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content with one generalization； which I find saves a world of bother and perplexity： it is quite safe to style every excavation； cavern； circular wall； or arch by the sea； a Roman bath。 It is the final resort of the antiquarians。 This theory has kept me from entering the discussion； whether the substructions in the cliff under the Poggio Syracuse； a royal villa； are temples of the Sirens； or caves of Ulysses。 I only know that I descend to the sea there by broad interior flights of steps； which lead through galleries and corridors； and high； vaulted passages； whence extend apartments and caves far reaching into the solid rock。 At intervals are landings； where arched windows are cut out to the sea； with stone seats and protecting walls。 At the base of the cliff I find a hewn passage； as if there had once been here a way of embarkation； and enormous fragments of rocks； with steps cut in them； which have fallen from above。
Were these anything more than royal pleasure galleries； where one could sit in coolness in the heat of summer and look on the bay and its shipping； in the days when the great Roman fleet used to lie opposite； above the point of Misenum？ How many brave and gay retinues have swept down these broad interior stairways； let us say in the picturesque Middle Ages； to embark on voyages of pleasure or warlike forays！ The steps are well worn； and must have been trodden for ages； by nobles and robbers； peasants and sailors； priests of more than one religion； and traders of many seas； who have gone； and left no record。 The sun was slanting his last rays into the corridors as I musingly looked down from one of the arched openings； quite spellbound by the strangeness and dead silence of the place； broken only by the plash of waves on the sandy beach below。 I had found my way down through a wooden door half ajar； and I thought of the possibility of some one's shutting it for the night； and leaving me a prisoner to await the spectres which I have no doubt throng here when it grows dark。 Hastening up out of these chambers of the past； I escaped into the upper air； and walked rapidly home through the narrow orange lanes。
ON TOP OF THE HOUSE
The tiptop of the Villa Nardi is a flat roof； with a wall about it three feet high； and some little turreted affairs； that look very much like chimneys。 Joseph； the gray…haired servitor； has brought my chair and table up here to…day； and here I am； established to write。
I am here above most earthly annoyances； and on a level with the heavenly influences。 It has always seemed to me that the higher one gets； the easier it must be to write； and that； especially at a great elevation； one could strike into lofty themes； and launch out； without fear of shipwreck on any of the earthly headlands； in his aerial voyages。 Yet； after all； he would be likely to arrive nowhere； I suspect； or； to change the figure； to find that； in parting with the taste of the earth； he had produced a flavorless composition。 If it were not for the haze in the horizon to…day； I could distinguish the very house in Naplesthat of Manso； Marquis of Villa；where Tasso found a home； and where John Milton was entertained at a later day by that hospitable nobleman。 I wonder； if he had come to the Villa Nardi and written on the roof； if the theological features of his epic would have been softened； and if he would not have received new suggestions for the adornment of the garden。 Of course； it is well that his immortal production was not composed on this roof； and in sight of these seductive shores； or it would have been more strongly flavored with classic mythology than it is。 But； letting Milton go； it may be necessary to say that my writing to…day has nothing to do with my theory of composition in an elevated position； for this is the laziest place that I have yet found。
I am above the highest olive…trees； and； if I turned that way； should look over the tops of what seems a vast grove of them； out of which a white roof； and an old time…eaten tower here and there； appears； and the sun is flooding them with waves of light； which I think a person delicately enough organized could hear beat。 Beyond the brown roofs of the town； the terraced hills arise； in semicircular embrace of the plain； and the fine veil over them is partly the natural shimmer of the heat； and partly the silver duskiness of the olive…leaves。 I sit with my back to all this； taking the entire force of this winter sun； which is full of life and genial heat； and does not scorch one； as I remember such a full flood of it would at home。 It is putting sweetness； too； into the oranges； which； I observe； are getting redder and softer day by day。 We have here； by the way； such a habit of taking up an orange； weighing it in the hand； and guessing if it is ripe； that the test is extending to other things。 I saw a gentleman this morning； at breakfast； weighing an egg in the same manner； and some one asked him if it was ripe。
It seems to me that the Mediterranean was never bluer than it is to…day。 It has a shade or two the advantage of the sky： though I like the sky best； after all； for it is less opaque； and offers an illimitable opportunity of exploration。 Perhaps this is because I am nearer to it。 There are some little ruffles of air on the sea； which I do not feel here； making broad spots of shadow； and here and there flecks and sparkles。 But the schooners sail idly； and the fishing…boats that have put out from the marina float in the most dreamy manner。 I fear that the fishermen who have made a show of industry； and got away from their wives； who are busily weaving nets on shore； are yielding to the seductions of the occasion） and making a day of it。 And； as I look at them； I find myself debating which I would rather be； a fisherman there in the boat； rocked by the swell； and warmed by the sun； or a friar； on the terrace of the garden on the summit of Deserto； lying perfectly tranquil； and also soaked in the sun。 There is one other person； now that I think of it； who may be having a good time to…day； though I do not know that I envy him。 His business is a new one to me； and is an occupation that one would not care to recommend to a friend until he had tried it： it is being carried about in a basket。 As I went up the new Massa road the other day； I met a ragged； stout； and rather dirty woman； with a large shallow basket on her head。 In it lay her husband； a large man； though I think a little abbreviated as to his legs。 The woman asked alms。 Talk of Diogenes in his tub！ How must the world look to a man in a basket； riding about on his wife's head？ When I returned； she had put him down beside the road in the sun； and almost in danger of the passing vehicles。 I suppose that the affectionate creature thought that； if he got a new injury in this way； his value in the beggar market would be increased。 I do not mean to do this exemplary wife any injustice； and I only suggest the idea in this land； where every beggar who is born with a deformity has something to thank the Virgin for。 This custom of carrying your husband on your head in a basket has something to recommend it； and is an exhibition of faith on the one hand； and