In the room devoted to boys of lower grade, I entangled myself in difficulties with a bright-eyed young gentleman, whom I asked if he liked Italian history better than ancient history.  He said he liked the latter, especially that of the Romans, much better.  “Why, that is strange.  I should think an Italian boy would like Italian history best.”  “But were not the Romans also Italians, Signore?” I blush to say that I basely sneaked out of this trouble by answering that they were not like the Italians of the present day,—­whatever that meant.  But indeed all these young persons were startlingly quick with their information, and knowing that I knew very little on any subject with certainty, I think I was wise to refuse all offers to examine them in their studies.

We left this school and returned to the Toledo by one of those wonderful little side streets already mentioned, which are forever tumultuous with the oddest Neapolitan life—­with men quarreling themselves purple over small quantities of fish—­with asses braying loud and clear above their discord—­with women roasting pine-cones at charcoal fires—­with children in the agonies of having their hair combed—­with degraded poultry and homeless dogs—­with fruit-stands and green groceries, and the little edifices of ecclesiastical architecture for the sale of lemonade—­with wandering bag-pipers, and herds of nonchalant goats—­with horses, and grooms currying them—­and over all, from vast heights of balcony, with people lazily hanging upon rails and looking down on the riot.  Reentering the stream of the Toledo, it carried us almost to the Museo Borbonico before we again struck aside into one of the smaller streets, whence we climbed quite to the top of one of those incredibly high Neapolitan houses.  Here, crossing an open terrace on the roof, we visited three small rooms, in which there were altogether some hundred boys in the first stages of reclamation.  They were under the immediate superintendence of Mr. Buscarlet and he seemed to feel the fondest interest in them.  Indeed, there was sufficient reason for this:  up to a certain point, the Neapolitan children learn so rapidly and willingly that it can hardly be other than a pleasure to teach them.  After this, their zeal flags; they know enough; and their parents and friends, far more ignorant than they, are perfectly satisfied with their progress.  Then the difficulties of their teachers begin; but here, in these lowest grade schools, they had not yet begun.  The boys were still eager to learn, and were ardently following the lead of their teachers.  They were little fellows, nearly all, and none of them had been in school more than a year and a half, while some had been there only three or four months.  They rose up with “Buon giorno, signori,” as we entered, and could hardly be persuaded to lapse back to the duties of life during our stay.  They had very good faces, indeed, for the most part, and even the vicious had intellectual brightness.  Just and consistent