iHKiliiiiB 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 3 
 9 
 6 
 
 ; C2 
 ! o 
 
 ^aiilornia 
 ^ional 
 [ility 
 
 m
 
 ^Ov 
 
 
 
 ^
 
 %il3AlNf)i^>' 
 
 
 X 
 
 ^OF'CAlIFb% 
 
 
 t 
 
 u- 
 
 vlOSANC 
 
 t ^ 
 
 ■^miMh 
 
 i3 
 
 I ^ 
 
 Au > )ju; I ^
 
 ifHYMES FROM ITALY.
 
 RHYMES FROM ITALY, 
 
 IN 
 
 A SERIES OF LETTERS 
 
 TO 
 
 A FRIEND IN ENGLAND. 
 
 BY 
 
 M. VERTUE. 
 
 " Ride, si sapis." 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JAMES RIDGWAY & SONS, 169, PICCADILLY. 
 
 MDCCCXXXVII.
 
 " The Author has rhymed us a very good story, and not the less 
 good because it is true, which, if his work do not immortalize, 
 perhaps it may immortalize his work. * * * The lines are very 
 pleasant reading, but we think that the Author must have found 
 them still more pleasant writing." — Metropolitan Magazine. 
 
 " Much humour and shrewdness of observation, and a lively 
 power of satire, qualified by good nature, will be ^found by the 
 readers of ' The Rhymes from Italy.' " — Netv Monthly Magazine. 
 
 LONDON : 
 I'KINTLD BY T. BRLTTtLL, UUPEllT STKEET, HAYMARKET.
 
 S70b 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN FRANK NEWTON, Esq. 
 
 THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR 
 
 OF 
 
 " THREE ENIGMAS EXPLAINED," 
 
 &c. &c. 
 THE FOLLOWING WORK 
 
 IS INSCRIBED 
 
 BY ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS, 
 AND VALUED HIS FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 765733
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 TPllE origin of the following letters was 
 entirely accidental and unpremeditated. A 
 friend having requested me to write to him 
 during a tour in Italy, I was one day taken 
 in a rhyming fit, and sent him a long sheet 
 of doggrel, which he was pleased to say he 
 admired, and importuned me to continue 
 a description of my peregrinations in the 
 same manner. Flattered by my friend's 
 approbation — who, I must premise, is a 
 man of considerable talents — I have made 
 the attempt — how well I have succeeded
 
 Vlll TO THE READER. 
 
 must be left to the judgment of the reader. I 
 have aimed at little beyond putting into rhyme 
 the usual desultory chit-chat of a familiar 
 correspondence; and, whenever the subject 
 would admit of it, without losing sight of 
 the truth, giving the thing as comic a turn 
 as possible. 
 
 There has been some \ery splendid de- 
 scriptive poetry written on Italy — witness the 
 too little that Lord Byron has left us — and 
 tliere has been also a great deal of twaddling 
 nonsense written on Italy, in the form of 
 poetry, with pretensions, which I will not 
 witness. I believe this is the first time it 
 has ever been attempted in hudibrastic verse ; 
 so that the following letters will at least 
 have the recommendation of novelty ; and 
 before the reader gets half through them — 
 if his patience last so long — he will most
 
 TO THE READER. IX 
 
 likely say, and say but too truly — novelty 
 is their only recommendation. In justice 
 to myself, however, I must add, that they 
 have been vv^ritten quite extempore ; and I 
 can truly affirm, that I never sat down 
 to them one single hour, with the exception 
 of the time employed in writing a fair copy. 
 They have all been composed in walking 
 abou4r when I happened to be alone, or 
 travelling in a diligence, or snail-paced vet- 
 tura. I do not mention this circumstance as 
 an excuse for my bad verses -, for I am not 
 quite certain that I could have done them 
 much better with the greatest care and atten- 
 tion. Had these letters been intended f<jr 
 publication when they were written, I cer- 
 tainly should have preserved more order in 
 the arrangement of the matter. Perhaps the 
 reader may ask why they are now published ? 
 — I would explain, but for the fear of tiring
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 with a repetition of the hundred times told 
 tale of the " sohcitations of kind friends" — 
 " imperfect parts of the work having got 
 into circulation," &c. &c. I see many parts 
 that might have been improved ; but, to use a 
 sporting phrase, I am now " off the scent" 
 — my mind is at present too much occupied 
 with other pursuits, to permit me to enter 
 on the task of correction. 
 
 Perhaps many of my readers may consider 
 that I have exercised too much severity on 
 some of the subjects which I have touched 
 upon ; but I must apprise them that I 
 travelled at a time of life when all my ideas 
 were too firmly set in an Englisli mould to 
 yield with much pliability to a foreign im- 
 pression. At the same time I think it impos- 
 sible to exaggerate many of the follies, vices, 
 and monstrous superstitions that came under
 
 TO THE READER. XI 
 
 my observation. Besides, my only object 
 having been to amuse my correspondent, 
 I * endeavoured, with this view, to select 
 materijtls from that side of the question which 
 afforded me the greatest scope for bantering. 
 My aim was, to excite a harmless laugh, 
 and not at all to give offence, by ridiculing 
 customs and subjects, respecting which I 
 may happen to entertain an opinion different 
 from that of others. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 RHYMES FROM ITALY. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Venice, 1835. 
 
