APPROACH TO BOLOGNÁ.

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rush from the Apennines, along these water-courses—and in many places, the traveller's carriage is arrested till the rapid stream subsides. In such localities, the high and narrow arch permits the pedestrian traveller or the peasant and mule to pass. These water-courses vary in breadth, from a dozen yards to a mile, or even more; and well tempered must be the springs of carriages to withstand the succussions experienced while traversing their rocky surfaces. They are foaming cataracts one day and empty channels the next. The mountains being often wrapt in clouds, the rains sometimes fall there without any notice on the plains, till the torrent comes roaring along with tremendous rapidity, sweeping away every living creature that happens to be crossing the dry and rugged channels at the time. These ravines form one of the most potent engines of insalubrity in Italy, though very much overlooked by medical travellers. I shall revert to them hereafter, when speaking of the climate of this country.

It is also between the Po and Bologna that the level grounds, bordering on the Apennines, present scenes of cultivation and fertility which delight the eye and defy description. They are only surpassed by the Campagna Felice, near Naples. The almost interminable ridge of hoary Alps is still seen, with scarcely any diminution, in our rear-the Apennines rise, in modest grandeur, on our right—and the plains of Lombardy stretch away to the verge of the horizon on the left. The surface of the soil is cultivated like a garden, producing three or four annual crops of grain-hedges and neat enclosures divide the farms—rows of elms, poplars, mulberries, &c. traverse every field, not more than 50 or 60 feet distant from each other-while the slender and helpless branches of the vine are carried from tree to tree, trained in elegant or fantastic festoons, and bending to the earth beneath a load of the most delicious grapes. The richness and beauty of the scenery are not rendered less interesting by a consciousness that we are pacing along the VIA EMILIA, now one of the most smooth and excellent roads in Europe-that we are treading over the ground where Hannibal and the Romans, in former times, mingled in mortal combat; and where, in our own days, the still more terrific conflict between "fiery Frank and furious Hun" dyed the Trebia with human gore, and fertilized its banks with the carcases of heroes!

The vintage was in full operation-and every man, woman, child, and beast, were at work in securing the nectarious harvest of old Bacchus. Did the appearance of the peasantry correspond with the scenes of peace, plenty, and fertility around? Travellers say little or nothing on this subject. If they did but inspect the countenances of the inhabitants, they would see poverty, disease, and depression in every feature! Some mysterious and invisible UPAS TREE must surely overshadow the smiling plains and glades of Italy, rendering nugatory the exuberance of Nature and the labour of man.

M

Soft zephyrs blow-eternal summers reign,,

And showers prolific bless the soil-in vain!

The peasantry do not, indeed, present such marked characters of sickliness, as among the rice-grounds on the other side of the Po; yet the malarious countenance is unequivocal-and doubtless there are not wanting moral and political causes to aid the deleterious operation of climate. I am rather surprised that so acute an observer as Lady Morgan should permit the beauty and fertility of the country to veil the sickly aspect of the people—nay, to transform it into that of health, happiness, and beauty. "Every step (says this enchantress) was a picture-the sky was Claude's-the foliage was Poussin's the groupings were Teniers'. Those gloomy and ruinous buildings in which the peasantry herd in Italy, were here replaced by cottages of English neatness, environed by more than English abundance-gardens of natural fertility, vineyards dressed like flower-knotts—and a population the most joyous and active, gave assurance of that equal distribution of the gifts of providence, which best

One of three things must be the case. Either the appearance of the inha. bitants has been changed by the lapse of ten years-Lady Morgan was deceived-or I am no judge of the human countenance. There was neither that health, activity, joy, or signs of plenty in the peasantry, between the Po and the Apennines, which her Ladyship has portrayed. They are less squalid than the Milanese-but the marks of malaria—indeed of the Italian climate, which, according to Lady Morgan herself, " spares every thing but man," were indelibly imprinted on every face.

