FROM NEW YORK TO NAPLES

II

DECEMBER 22.

Last night we reached Gibraltar and dropped anchor in the bay. It was an impressive sight when first we came in view of land. On our right lay Morocco, on our left Spain, and the lights on either shore became visible about the same time. There are not many spots even on this goodly globe of ours where one can see two continents. The night was lovely, the air almost balmy, the stars were all out—ever so many more stars than can be seen at home—and we stood long on deck and gazed our fill at the splendour of the night. Truly the skies declare the glory of God and the firmament of heaven shows forth the work of His hands.

This morning, about 8.30, most of the first-class passengers landed in a tender. It was good to feel one's foot once more on terra firma—and surely if there is firm footing on earth it is the Rock of Gibraltar. The place I will not attempt to describe; that were quite beyond me. Enough to say, and certainly not too much, that the panorama which lies before one from half-way up the mountain—we had not time to go all the way—is one of the grandest that anywhere unfolds itself to the eye of man. And the city is full of interest. It is the meeting-place of two continents, the free mart and seaport of all nations, the most famous stronghold of the greatest empire under the sun. One could wish if one had time, to study the various types of humanity that gather here. By all odds the most striking is the turban'd Moor, with his swart features, his impassive face, his picturesque costume, his gait and carriage not lacking in dignity. We enter the principal Catholic Church, rather a fine building, and are happily able to assist at Mass. We see the Bishop for a moment, an Italian Benedictine, a native of Siena, a very genial and pleasant man. By eleven we are back on board, and by noon are steaming around Barracks Point and entering the Mediterranean.

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DECEMBER 23.

We have made our best run—348 knots from noon yesterday till noon to-day. Our ship, though a splendid seaboat, is not speedy, and these two last trips has fallen behind her schedule. An expert engineer, sent down especially from London, has joined us at Gibraltar, and we are now making better time. Smooth seas, sunny skies, and a summer temperature have made this latter part of our voyage extremely pleasant, and yet we long for its end, or rather we long to reach our goal. Several of the passengers left us at Gibraltar, others joined us there. It is the way of life, which is all summed up in a coming and a going and a passing away. In truth we do but get glimpses of one another as we pass through it. How short is all that comes to an end! "We have not here a lasting city, but seek one which is to come."

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DECEMBER 24.

The line comes back to me from school days, as I gaze on those mountain-tops, bare and rugged, and snowless to-day. Sardinia is one of the largest islands in the Mediterranean. It has a population of more than 700,000. Once one of the granaries of Carthage, and later of imperial Rome, it is now in great part untilled and barren. The natives are more like Spaniards than Italians, though the island belongs to Italy. In certain districts of the interior the people speak the Latin tongue, which serves to confute the received notion—never more than a wretched half-truth, and not even as much—that Latin is a dead language. What, the language of the Church Catholic a dead language! Not while she lives, and the eternal years of God are hers.

Christmas at sea; Christmas without the wonted Christmas cheer; Christmas far from home and friends. But so were Mary and Joseph on that first Christmas night in Bethlehem, far from home and friends. And, please God, we are going to land in Naples to-morrow in time to celebrate the Christ-Mass.

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DECEMBER 25.

Before daylight this Christmas morning we are on deck, where we linger most of the time till our ship is docked in Naples at 10 a.m. The approach to the city from the sea is very grand. In the gray dawn we discern the light on Ischia, which shows far out at sea. As day creeps on, the outline of Vesuvius becomes dimly visible through the morning haze. We pass some islets, then Pozzuoli and other suburbs of the queenly city. The sun is now full risen; 't is

its light illuminates the lovely bay, gilds the heights of Sant' Elmo and the roofs of Chiaia, which curves beneath. The docks and shipping lie further on, and beyond them rises the giant form of dread Vesuvius. Little wonder that lovers of panoramic scenery go into raptures over this scene. If it is not "See Naples and die," at any rate it is "See Naples and never-more forget." The words of the well-known boat song come unbidden to one's lips:

It takes a deal of ceremony to get a big ship like ours docked, and a deal of patience to wait on an empty stomach for the word to land. At last we are ashore, through the custom-house, and on our way to the Convent of the Soeurs de L'Esperance, No. 10 Via Santa Teresa, Chiaia. We say Mass at 11.30 a.m. in the Church of St. Teresa hard by, which, with the adjoining monastery is in the hands of the Discalced Carmelites. In the afternoon we take a walk on the esplanade, which runs along the bay, visit the Aquarium, mount the hill to Sant' Elmo, and from that commanding height gaze upon the city, the bay, and the broken ranges of mountains that stud the coast. The native band of Chiaia, a great but inharmonious concert of crowing roosters, awakens us next morning long before the dawn, and by 10.30 we are getting our last glimpse of cloud-capped Vesuvius from the window of the Romeward-bound train.

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DECEMBER 26.

The country through which we pass for the first hour or two after quitting Naples does not yield in beauty or fertility even to the plains of Lombardy. Every foot of it is tilled; the tillage is intensive as well as extensive. Here the vine is trailed on great rows of trees, the wide spaces between being now green with all manner of vegetables, while the stately Italian pine lends an added grace and dignity to the landscape. As we go further north, the broad plain narrows into valleys hemmed in by bare and lofty mountains, with here a village clinging to a rocky slope, and there a lone monastery crowning a rugged crest. By noon we reach Casino, and presently admiring eyes are raised to the giddy height where the great abbey of that name, famed in story, lords it over all the land.

As straws show how the wind blows, so very little things serve oftentimes to bring racial and national characteristics into clear relief. Thus, over a plot of green in the public garden at Chiaia, I read these formidable words of warning: I TRASGRESSORI SARANNO PUNITI A NORMA DI LEGGE, which may be rendered: TRESPASSERS SHALL BE PUNISHED TO THE LIMIT OF THE LAW. We simply and bluntly say: Keep off the grass! Again, a railway ticket, on which with us are sometimes found the words, Not transferable, bears here the blazoned legend, La cessione e punita a termini di legge, that is to say, The transfer is punishable in the precise manner laid down in the law. On the other hand, the attempt of some Italian railway official to ape your bluff Englishman, in rendering a notice graven in letters of bronze on the window of our carriage, E pericoloso sporgersi—It is dangerous to put one's head out of the window, comes to grief in this ludicrous fashion, similarly cut in bronze, Don't stretch out! Ecco Roma! We have finished our journey. Monday afternoon (Dec. 29) I saw Cardinal Gotti. This (Tuesday), evening I go on retreat at the Lazarist Mission House near Montecitorio, where I made my retreat for the priesthood twenty-five years ago. Sunday (Jan. 3) is the day fixed for the consecration. There is a hastening of events, as one chapter of life draws to a close; and hastily I close this last paragraph.

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