 In hunting for pictures, for statues, for music. 
 
 It oft has made me, and I'm sure must make you sick — 
 
 To think what snug comforts we all leave at home for it ;- 
 And let it but only be fix^d in the minds of us, 
 That pleasure is spreading her lap in these climes for us ; 
 And quick, in a moment, away we all roam for it. 
 
 But hold — this prancing steed will not 
 
 Go either in a walk, or trot ; 
 
 But starts in lines so very long — 
 
 In truth, they ne'er will suit my song. 
 
 So, I must look about to find 
 
 A beast more suited to my mind : 
 
 I hate such high-flown, bounding paces, 
 
 Just only fit for Epsom races. 
 
 B
 
 2 VENIC'F.. 
 
 In short, it wants such skill to ride 'em — 
 Such genius, taste, and wit to guide 'em — 
 Such strength and vigour, let me tell ye, 
 Demands a Byron, Moore, or Shelley. 
 No Pegasus I wash — my job 
 Asks but a little punchy cob ; 
 A quiet, gentle, hobbling creature, 
 Just suited to an eight feet metre. 
 
 Methinks I hear you say, " enough 
 " Of this dull introductVy stuff;"— 
 Well — if you judge that I had better 
 Commence at once my promised letter ; 
 Here goes — and if ^^ou see the end on % 
 Some patience you'll require, depend on't. 
 
 But let me say, ere I begin, 
 I don't intend to enter in 
 INIinute particulars — or trace 
 Each turnpike road, or resting place ; 
 Or, ev'ry palace that I see. 
 Or picture, bust, or statuary. 
 If, on such things, you 're in the dark. 
 You'll find them all in Mistress Starke. 
 
 All hail ! dear Venice, hail to thee. 
 Thou darling play-thing of the sea. 
 What, tho' the tyrant's chain has bound thee. 
 And thrown his chilly grasp around thee ; —
 
 VENICE. O 
 
 Yet joy sits smiling on the face 
 Of many of thy sun-burnt race*. 
 Not so thy nobles — gloom and care, 
 Alas ! too plain, are pictured there. 
 Their present grief may well deplore 
 The want of courage heretofore ; — 
 Heroic deeds might then have gaind 
 Much more than grieving e^er obtained. 
 Their gorgeous palaces soon must 
 Crumble into mouldering dust ; 
 Or slowly sink beneath the wave, 
 Thatjox^es the marble shaft to lave — 
 Tliose M'onders of a former day, 
 Now, splendid beauties in decay. 
 
 The mocking echo, now, no more 
 Fainter repeats from shore to shore 
 Sweet Tasso's strains (i) — they 're lost and gone. 
 And mute the gondoliere's song. 
 The ripple of the sparkling tide, 
 That murmurs 'gainst his vessel's side ; 
 Or caution's word, or friendly greeting, 
 Of toiling man, a brother meeting (-) ; 
 
 » " Their liveliness, their affability, and that happy iaJifterenco 
 which constitution alone can give (for philosophy aspires to it 
 in vain) have not sunk under circumstances." — Lord Byron.
 
 * VENICE. 
 
 Save these, 'tis rare of sounds you hear^ 
 
 That break upon the h'st'ning ear. 
 
 Not so of yore — the jocund song 
 
 Resounded then in strains along, 
 
 From boat to boat, from side to side, 
 
 Soft trembling on the crystal tide, 
 
 Join'd by each distant gondolier, 
 
 Not too remote the theme to hear ; 
 
 Which, in the next responding strain, 
 
 Was gaily bounded back again. 
 
 Will that strain rise once more.'* — O ! never- 
 
 With liberty, 'tis lost for ever. 
 
 The lark springs soaring from his nest. 
 
 The ambient air cleaves with his breast ; 
 
 In freedom, spreads his speckled wings, 
 
 And fluttering, up to " Heaven Vgate sings ;' 
 
 Confine him in a cage, his song 
 
 Is mute — his native spirit gone. 
 
 " If you would view St. Mark's aright," 
 Just enter, as the sun's last light 
 Upon the stately dome is seen 
 A glowing, ling'ring, parting gleam — 
 ' lis then her mystic form appears, 
 A half-lost dream of by-gone years. 
 A something, that partakes of all — 
 A Christian church — a Druid's hall —
 
 VENICE. 
 
 A Jewish temple, or Egyptian — 
 A building that defies description : 
 And, to be well appreciated, 
 It must be seen, or underrated. 
 
