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for every inch of ground on this delightful shore. There is something in the sight of a boundless, waveless, and tideless ocean, which, independently of the pure and refreshing air, conduces to tranquillity of mind, and calms the effervescence of the passions. The depressive atmosphere of the Campagna and Pontine Marshes is here exchanged for the refreshing sea-breeze that skims the Mediterranean by day, and the bracing land-wind that descends from the Apennines at night. The scenery is highly romantic. A bold coast, with shelving shores and projecting promontories, forms a striking contrast with the glassy ocean, that falls, in gentle murmurs, on the golden sands, or chafes in white foam against the rugged rocks. Homer, Horace, Virgil have exhausted their poetic powers in peopling these regions with the creatures of fancy-with heroes, gods, demi-gods—and CANNIBALS ! The taste of the inhabitants for human blood seems to have descended to their posterity. More of Napoleon's soldiers fell by the modern, than of Ulysses' sailors by the ancient Læstrygons.*

It is fortunate for the traveller on classic soil, that the labours of the day prove an effectual bar to the meditations of the night ;-else who could expect to fall fast asleep at ten o'clock in the evening, and that for the first time, in the “Villa of Cicero," and within sight of his tomb ? Such are the effects of travelling exercise in the open air. The majestic scenes of the Alps and Apennines fade from the mental eye, as well as from the corporeal optics, at the close of day; and we sink into a state which is the closest approximation to death itself. It is not with toil on the mountain's airy brow, as it is with care in the crowded haunts of man on the plains. In the latter

Should kind repose
Steal us but one short moment from our woes,
Then dreams invade!

We were on our third and last day's journey between Rome and Naples, before the sun had burst over the Apennines, and burnished with his rays an exhilarating scene of rocks and hills and towers—of glittering streams and a glorious ocean. As we approached the classic LIRIS, we passed under the broken arches of an ancient aqueduct that once supplied the proud city of MINTURNÆ, whose ruins, close on our right, are now the habitation of wolves, foxes, and wild animals. We were on the spot where Marius concealed him


“ In 1806, Frà Diavolo had rendered himself formidable even to those whom pontifical guards and Neapolital troops dared not oppose. The murders on the highway between Rome and Naples were almost as numerous as the travellers that passed it. The bravest men in the French army were cut off by assassination, and the gallant Colonel Brugniere and several of his officers are supposed to have fallen by Frà Diavolo's own hand.”

self in the Marshes, and we could not help fancying, every now and then, the fiendish face of that inhuman monster, staring at us from the mud !

Crossing the Liris, we ascend a series of hills amidst romantic scenery, and from one of the eminences of Mount Massicus, behold the CAMPANIA Felix stretching away to the foot of Vesuvius, in front, from whose crater the wreathing smoke rises in a zig-zag line, and mingles with an atmosphere of heavenly ætherial blue. On the left, the serrated ridge of Apennines towers to the skies, as an impassable barrier and protection to this GARDEN of EDENon the right, the Mediterranean laves the base of the bold and perpendicular promontory of Ischia.

Descending from the hills where Horace quaffed, and quaffing praised the Falernian juice, we post rapidly to Capua, a place fraught with exciting recollections. If ever this renowned city subdues the energies of another Hannibal, and dissolves an army of veterans in slothful effeminacy, it will be by the relaxing qualities of the climate rather than by the captivating graces of the women! Capua is still a fortified town; but the only military exercises which we observed, were a kind of Lancastro-Lusitanian system*-not of mutual instruction, but of mutual protection against marauders, who levy contributions on the personal property (not propreté) of all ranks and both


From the hills of St. Agatha to Capua, and from Capua to Naples (but especially between the latter places) the ground is nearly as level as the bordering ocean ; while the natural fertility of the soil and the extreme refinement of cultivation combine to form a scene too luscious for the eye not to pall upon the sense, even in a short journey of less than thirty miles. On every side, and in every direction, mother Earth is bringing forth triplets at a birth, and these births are quadrupled in the course of the year. Grain below, orchards above, vines between, produce such a constant reiteration of corn, fruit, and wine, that we become as sated and drunk with the exuberant gifts of Nature, as flies that are wading over a plate of honey. What a treat would the savage mountain of Radicofani, or the steril rock of Gibraltar, prove to the eye of the traveller in the CAMPANIA Felix! We are naturally led to ask, what are the causes of all this fertility? They are obvious enough. The soil is a rich alluvion, on which the rays of an almost tropical sun are beaming from above ;. while Vulcan’s forge is for ever roaring beneath. He who cannot dissociate, in his mind, the ideal connexion between fertility and felicity-sterility and starvation, should traverse the CAMPANIA Felix, and the mountains of Switzerland.

