There is another _Camaldoli_ on the summit of the land, between St. Agata and Massa, or about mid-way between the Gulf of Salerno and that of Naples. I passed a morning lately in a memorable manner, in exploring it on foot, and alone. The day was fine, it was the Sabbath, the air from the west, invigorating, just cool enough to be agreeable, and full of life. The ruins command a noble view, as usual; but so does every eminence around us. One looks abroad here, in the full security of beholding objects that are either sublime or beautiful, and commonly both, for the two are so blended as to render it doubtful which most prevails. I cannot describe to you the precise nature of the sensations with which I passed this morning. It was the Sabbath of man, and it appeared to be also the Sabbath of nature; one of those holy calms that sleep on the earth, as if the vegetable world united with the animal to worship the great Source of all. As I flung myself carelessly from height to height, and across downish uplands, every new point that presented itself exhibited the great temple in a new and lovelier aspect; and as I descended from the glorious solitude, (for the only habitations are in the hamlets, or on the plains,) I felt as if I could almost become a monk, in order to remain there for life. The conventual buildings were, as usual, vast, and much of them still remains. Had it been my fortune to suppress monasteries, I should certainly have commenced the work in the cities and on the plains, and have left those on the hill-tops to the last; for I have a difficulty in believing that the tenants of such abodes can do any thing but adore God. At least, this is the passing feeling; though I dare say one gets to be _blasé_ as respects a fine view, as well as a fine sentiment. At all events, we are pretty certain the devil can climb, as well as crawl: though most of our American devils, I believe, are of the _genus_ demon, _species_ reptile. We never ramble in this manner without exclaiming against those who visit Naples, perhaps in the bad season, pass a rainy week or two in sight-seeing, fagged and even fatigued with wonders, and then go away and pretend to describe its nature, its variety, its purity of atmosphere, its pearly lustre of sky, and all its other glorious peculiarities. The environs of Naples are quite another region to-day, than on that on which we arrived; though they have always been lovely. Even a sirocco cannot spoil their charms; for while, like other beauties, they have their good and bad-looking days, the last are merely the bad looks of a Venus. I have never seen the bay when it did not present an object of admiration and rare perfection.