 The works of art, i' the new Museum, 
 I 'm sure you 'd like, if you could seeVm ; 
 Perhaps you'll say, I ought to mention 
 Those most deserving of attention. 
 Well — first, it 's proper you should know, 
 Before upon the task I go ; 
 I cannot breathe my soul in lyrics, 
 Or burst a vein, in strong hysterics ; 
 Or fall in either fits, or fainting, 
 At any oil or fresco painting. 
 Some wild enthusiasts for the art, 
 Swear roundly that I have no heart ; — 
 So I must be content to rest with 
 One half sense less than they are bless'd with. 
 But, faith, they make a great omission, 
 To say, I don't admire Titian. 
 Soft Carlo Dolce keeps me hours — 
 Nor are the strength, and force and powers 
 Of Raphael, pass'd with inattention — 
 So much I feel his fine invention : 
 And no enthusiast can match me. 
 In pleasure, at a true Caracci : 
 The soft, harmonious, glowing Claude, 
 I can appreciate and laud.
 
 6 
 
 VENICP;. 
 
 At Caiialetti's views of Venice, 
 
 To tell my joy, too weak my pen is ; 
 
 Old Teniers makes me laugh out right 
 
 With pleasure, and with true delight ; 
 
 In age, in straggling hairs and wrinkles, 
 
 Old Denner's pencil (•') the true link tells. 
 
 That separates the imaged features 
 
 From nature^s animated creatures ; 
 
 As if there was contending: strife 
 
 Between the picture and the life ; 
 
 Each line he draws with such acuteness. 
 
 Such accuracy and minuteness. 
 
 My sentiments you hardly need know 
 
 About the Heaven-inspired Guido ; 
 
 As, on his works, there is but one 
 
 Just critical opinion, 
 
 Which, in six words is clearly shown, 
 
 " Perfection marks them for her own."" 
 
 Now, if for such as these, they deem 
 
 That I am wanting in esteem ; 
 
 I tell them this, whatever their wonder, 
 
 They make a most confounded blunder. 
 
 But yet I cannot join the rout 
 
 That some good people make about 
 
 What, after all, I can't descry 
 
 They know much more about than I. 
 
 Say what they will, I'll keep from fits ; 
 
 Nor render up the little wits
 
 VENICE. 
 
 With which I 've been so kindly bless'd ; 
 Few tho' they be, it's quite confessed. 
 
 They seem to have a festa here, 
 For evVy day in ev'ry year ; 
 And one would be inclined to say. 
 Each workday was a holiday. 
 Their very names Avould fill a letter, 
 And, to describe them any better, 
 And make you all the customs know. 
 Require a duodecimo ; 
 Indeed, in evVy shop is seen 
 A larger work upon this theme (^) ; 
 Ferhaps, the following example 
 May be of service for a sample. 
 
 To keep the parish out of evil, 
 And from the clutches of the devil. 
 Each has a saint ; or, what 's no less, 
 A kind, protecting, good saintess ; — 
 Indeed, the females, it would seem. 
 As guardians, are in great esteem ; 
 And folks that live, are most content 
 Under petticoat government ; 
 A certain proof, beyond all doubt. 
 These people know what they're about : 
 For, if their senses must be hidden, 
 And they are forced to be saint-ridden.
 
 8 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 Their choice a judgment sound denotes, 
 
 In fixing on the petticoats. 
 
 These ladies so monopolize 
 
 Our minds, with all their witcheries — 
 
 And ev'ry thought so lead astray 
 
 From what one ought to do and say. 
 
 That I have nearly lost the thread 
 
 Of what I purposed to have said : 
 
 So, let me turn a few steps back, 
 
 And try to find again my track. 
 
 Well — now, as I was going to write. 
 
 On this salute's or saintess's night ; 
 
 The men are wash'd, and shaved, and dress'd 
 
 Most smartly out, in all their best. 
 
 The women, hoping saintly succours, 
 
 Are seen in their " best bibs and tuckers." 
 
 From evVy window you may see 
 
 Some pictures, scarfs, or tapestry — 
 
 Or Avreaths of blooming flowers, which may 
 
 Adorn the happy, joyous day. 
 
 And dazzling bright illuminations 
 
 Add lustre to these demonstrations. 
 
 Then, in some vacant place, a stand 
 
 Erected high, to hold a band ; 
 
 Who lend their aid, by soothing airs. 
 
 To make the folks forget their cares — 
 
 And parties who, from evVy floor. 
 
 Are sipping coffee at the door :
 
 VENICE. 
 
 Or, strolling up and down, among 
 
 The happy, careless, laughing throng — 
 
 Unconscious quite, how quick time Hies, 
 
 'Midst shining lamps, and sparkling eyes. 
 
 Now, there is little more to say 
 
 About a Venice festive day. 
 
 I \e been among them, it is right 
 
 To tell, both morning, noon, and night ; 
 
 And never saw the scene give birth 
 
 To aught, but innocence and mirth — 
 
 And often blush'd, to think on some 
 
 Results, so different at home — 
 
 But fruit and coffee keep heads quiet, 
 
 While gm and porter breed a riot. 
 
