with our own beautiful women and clear atmosphere, until he has dreamed of a sunny land wreathed with rivers, and filled with radiant, passionate creatures? At another time I shall contrast the climates.

At present, reversing the rules of rhetoric, I take the most interesting objects first; and as to these dark-eyed beauties-darkeyed enough though they are, and very pretty withal—yet, like many other things in this world, they appear much better when dreamed about, with four thousand miles of ocean between us, than when looked at from these promenades dressed à la Français. It is not the partiality one naturally feels for his countrywomen that governs me, when I say that the beautiful women with us stand to them in the proportion of five to one. Walk on a pleasant day at the promenading hour from the Astor House to Bleecker-street, and you shall see more beautiful women than you will find in any Italian city, though you walk it a month. Similar contrasts might be drawn between many other things in the two countries, in which we have heretofore suffered unjustly. This declaration cannot be attributed to prejudice, for you know I was a perfect child in my enthusiasm for Italy. It was the land of my early dreams—the one bright vision in all my scholar's life, and when its blue hills rose on my view I felt like the pilgrim as he catches the first glimpse of the Prophet's Tomb from afar. Yet the truth

maun be said.'—Perhaps one would see more beauty were the young ladies permitted to appear more in society. The foolish custom of shutting them up in convents, occupied with their studies,

until married off by their parents, still prevails. It is, however, losing somewhat of its ancient force, especially in Tuscany. The truth is, we have derived our ideas of Italy from England, which is not distinguished for its beautiful peasantry. Accustomed also to the light hair and fresh complexion of the Saxon race, the English fall in raptures at sight of the dark-eyed beauties of the South. The same is true of climate. Coming from the fogs of London, where the sun seems made in vain, they are in ecstacies with the bright heavens of Italy. The sky is at times like a sapphire dome, and its blue often of a peculiar tinge; but the dif ference, in this respect, between it and our own is not so great as many imagine.

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Genoa has been regarded from time immemorial as the most - celebrated of all Italian cities, for the beauty of its women. that city I resided nearly six months, and mingled freely in every class of society. Being an invited guest to all the large assemblies and soirées of the nobility, I had every opportunity of seeing its society in its most brilliant coloring. I shall never forget my disappointment at the first great soirée I attended. I expected to be dazzled by the array of beauty, as it was given by the highest officer of the city, but did not see but one really pretty woman during the evening. It is rather singular also that those who have the reputation of being beauties, among the Italians, usually have the light hair and eyes and fair skin of the Saxon race; indeed the most beautiful women I have seen here have been English women. My taste may not be correct, but there is a character in the expression of an English woman's face that you look for in vain in an Italian. It has also, a half proud look, which I like, although it gives a coldness to her manner.

At the casinos in this country, I have often met the entire beauty of the upper classes of the city; and although certainly many very pretty women were present, yet the average of beauty was low. With fourteen rooms thrown open, and all so crowded that one could hardly move, one would expect some beauty in any city, and he finds it here; but I am quite sure if national beauty is worth being proud of, we can boast over Italy—that is, in our women; I wish I could say as much of the men. It is not so easy to decide on the peasantry; they differ so much in different prov

inces. Sometimes you may travel all day and see nothing but the ugliest faces, and you wonder how nature could have gone so awry in every instance; and then again in another province you see at every step the beautiful eye and lash, and flexible brow, and laughing face of your true Italian beauty.

In form the Italians excel us. Larger, fuller, they naturally acquire a finer gait and bearing. It is astonishing that our ladies should persist in that ridiculous notion that a small waist is, and, per necessita, must be beautiful. Why, many an Italian woman would cry for vexation, if she possessed such a waist as some of our ladies acquire, only by the longest, painfullest process. I have sought the reason of this difference, and can see no other than that the Italians have their glorious statuary continually before them, as models; and hence endeavor to assimilate themselves to them; whereas our fashionables have no models except those French stuffed figures in the windows of milliners' shops. Why, if an artist should presume to make a statue with the shape that seems to be regarded with us as the perfection of harmonious proportion, he would be laughed out of the city. It is a standing objection against the taste of our women the world over, that they will practically assert that a French milliner understands how they should be made better than Nature herself.

It is the manners of the Italians, which is the real cause of the preference given them by all travellers. This alone makes an immense difference between an Italian and an American city. Broadway, with all its array of beauty, never inclines one to be lively and merry. The ladies (the men are worse of course) seem to have come out for any other purpose than to enjoy themselves. Their whole demeanor is like one sitting for his portrait. Everything is just as it should be, to be looked at. Every lady wears a serious face, and the whole throng is like a stiff country party. The ladies here, on the contrary, go out to be merry, and it is one perpetual chatter and laugh on the public promenades. The movements are all different, and the very air seems gay. I never went down Broadway at the promenade hour alone with the blues, without coming back feeling bluer, while I never returned from a public promenade in Italy without rubbing my hands, saying to myself, "Well,