Our accommodation was but indifferent: I slept upon a table, the repelling points of which rather annoyed my limbs and would have convinced Boscovitch,[29] had he been in my place, of the existence of hard matter. However, I tried to sleep, tho’ its ancient inhabitants, ye Sybarites, would not have rested, if the story is true that one of them complained that a curled rose leaf destroyed their rest. The first view I had of ye temples was in ye dusk of ye evening; their appearance was majestic, but precisely what I had conceived them to be from the drawings I had seen. They are the only remains in Italy of early Grecian architecture. The Doric, to my taste, is too uneven. The columns are _squat_ and clumsy. The inhabitants are savage and ignorant. Fix’d like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot, seems exactly their state. The _cicerone_ assured us that in one of the temples there was a prodigious treasure inaccessible to men, as the Devil kept guard over it. We saw the temples again in the morning, and then proceeded to Salerno, where we slept. I walked upon the terrace before my window and enjoyed the beauty of the night; the moon shone bright, which added to the lulling sound of the waves filled me with every pleasing and melancholy recollection. Tho’ separated by land and sea from some objects too dearly cherished, yet I was tranquil. Prudence satisfied me that all was for the best. I could not help casting an anxious thought towards my dear father stretched upon a bed of sickness, perhaps to rise no more, but the reflection of never having done anything that could disturb his peace, or render his last moments painful from my misconduct, was a relief that God grant my children may feel when they think of me in a similar situation. Delicious as Salerno is, yet like all the goods of this life it is counterbalanced by a portion of evil, as half the year it is untenable on account of the malaria. We dined in the Temple of Isis at Pompeia, on which day I completed my 22nd year; so old and yet so silly. On ye 1st of April, 1793, we set off for Beneventum, Lady Plymouth,[30] Italinski, Mr. Pelham, and Mr. Swinburne. Aversa is the first town of any consequence. The polichinello of the Neapolitan stage, which resembles the harlequin of the Italian, derives its origin from this town, and the dialect of this place belongs to him, as the Bergamesque does to the harlequin--which harlequin is, bye the bye, a burlesque on Charles Quint. Arienzo is the next town, only remarkable for the strange costume of the women, their dress being only two aprons tied behind and before, which leaves a considerable aperture on each side equally unpleasant and indecent. The country is a dead flat to within three miles of Arpaia. [Sidenote: AN ITALIAN MÉNAGE]