 IVe often thought, and thought again, 
 With much less pleasure than with ]^ain — 
 And tried the thing in evVy sense, 
 To find out, what real influence 
 This travlling mania, now so common, 
 May have upon our English women — 
 If it the least improves their lives ; 
 Or makes them sweeter, kinder wives — 
 Or if by opening thus our purses. 
 They better mothers make, or nurses — 
 Or if it gives their minds a bent 
 To happiness, and true content. 
 Now, if upon these subjects grave, 
 My real judgment you would have, 
 
 b5 
 
 9
 
 10 VEXICE. 
 
 You'll recollect, it must be noted, 
 
 I cannot on this theme be quoted : 
 
 For, if the girls my mind should spy out, 
 
 In anger they might scratch an eye out — 
 
 Or from my head pull out some hair ; 
 
 And, truth to say, IVe none to spare. 
 
 Then let us keep the subject mum — 
 
 For could I think 'twould ever come 
 
 To any dear young lady's ears, 
 
 'Twould quite distract each thought with fears : 
 
 And, beyond measure, griey'd should be. 
 
 To have e'en one an enemy. 
 
 So, let us try to cheat their keenness, 
 
 And keep the matter snug between us. 
 
 Had I to choose a sweet, young wife. 
 
 To love, and cherish, all my life — 
 
 Give me the female, fond of home — 
 
 Domestic — and who hates to roam — 
 
 Pleased, with her family, to share 
 
 Her husband's love, and tender care. 
 
 Whene'er I ask, I always learn 
 
 That trav'lling gives a vagrant turn 
 
 To women's minds — and what's the use,? 
 
 It makes them grumble like the deuce — 
 
 And scold their children while they';-e breath, 
 
 And henpeck all the men to death. 
 
 If I must freely speak my mind, 
 
 I doubt, if parents ever find
 
 VENICE. 11 
 
 That statue-rooms, in any sense, 
 Improve their children's innocence (^). 
 On things, why should we lay such stress, 
 Our females blush at to express ? 
 Remember, when that blush is flown, 
 The greatest charm of woman ''s gone. 
 Nor has dame Nature, from her store 
 Of gifts to man, bestow'd one more 
 Of worth, his cares to recompense, 
 Than blushing female innocence. 
 The nectarine''s lovely bloom is such. 
 If not^despoiFd by man's rude touch ; 
 The dew, before the sun can sip 
 Its sweets from off the violet's lip; 
 The pollen too in flower-bells, ere 
 The busy bee has rifled there ; 
 The sparkling drops, that hang at morn. 
 Bright, trembling on the blooming thorn ; 
 That glisten to the op'ning day, 
 'Till kiss'd by wanton winds away ; 
 And picture well we may, from hence. 
 Young, virtuous, female innocence. 
 Now let them, for the time to come, 
 Keep that, and stay content at home. 
 
 He's not our friend, who from us smothers 
 This practice of our great grandmothers.
 
 12 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 We read, Ulysses went to roam, 
 
 But left his patient wife at home, 
 
 To weave his shirts, and scold each maid 
 
 That idle was — so Homer said ; 
 
 Who doubtless knew much more than we 
 
 Of that old dame Penelope. 
 
 The ancients always thought it right. 
 Whene'er they went from home to fight, 
 Or take a trip to foreign soils, 
 To mitigate their cares and toils — 
 On such occasions you will find them 
 Leave wives and daughters all behind them, 
 Who seem'd content at home to sit, 
 To card, and spin, and weave, and knit — 
 Nor do we read they left their tasks 
 For parties, cards, quadrilles, or masks. 
 How it would make a modern Miss laugh, 
 To put into her hand a distaff' ! 
 How she would stare at, and abuse it — 
 At any rate, she'd never use it ; 
 And ten to one, if truth be said. 
 She 'd throw the distaff' at your head. 
 But Grecian ladies. Homer says, 
 Had more industrious, patient ways, 
 And never sigh'd for change, or prancing 
 About the world, or dress, or dancing.
 
 VENICE. 
 
 This touch at ancient times long flown, 
 Has made me quite forget my own ; 
 And somethinsT else I meant to add — 
 Now, hang it all — this is too bad — 
 I 've quite forgot each word and line — 
 Although I know 'twas very fine — 
 So give me credit for intent 
 To brino; another aro-ufnent 
 In favour of the good old ways 
 Of grandmammas, and former days. 
 
 Here splendid churches — princely villas 
 Are fowVing high above the billows. 
 But for the streets — where'er you sally, 
 You '11 find them just like Cranbourn Alley 
 Indeed, but few streets are more spacious, 
 And very many less capacious — 
 Nor was that labyrinth, for us, 
 About which authors make such fuss — 
 I mean fair Rosamond's, oft writ on, 
 By any means so hard to hit on, 
 As these, which (if I 'm not mistaken) 
 Woukl e'en have puzzled Friar Bacon. 
 Perhaps this is the very reason, 
 We find, at every time and season. 
 The pleasures of St. Mark's arcades 
 Present a charm that never fades. 
 