* The compositor, who considered himself a great traveller, having once made a voyage to Lisbon, changed LUSITANIAN, into LousITANIAN, by way of shewing that he had not travelled without noting the manners and customs of other countries.




Naples is to the Eternal City, what the sprightly Greeks were to the solemn Romans. The three views, from the Bay, from Vesuvius, and from the Castle of St. Elmo, are, I think, the most splendid on the surface of this globe, as respects natural scenery—and are hardly inferior to any, in point of materials for classical recollection, or poetic imagery. The situation of Naples is not more singular than the character of her inhabitants. Perched on the abrupt declivity of a craggy and precipitous eminence that overhangs the ocean-alternately rocked by the earthquake and scorched by the vol., cano-in daily risk of being hurled into the sea, or crashed beneath gigantic rocks—this magnificent city sits smiling at the convulsions of Nature-the, head-quarters of noisy mirth and motley masquerade—where, in fact,-.

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players ! The Neapolitans are the only true philosophers. DIOGENES considered himself peculiarly independent, because he could coil himself up in a tub, like a dog, and snarl at passengers. The Lazaroni are far more independent as well as far more happy than the Grecian cynic, because the earth is to them a comfortable sofa—the sky a magnificent canopy-and a "few fingerings of Macaroni” are ample provision for the day !*

* A spirited female writer (Lady Morgan) looks upon the Neapolitans as “ fine materials for an able legislature to work out a noble national character;" sagaciously observing that" an ardent temperament is the soil of great virtue, as of great talent-for strong feelings and kindling fancies are not the stuff of which mediocrity of any kind is created.” Her Ladyship then lauds the spirit, the patriotism, the learning, and other estimable virtues of their ancestors, from the time they assisted in driving out Hannibal, down to their resistance of the pope and the inquisition. The amiable wri. ter's sex prevented her from seeing certain proofs of the virtues of the ancient inhabitants of this land of genius, as carefully concealed on the walls of the houses in Pompeii—and preserved in a certain wing of the Museo BORBO. NICO, wisely locked against female curiosity. Had her Ladyship studied these relics, she would have found that the ancients were still less decent and virtuous than the mudern Neapolitans.

“ The day-light (says her Ladyship) is not shunned by the lower Neapolitans, under any pretence. In the full glare of its lustre, in the full observance of the public eye, ALL THE DUTIES AND ALL THE OFFICES OF LIFE, are frankly and undisguisedly performed.” A precious scene this for the eyes of delicate English females ! Lady Morgan has gone as far in graphic description as she could, with decency-and farther than I shall venture to go, on this occasion.


The transition from Rome to Naples—from the Boeotian and pestiferous atmosphere of the Campagna to the clear blue ether of BaiÆ, is like that experienced by the long-confined slave, on emerging from the dark Peruvian mine, to gaze in freedom on the glorious vault of Heaven.

The operation of physical agencies alone, in such scenes as these, is of no mean potency; but when moral influences are superadded, the effects are very striking. Example is peculiarly contagious, and human magnetism is not entirely visionary. There are few possessing any share of sensibility, who can saunter along the TOLEDO, or thread the mazes of the thousand wyndes and crevasses that descend from this magnificent street to the Mole, or delve through the steep acclivities of the rocks, without catching a portion of that exuberant animal spirit which flashes from soul to soul, like the electric corruscations that play from cloud to cloud, along a tropical horizon on an autumnal evening. It will be well too, if we do not catch, by frequent contact, something more than a portion of the vivacity of this lively people, “ whose character is as volcanic as their soil”-in whose veins the fires of Vesuvius are said to burn-perhaps not always with the most hallowed flame!

