The Moltke dropped anchor at quarantine and a yellow flag was run to the top of the mast to remain floating there until the Italian physician had completed his examination and was convinced that there were not, and had not been, any cases of plague, cholera, or contagious disease on the ship. During the detention at quarantine a large mail was brought on board. We crowded eagerly into the office inquiring for letters. The stewards, not taking time to distribute the mail in the boxes, called out the addresses, and little thought was given to anything else until letters and papers were obtained and the news from home devoured.
The fog soon rolled away and Naples, beautifully situated on the crescent-shaped shores of the bay, was disclosed to view. From the deck of the steamer we saw a picture unsurpassed in color and composition by any previously beheld, excepting, perhaps, the view of Constantinople from the Bosporus, or the panorama of Algiers seen from the sea; but each one of the three pictures was unique and beyond comparison. But here, as at Constantinople, distance lent an enchantment to the view; for a closer inspection after landing revealed on the white and yellow and pink buildings ravages of time and unsightly stains of smoke and grime unnoticed from the bay.
THE GREAT DOORWAY OF THE TEMPLE OF HORUS AT EDFU.
We had no sooner reached the street, ready for sight-seeing, than the cabriolet drivers thronged about, importuning us to ride in the low open carriages that comfortably carry two persons.
"How much to the Cathedral?" we asked one of the drivers, using an expression that we thought the Italian might comprehend.
"One lira the course, one and a half lire the hour," he succeeded in getting us to understand.
"Only ten cents each. And it's fully two miles to the Cathedral!" exclaimed my companion. "But we have a number of places to visit," he added, "and it will be better to engage the cab by the hour. Show him your watch and make a note of the time."
At the entrance of the Cathedral, the beggars asking alms reminded us of the description of similar scenes at the gate of the Temple in the Savior's time. A blind man standing by the door called loudly upon the passers-by to have pity on him, a cripple seated on the steps with rough crooked crutches by his side stretched out his hand for aid, and a fat dirty woman with a tiny babe in her arms whiningly cried, "poveretta mia! poveretta mia!"