 13
 
 14< VENICE. 
 
 These scenes a varied joy unfold, 
 
 Felt far more easily than told ; 
 
 Which makes me cautious to assail, what 
 
 I am so pretty sure to fail at. 
 
 Talk of your promenade and park — 
 
 Give me Piazza di St. Mark. 
 
 So, I shall nothing further say, 
 
 Than, should you chance to come this way, 
 
 Just take an ice, and seat, before 
 
 The best of cqfees, Florian s door : 
 
 But, if the scene should fail to charm yoii, 
 
 I know no other that can warm you. 
 
 So, pray remain among your evils ; 
 
 Keep snug at home, and nurse blue-demU : 
 
 And as I think this lengthy letter 
 
 Will no way tend to make you better — 
 
 For I have heard that too much prosing 
 
 Is sure to set a patient dozing — 
 
 And dozing, all the doctors choose 
 
 To think, promotes these doleful hhies. 
 
 So 1 11 conclude, with wishes fervqnt, 
 
 From your sincere, and faithful servant.
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Mihiv, 1835. 
 
 A JOURNEY here is not a light one, 
 Like running down from town to Brighton ; 
 But many troubles you must buffet, 
 And if by ^' etturino, rough it. 
 Mine, to this place, I must declare, 
 Was quite a tiresome affair : 
 The roads were bad, our springs so-so, 
 And I was bruis'd from top to toe ; 
 All, save one part, thanks to my bag*, 
 Which carried me like any nag ; 
 
 Or that part, too, without a jest, 
 
 Had been as sore as all the rest. 
 
 The drivers pay (for such the course is) 
 
 Both for your dinner, and the horse's : 
 
 And truth compels me to declare, 
 
 It is but very sorry fare. 
 
 * An air-bag.
 
 J6 MILAN. 
 
 But if the items you would hear 
 Of tliis said Vetturino's cheer, 
 List, for a moment, to my verse, 
 While I the bill of fare rehearse. 
 
 Soup, made of grease and dirty bread, 
 Is first placed at the table's head ; 
 Then comes, of course, to follow rule, 
 Some dry boiled beef, or ass, or mule — 
 For faith, I never could discover, 
 Whether it was the one or other. 
 A fritto next (forgive such speeches) 
 As tough as fried old leather breeches. 
 The moment that the whip drives up 
 To where we either dine or sup, 
 You hear the noise, the screaks, the din 
 Of chickens, as you enter in — 
 (A horrid, frightful, dread alarum. 
 In jealous chanticleer's snug haram) — 
 Their bones are soon before your eyes — 
 For flesh, they have none on their thighs. 
 Now, if youll only add to these. 
 Sour wine, stale bread, and goats'-milk cheese, 
 Youll have (or I'm a lying sinner) 
 A real Vetturino's dinner. 
 
 A fellow, at whose house we stopt. 
 And who, before, had never dropt
 
 MILAN. 17 
 
 A civil word, or even look, 
 Presented me his stranger\s-book*; 
 And ask'd a line of commendation, 
 Which j List might speak my approbation : 
 And so I wrote — and bad they be, 
 The following extempore. 
 
 I smile, whene'er I chance to look 
 
 In what is called the stranger's-book — 
 
 So full of praise and commendations — 
 Such " kind attention — civil waiters'" — 
 Such /' humble folks'' — not saucy praters, 
 
 But suited to their situations. 
 
 Could these commenders but procure 
 A corner in some lone voiture — 
 
 Instead of posting at their ease ; 
 I'd lay a bet, they 'd quickly spy 
 Themselves as badly off as I, 
 
 Whom waiters have no wish to please. 
 
 But what a fool am I, to chatter 
 On such a plain and simple matter ; 
 
 * At the inns in Italy, they keep a book, in wliicli you are 
 requested to enter your name ; and they are always more anxious 
 to win your praise by solicitations, tlian by good accommodations 
 and moderate charges. If you do not make a bargain for every 
 article, nine times in ten you are imposed upi)n.
 
 18 MILAN. 
 
 Which is the same, I much suspect, 
 In evVy place that I could mention — 
 ^Vealth meets with very great attention, 
 
 And poverty with cold neglect. 
 
 Milan's fair city looks by far 
 More like a place prepar''d for war — 
 For deeds of slaughter, blood, and strife — 
 Those cursed ills of human life ; 
 Than one, where peace and arts combined, 
 T' instruct and humanize mankind. 
 But so it is — old Metternich 
 Has play'd them such a cunning trick — 
 Has got their freedom, in exchange 
 For hussars, barracks, guns, and chains. 
 Where'er one turns, where'er one hies, 
 Muskets and whiskers meet the eyes. 
 Both drums and trumpets here assail ye, 
 And all the grim paraphernalia 
 Of fifteen thousand German soldiers. 
 Who look so fiercely to beholders, 
 You'd swear the French had never beat them, 
 Or ever would, if they should meet them. 
 