John Bell has fallen into the same strain as Lady Morgan, and, while travelling between the Po and Bologna, "could not help remarking the uncommon beauty of the people." I only request the traveller to use his eyes and decide. If John Bell had consulted the tables of mortality in this country, or examined the hospitals of Milan and Bologna, he would have been convinced that, if people are more beautiful on the banks of the Po than on the banks of the Thames, they are much more sickly-and I believe sickness and beauty are rather antagonizing characters in the human frame. Indeed, it is to be regretted that a medical man of such talents as John Bell possessed, did not direct his observations to the medical topography of Italy, instead of filling a quarto volume with criticisms on statues, buildings, and paintings. Surely the profession by which he gained immortal fame, was not beneath his notice while travelling in Italy.

We are now in Bologna; but the reader need not fear the infliction of a description, for the fiftieth time repeated. There are two great classes of

objects which command the traveller's attention in Italy-the beauties of Nature and the works of art. The last and greatest work of the Creator is seen to best advantage in the gallery of the Vatican-and even there it is but a copy; the original (according to West) being in the back woods of America.* From the summit of Assinelli's tower, not more remarkable for its altitude than its ugliness, (but whose leaning is scarcely perceptible) the traveller will enjoy one of those magnificent prospects which can never be obliterated from the memory. The lofty Apennines on one side, form a remarkable contrast with the boundless plains on the other. It is here that the last faint glimpse of the Alps is caught, in the north-east quarter, like the edge of a white cloud just above the horizon. Bologna itself is better seen from this tower than from any other spot in the neighbourhood. The principal streets are lined, on each side, with arcades, like Berne, for example. Forsyth is " surprised that continued porticos like these, which Nero's excellent taste had designed for his new edition of Rome, are not general in the south of Italy, a country so subject to violent heat and rain.” Forsyth forgot, or perhaps did not know, that to have these open porticos, the streets must be comparatively wide-and that wide streets would admit the which is a much more unwelcome visitor than rain, in a hot climate. Narrow streets are more economical, and also more cool.

sun,

Having seen the beauties of Nature from the summit of Assinelli's tower, the traveller proceeds to the halls of the university and the PINAcoteca, to contemplate the wonders of art. The wax-works in Bologna are far more valuable, though on an infinitely smaller scale, than those at Florence. The former represent diseases-the latter are purely anatomical, and not very correct. These last (at Florence) are of little or no use, except to make the vulgar stare. Here (Bologna) may be seen the PELLAGRA of Lombardy, by those who do not like to traverse the wards of the great hospital at Milan. The cabinets of natural history, antiquities, &c. demand a day or two for examination. But the PINACOTECA is the favourite lounge. Some of the finest paintings in Italy are here. Cecilia stealing HARMONY, as Prometheus stole FIRE, from Heaven, is, I think, the best. The remark which I am going to make, and which regards Italy in general, not the Pinacoteca in particular, will subject me to severe censuree-but to that I am more callous than the critics may imagine. In pacing the thousand galleries of this Holy Land, the eye is first surprized, but ultimately fatigued, with the endless representations of religious subjects-more especially the mysteries of our sacred religion. Wherever we look, crucifixions, sepultures, resurrections, descents

* West's exclamation, on seeing the Belvidere Apollo, at Rome, is known to every one" My God! a Mohawk warrior!"

from the cross and ascents into the clouds, are mingled with mysterious con ceptions, virgin mothers, and infantile Christs. I may be wrong—but I suspect that the infinite variety in the delineation and personification of these hallowed truths, weaken and disturb the unity and solemnity of those ideas that ought to be attached to them. The eternal Virgin and Child, under every form and in every kind of situation which the genius of a Caracci, Guido, Guercino, Giovanni, Domenichino, &c. &c. could imagine, down to the rude daubs and carvings on every sign-post, finger-post, wall, and pigstye in Italy, may create or strengthen devotion in the minds of others, but I confess that they had no such salutary tendency on mine.

