The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1908-06-19
AT NAPLES
The Funny Things One Sees
2 -
Smiling Round the World
Copyright, by Joseph B. BowIes.)

We spent five days at Naples, and
filled every hour of it with sight-see-
ing. Of course we stopped at Her
culaneum; but what can 1 add to the
tributes that have been paid to that
wonder of wonders? From it's three
strata of towns have been exhumed
the rarest and choicest treasures that
adorn the Naples museum.
We walked upon the crust of the
seething volcano of Solfatara, now half
extinct-in fact, it has laid torpid for
seven centuries and is now spread
with lush vegetation in the spring
time, and the walk to it, at that sea-
son, is through an Enclosure like a
lovely park of winding alleys and flow
er-edged paths. But in January we
saw only the bare crust of the crater,
| from whose cliffs came puffs of white
| smoke, warnings that, at any moment,
| it's hidden fires might break forth. We
did not, as at Hawaii, drop our visit
| ing cards into the clefts, only to see
| them burst into flame and consume
| in few seconds, for we were not so
curious about subterranean matters as
when we were fresh and green in
| globe-trotting experiences; but we
ventured out in obedience to our
| Suide-in whom a long familiarity
with craters had doubtless bred con-
eempt-to few feet of the center. He
stamps upon it and says it is hollow.
| 1t certainly appears so. He jumps
upon it, and the surface quivers. You
begin to feel creepy up and down your
spinal column, but, led on by his ur-
| gent appeals and assertions of mo
fear! not be 'fraid!" you follow him on
| tip-toe to the very middle of the rock
ing thing, hoping with all your soul
that it will hold together until you are
safely off it, when you come to hole
cut of which curls little vapor and a
! curious murmuring sound as of some
| giant mumbling in his sleep. And that
is the moment in which you wish you
| hadn't come. But you are induced to
lean over and peer down into the hole,
and are fascinated by the stirring and
moving Of boiling mud-horrid gray
mud that reminds you instantly Of
| Kipling's great, gray, greasy Limpopo
river" only this is lake, but gray and
greasy enough in all conscience, and
| seething and boiling in the vent-hole,
and rising and falling with the escap-
ing gas that bubbles and bursts and
then collects and bursts again.
A moment or two of this and l was
| ola To hao IN hn Il
and to thank my stars that 1 hadn't
fallen through altogether. -
From Solfatara we looked down
upon Pozzuoli, once the port of Rome,
whose wharves resounded with the
peaceful stir of commerce.
The lovely Bay of Baiae, that was
once lined with the palace-villas of
the wealthy Romans, much as New
ports shore is to-day, held our interest
for a couple of hours. We explored
the ruins of a castle built by Span,
ish viceroy which stands on the site
of Nero's villa; we compared it for
beauty to the lonely temple of Scraps
We had just left behind us near Poz.
zuoli, long buried beneath the sea, to
be at last cast up by some mighty up.
heaval of unseen internal force. The
beautiful, curved shore, so beautiful
yet so deadly" from the wilderness of
craters which abound there, fascinated
us completely. We lunched at a little
inn at Baiae, where we had some of
the famed wine of Posilipo and were
amused by the opportunities Of the
peasant beggars, who very success
fully wheedled us out of our spare cop.
pers by their wines and wiles galore
In Egypt it was ''backsheesh!" in
our ears from morning till night;
throughout Europe cries of pour.
boire" and "trinkgeld" haunted ones
footsteps; but ancient little Naples
had word all her own. 1t was
Spaghetti" Simply that, and nothing
more. No last syllable, with crisp &C.
cent; but the shortened, curt Spa.
ghett!" was hurled at us from every
corner and followed, with deafening
echoes, our vanishing carriage
wheels. Spaghetti! Spaghetti" Me.
thinks I hear it now; and l shall Ger.
tainly never eat spaghetti again with,
out being reminded of this slogan of
the Neapolitan beggar.
! Beside the Lucrine lake we stood
and conjured up the spot where the
villa of Agrippina, mother of Nero,
probably stood; but the thought of her
cruel murder at the hands of her mon
ster of son did not mingle pleasantly
with the peaceful tapping of the waves
| against the reeds, so we turned away
and asked to be taken to the Grotto
del Cane, or Dog Grotto, that amazing
| sepulcher Of animal hopes and fears
which year by year has drawn thou
sands of visitors to it's rocky Sides
AS IL in keeping with its treacherous
fame the guide who shows you the
place Is full-fedged brigand, who,
when work Is slow" ekes out sub
sistence by playing at guide. Ten to
one he has little dog at his heels,
and thereby hangs tale. While you
listen to the guide the puppy looks at
you with blinking eyes and a grin of
confidence, the while his busy tail
seems to say, 81 know you'll never put
me in that poisonous hole, will your"
And yoL can't keep your eyes off his
silly Dttle face, until you find yourself
wondering if he's like your little dog
at home, your PARKWAY Buster"
whose friendly face and welcome bark
you have missed more than you would
care to say. Certainly this idiotic little
pup bears no outward resemblance to