 A strict regard to truth demands 
 That T should say, the Austrian band's 
 Attractive military music, 
 (A very sly, but not a new trick)
 
 MIL AX. 
 
 19 
 
 Play to the folks most soothing strains— 
 A pleasing salvo for their chains. 
 So travlling fellows bind a bruin, 
 Close both his eyes, and then pipe to him ; 
 Make him promote, in evVy sense. 
 Their ihtVests and convenience. 
 I hate the German politics — 
 I hate all crafty Metternichs — 
 I hate the chain that tyrants bind 
 Ilpon the freedom of mankind : 
 And love with all my heart, no less, 
 What adds unto men's happiness («). 
 
 0' 
 
 The under story is a new one, 
 And, depend upon 't, a true one. 
 
 The winter past was more severe 
 Than had been known for many a year ; 
 And when the crystal ice was strong, 
 On Avater in the garrison. 
 The townsmen, without long debating, 
 Petition d for a little skating. 
 The conmiandant, at his own pleasure, 
 Had then no power to grant the measure ; 
 But he would write for what was wanted, 
 Which he was sure would soon be granted. 
 Well ! did he get the wish'd permission 
 From that grave, aulic, slow commission .?
 
 20 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 Aye ! sure he did. — But when ? — reply ! 
 Why — in the middle of July ! 
 
 Indeed, I still have better jokes 
 Of these tyrannical proud folks ; 
 But as the post don't always deal 
 With honour, but oft breaks a seal — 
 I think I 'd better not prolong 
 This theme, but rather hold my tongue ; 
 Or I, perhaps, may chance to go 
 To where they sent poor Pellico; 
 Whose punishment, a stain will cast 
 On Austria, while her annals last. 
 
 Before the Christian year began, 
 Seven wonders were performed by man ; 
 And if there be, as I Ve heard say, 
 Seven wonders of the present day — 
 Milan's fair duomo must, no doubt, 
 Assist to make the number out. 
 Her snow-white pinnacles on high, 
 Bright, glisfning in a cloudless sky ; 
 And twice two thousand statues grace 
 Or turret's top, or vacant place — 
 Saints, from ev'ry christian nation, 
 A perfect marble population. 
 Great must have been th' expanded mind, 
 That first a work like this designed ;
 
 MILAN. 
 
 And great the faith and zeal of those 
 That brought it to a final close. 
 
 Whichever way you turn, you find 
 Traces of Bonaparte's mind — 
 Works of utility, or art, 
 Are visible in evVy part : 
 And Milan shows, down to this hour, 
 The signs of his protecting power ; 
 From the triumphal arch of peace, 
 To Semplon's rocky precipice. 
 
 Italians use, in conversation. 
 More action and vociferation — 
 At least, than I have heard and seen 
 In any country where I Ve been. 
 Observe two men, who chance to meet 
 Just at the corner of a street — 
 It matters not, in any way. 
 What subject 'tis, or what they say — 
 It may be weather — or be news — 
 Or, heel-piecing a pair of shoes — 
 Or, such a shop sells wretched stuff — 
 Or, here 's the best cigars and snuff. 
 You 'd think, from each gesticulation. 
 The plague had broke out in the nation 
 Or, that there very soon would be 
 A universal bankruptcy ; 
 
 21
 
 22 MILAX. 
 
 Oi", that some dreadful, horrid case 
 
 Had just tliat n)oment taken place : 
 
 The back up — like, I know not what. 
 
 Unless it be an angry cat — 
 
 The shoulders to the ears — and their 
 
 Arms high extended in the air — 
 
 Bawling louder than did ever 
 
 Oyster-women, in cold w eatlier ; 
 
 Just bring to mind the antic pranks 
 
 Of some itin"'rant mountebanks ; 
 
 Or, see an auctioneer implore, 
 
 To get from you one bidding more ; 
 
 Or, Punch, in his contending strife 
 
 AVith doctor, devil, and his wife. 
 
 If these you Ve heard and seen, I fain 
 
 Would bring them to your mind again. 
 
 To picture how these people greet 
 
 Each other, when they chance to meet : 
 
 Nor is the subject now related, 
 
 The least burlesqued, or overrated ; 
 
 Or, any similes so fit 
 
 This strange extravagance to hit. 
 
 And sketch it, in its colours bright. 
 
 As those I Ve brought before your sight. 
 
 The op'ra-house, be it confessed. 
 Is, next to one, the very best 
 I ever saw — the company 
 Have voices good enough for me.
 
 MILAN. 
 
 23 
 
 Our countrymen, who always craAe 
 
 For better things than they can have ; 
 
 Protest to me, the whole performance 
 
 Is nothing but a farce and romance. 
 