Situated on the verge of Elysium-on the confines of earth and ocean, enjoying all the advantages of land and water—this terrestrial paradise affords too much physical stimulation to the senses, and too much moral excitement to the intellect of casual visitors, not to induce that satiety which sooner or later supervenes on vivid impressions and voluptuous sensations. Hence it is a general remark among strangers, that, although Naples is most charming, as a temporary sojourn, Rome is more desirable as a protracted residence. This illustrates a position which I ventured to advance on a former occasion, when speaking of Gibbon, Rousseau, and the lake of Geneva. Brilliant skies and beautiful landscapes cannot secure constant pleasure. On the contrary, the very excitement which they produce, inevitably exhausts the power of enjoyment, and ends in ENNUI. I speak of a moral and intellectual people, and not of those mere animals whose " over-abundant vitality, uncalled on by their torpid institutes, bursts forth as it can, and wastes itself in shrill sounds, rapid movements, and vivacious gestures. The agencies in question lead to two important resultsma deficiency of moral sentiment, and a decrement of human life. Where climate supplies constant stimulation for the senses, passion will predominate over reason ; and where the passions are indulged, the

range of existence will be curtailed. Hence we see around us, in this fairy land, a people “who seek sensations in proportion as they are denied ideas-and who, consigned unmolested to the influence of their vehement passions, are as destitute of moral principles as they are removed from the causes out of which moral principles arise-PROPERTY and EDUCATION." Lady Morgan attributes all these effects to mal-government-and nothing to



climate-but how will her Ladyship account for the next part of the position --the decreased length of life? In Naples, supposed to be the finest climate in Italy, or in the world, a 28th part of the population is annually swept away, -while only a fortieth part pays the debt of Nature in London! This prodigious difference cannot be placed entirely to the account of moral or political causes. In all warm climates, an approximation to the same results takes place, whatever be the form or the merits of government. Life is shortened-moral sentiment depressed !

But however we may moralize on the influence of a climate which, there is too much reason to believe, is unfavourable to valour in one sex and virtue in the other; it is impossible to view the topography of Naples, without exqui. site delight. From Misenum on one side, to Surrentum on the other, the bold and waving line of coast, with islands of classic fame, forming the guard or break-water of a spacious semicircular bay, presents the most magnificent and romantic scenery over which the eye of man ever ranged, in a mixture of astonishment and pleasure. It is a scene of loveliness, sublimity, and serenity, springing out of the agonies, the distortions, and the convulsions of Nature! Every inch of coast from Procida to Capri-nay, from the rocks of Anxur to the vortex of Charybdis, including the Tufa Mountain, on whose rugged brow and jutting crags Naples itself reposes, has been torn from the bowels of the earth, and vomited forth, in torrents of boiling mud or molten lava, to crystallize in air or rush into the affrighted ocean. In Rome, we tread on the ruins of sad reality. Here, we wander over the land of fiction and of song. The poet's eye, “ in a fine phrenzy rolling,” has peopled every foot of this fairy ground, with gods celestial and gods infernal—with heroes and demigods with syrens and sybils—with the shades of the Just, enjoying their Elysium-with the souls of the Wicked expiating their crimes !

It would be delightful, if we could disburthen our memory of the facts of history, and only retain the illusions of poetry, while eyeing the shores of Baiæ. But alas, we cannot forget, though we need not dwell on the subject, that this enchanted and still enchanting coast has been more debased, in a moral point of view, by the crimes and depravities of man, than physically disfigured by the conflicts of elemental war! If Homer and Virgil, Horace and Lucullus, Mæcenas and Cicero, Varro and Hortensius have been there so also have been Marius, Tiberius, Nero, Caligula, and too many others of the same stamp! They breathed on these shores, and their pestilent breath remains, to sicken and consume the unwary sojournera breath more depopulating than the UPAS TREE of Java or the Simoom of the desert !

But to return to modern PARTHENOPE. The first few days' sojourn in this intoxicating spot--this land of Circe and the Syrenswould induce even a veteran traveller to think that he had, at last, found the haven of happiness, the PORTUS SALUTIS, the RE-UNION and concentration of all the objects that

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