In the celebrated church of "LA MADONNA DI ST. LUCA," seated on a" romantic eminence near Bologna, the road to which is covered, to induce travellers, even in bad weather, to visit it, we see the Virgin Mary, painted by Saint Luke himself. If the Apostle has given a true representation, and certainly he had the best means of doing so, the Virgin must have been a native of Africa! Mr. Eustace slurs over this picture, and talks only of the church, 66 as a most noble monument of public piety, and alone sufficient to prove, that the spirit and magnificence of the ancient Romans still animate the modern Italians"!!! Mr. Eustace is right. Ancient Romans and modern Italians have erected magnificent temples and splendid churches over the rankest falsehoods and vilest impositions that ever disgraced the reason and the judgment of man. Of the former I shall speak in due time-of the latter, be the shrine of Loretto and the Madonna di St. Luca sufficient examples!

The catholic religion and catholic painters delight in the historical events, the parentage, the birth, the early life, the crucifixion, and the ascension of our Saviour—all or most of which are mysteries or miracles incomprehensible by the human mind-while the heavenly, but practical and intelligible, precepts of Christianity, which ought to be our constant study and guide, are passed over, as not calculated to produce that striking effect on the senses which would seem to be the end and object of the catholic worship. But whatever objections may be urged against these strictures on pictorial representations of Christ, as participating in human nature, I think the idea of pencilling the CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE, will hardly be advocated. Yet Guercino has dared to do this. He has represented the ALMIGHTY with the left hand resting on a globe, the right being raised in the clouds.

"The countenance (says John Bell) is that of an old man, having a long beard and grey hairs; the figure is enveloped in the folds of a rich Cardinal's cloak, while on his brow an expression of anxious thought is seated, wrinkling the forehead with deep lines of care, as if meditating with perplexity on the world he had created. The circumstance of Guercino's having executed this picture in one night by the light of flambeaux, seems to be perfectly ascer

tained; but it is difficult not to regret that the artist had chosen for proof of his celebrity a task so difficult, or, I ought rather to say, impossible, as that of representing the Eternal Father."

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And yet we can hardly wonder at the "perplexing meditations" of our Creator, when foreseeing the horrible acts that were to be perpetrated by his express image," MAN! Close to the above picture is an illustrationPoussin's MURDER OF THE INNOCENTS. "The terror, (says a pictorial critic) dismay, and wildness of the different groups are admirably portrayed; and, notwithstanding the violence of the action, each head is beautiful as that of an angel. The naked ruffians, with their uplifted daggers and sacrilegious hands stained with blood, are drawn in the finest style, and with all the energy of pitiless soldiers inured to such deeds."

"The outcry of one mother, (says John Bell) dragged by her scarf and hair, and held by one of these men till he reaches her child; the pale, dishevelled aspect of another, breathless with terror, fainting, and delayed in her flight from agitation; the despair and agony of a third beyond these, who sits wringing her hands over her slaughtered babes; the touch of madness pictured on the fine countenance, which is uplifted with an indescribable expression of the utmost agony; the murdered babes filling the lower corner of the picture, lying on the blood-stained marble, so pale, so huddled together, so lifeless, yet so lovely and innocent in death, present an historical picture, perhaps the most domestic and touching that was ever painted."

The martyrdom of St. Agnes is scarcely less terrible-perhaps more affecting, on account of the individuality of the sacrifice. The execution of one innocent man or woman excites more exquisite and poignant sorrow than the sight of a field covered with slaughtered warriors.

The martyrdom of St. Peter, with the hatchet sticking in his head and a stiletto standing upright in his breast is "foul and unnatural." Caracci's "flagellation of our Saviour," is detestable, and derogatory to the dignity of Christ.

I called on one of the most distinguished professors of the University of Bologna (Tommasini)—and, indeed, of Italy. He was packing up his goods and chattels for Parma. His popularity in Bologna was not relished by the Pope-and he was going to place himself under the patronage of the exEmpress of France! While men of science and philosophy are forced to desert the crosier of Rome for the bayonet of Austria, we need not entertain very sanguine hopes of that resuscitation of ancient Roman magnificence, which the amiable Eustace so ardently anticipated!

THE APENNINES.

Choice induced us to spend a night "above the storm's career," in the