 They must have Pasta, Tamburini, — 
 
 Or, Grisi, Toldi, Pellegrini, 
 
 IvanofF, Lablache, Zucchelli, 
 
 Dupree, Ronconi, or Donzelli ; — 
 
 If they've not these, or Malibran, 
 
 Let others do the best they can 
 
 To please, the race of Mister Bull 
 
 Will votQ the thing a bore, or dull. 
 
 In short, you 'd smile to hear them chatter 
 
 Their little wit, about this matter. 
 
 How much better their opinions 
 
 On a roasted goose and onions : 
 
 With me, their thoughts more cogent are 
 
 About a dinner bill of fare ; 
 
 For music, nine in ten so botch it, 
 
 (Scarce know a quaver from a crotchet), 
 
 That I can hardly hear them mention 
 
 The subject with a grave attention. 
 
 What strange events upon the earth 
 The teeming womb of Time brings forth ; 
 And what to-day Ave oft see done, 
 Was yesterday ne'er thought upon.
 
 24 MILAX, 
 
 See Science, Education's child, 
 In plain attire and aspect mild ; 
 Still pressing onward, to attain 
 The recompence of toil and pain : 
 Nor will she stop her eager flight 
 'Till she has reach'd the summit's height ; 
 And man from thence will learn to know 
 A balm for many an earthly woe. 
 The wave is rolling with such force, 
 No prejudice can check its course: 
 It's risen high in our blest state, 
 And here begins to undulate ; 
 Nor gaols, nor chains, nor tyrant's frown, 
 Will long prevail to keep it down ; 
 And worth and talent, we shall see 
 Emerge from their obscurity. 
 
 Pride will not now consent to know 
 What such a man may be, but ivho. 
 He may be honest, wise, and frank, 
 But what is that, if he wants rank ? 
 Nor will his virtues, or his sense. 
 Screen him from pride and insolence. 
 His learning seldom is of use. 
 Nay oft indeed it 's an abuse ; 
 And worthless quite all human knowledge. 
 That was not got within a college ;
 
 MILAN. 25 
 
 And men are often estimated 
 
 But from the place where educated ; 
 
 They must be ignorant, or fools, 
 
 If from the democratic schools. 
 
 Pride only weighs the human head 
 
 According to the place 'twas bred. 
 
 But such distinctions soon must fail. 
 
 And worth alone at last prevail : 
 
 Nor man depend upon the nod 
 
 Of power, but on the will of God : 
 
 Nor Protestant nor Papist gain 
 
 Consideration for a name, 
 
 Or, by what faith he follows here. 
 
 Provided that his faith''s sincere : 
 
 Or, by what name he 's placed before ye. 
 
 Or, whether it be Whig or Tory (J). 
 
 Mind presses onward still in spite 
 Of ev'ry clog to stop its flight ; 
 Or in a cot or palace bred. 
 By one fix'd rule 'twill not be led. 
 Aspiring thought you cannot bind, 
 Or mark a limit for the mind (^). 
 Time's treading down, each fleeting hour, 
 Usurp'd and arbitrary pow'r ; 
 And no distinctions upon earth 
 Will long be cherish'd, wanting worth.
 
 26 MILAN. 
 
 The power of Austria may confine 
 The wino's of freedom for a time ; 
 But neither tyranny, nor might, 
 Will in the end impede her flight. 
 Till this, and distant lands from hence, 
 Feel all her warmth and influence. 
 
 What pride by wisdom can't obtain. 
 It tries by folly oft to gain — 
 Adopts strange customs at expense 
 Of reason and of common sense ; 
 And makes imaginary troubles 
 Out of mere childish airy bubbles. 
 So weak and frivolous have some 
 On unimportant things become, 
 That they will often, wanting sense. 
 Assume a foolish consequence 
 About such trifles as the spelling 
 Of some old castle, name, or dwelling. 
 I \e seen a man in great distress, 
 Not finding e in his address ; 
 Another once was called to fight 
 Because he had forgot to Avi-ite, 
 In spelling of a name, a y. 
 And lost his life for using i. 
 One must have somewhat to beguile 
 Our earthly cares, and make us smile.
 
 MILAN. 27 
 
 And looking on a baby play- 
 Is just as good as any way, 
 To set the weary mind a laughing 
 At objects much too light for scoffing. 
 Then pride, in dread of all intrusion, 
 Has hit on systems of exclusion : 
 Societies and clubs are spread (■'), 
 Where only rank can show its head ; 
 Or those professions which they call 
 Honourable and liberal. 
 
 Officers of land and sea, 
 Law, physic, and divinity ; 
 The first are privileged because. 
 Obedient to the country's laws, 
 They lead ovit men for pay and food. 
 To shed a fellow creature's blood — 
 But cutting throats is just and true, 
 When men are dress'd in red or blue. 
 God sends on earth "■ peace and good-will ;"" 
 Man hires himself to wound and kill. 
 The wretch that murders only one, 
 You shudder quite to look upon ; 
 The hero makes a thousand bleed, 
 You praise — nay oft reward the deed. 
 Fine names we 've got for he abuse ; 
 Heav'n will, I hope, admit th' excuse ('*').
 
 28 MILAN. 
 
 There 's no society, I ween, 
 In which you 've not the next class seen ; 
 I mean such as will take a fee. 
 And plead for either you or me : 
 Who will for gain give up belief 
 In evVy thing but just their brief; 
 And strict morality defy, 
 By often stating truth ''s a lie ; 
 And what they know a lie to be, 
 Declaring plain veracity. 
 Men, who will make at any season 
 " The worse appear the better reason." 
 Our laws have got so complicated, 
 The strangest things are tolerated ; 
 And whether black be white or no, 
 Requires some wit and skill to show — 
 At any rate a " learned brother"" 
 Can prove it either one or tli other. 
 
 And men are liberal, they urge, 
 Who know to blister, bleed, and purge ; 
 Who've learnt the certain power of physic. 
 In curing gout, catarrh, and phthisic — 
 Have tolerance to mix with those 
 Thev cup, phlebotomize, and dose. 
 He should have countenance whose pains 
 Have taught him just how many grains
 
 Of calomel will balance quite 
 The gorging of a former night. 
 Will man ne'er learn that temperance 
 Would save both physic and expense ? 
 
 Of course the clergy you find there, 
 Whose rank admits them evVy where. 
 But others, under no pretence 
 Can ever meet with tolerance ; 
 For no acquirement is held good, 
 If unallied to wealth and blood. 
 Plebeians must content alone - 
 Remain, and read the news at home ; 
 Or find amusement for their lives 
 Among their children and their wives : 
 And even rank, if they 'd begin it, 
 Would see, I'm sure, much pleasure in it. 
 You 'd think the great had form'd a plan 
 To make a link 'tween God and man ; 
 And, as they could not reach the one, 
 The other not to look upon. 
 And, if you 'd deem me not facetious, 
 I'd say, to form another species; 
 I do not mean a tertian sex. 
 Since that the great might justly vex : 
 For styling them nor man, nor woman. 
 Would be to deem their class not human.
 
 30 MJI,AN. 
 
 Such wrath and jealousy you trace 
 
 Against the whole plebeian race. 
 
 What a misfortune that sound sense 
 
 Is not taclc'd to inheritance ; 
 
 Then aristocracy some good 
 
 Might chance to give us with the blood ; 
 
 For titles only never can 
 
 A patriot form, or useful man T 
 
 I place not rank before your eyes, 
 Either to mock it, or despise : 
 With men# join'd, my humble lays 
 Will never cease to sing its praise ; 
 Or whip it to the full extent, 
 When wicked, proud, and insolent. 
 
 In Lombardy it makes one sick. 
 To see how cunning Metternich 
 Humbugs the people with pretence, 
 To rob them of their health and pence. 
 His master, evVy one maintains, 
 Has much good temper — not much brains- 
 He has a bow and smile for all 
 His subjects, high, low, great, and small : 
 He says he loves them (mum — their pelf) 
 Much better than he loves himself — 
 Which fact the world can plainly see 
 In his august monopoly
 
 MILAN. 
 
 Upon tobacco; which, no doubt, 
 
 He knows they cannot do without : 
 
 And suffers an adulteration 
 
 (That merits little approbation) 
 
 To be compounded with the stuff, 
 
 Which of itself is bad enough ; 
 
 But join'd with sulphur it must be 
 
 Injurious in a high degree: 
 
 Yet here it 's very hard to find 
 
 An ounce that is not so combined — 
 
 But kings think nought of subjects' health 
 
 Whew kings have need of subjects' wealth ; 
 
 And sulphur mix'd up with the weed. 
 
 Helps to relieve the country's need ; 
 
 For then tobacco of the north, 
 
 Sells just for double what it's worth. 
 
 His subjects' health would quickly tell it, 
 
 If without brimstone he would sell it : 
 
 But health 's of little estimate 
 
 In exigencies of a state — 
 
 So crooked, bad, and cumbersome 
 
 Has human policy become. 
 
 The strength and morals of a nation 
 
 Are ev'ry moment in temptation ; 
 
 And mankind are in daily strife, 
 
 To guard them safe, 'and pure through life. 
 
 31
 
 32 MILAN. 
 
 But why waste words your mind to gain 
 Upon a subject that's so plain? 
 No thinking man can wish made out 
 A thing on which he has no doubt : 
 And facts show, to our clear conviction. 
 Such is the truth past contradiction : 
 That oft state burdens are far worse 
 For mind and body, than for purse ; 
 And operate, we must confess. 
 But little to man's happiness. 
 
 In all departments here you see 
 Deception, guile, and trickery — 
 I grant the craft is old, and traces 
 Are often found in other places. 
 In one or two things I could tell. 
 The artists here the world excel. 
 In cunning priest-trade you will find 
 All other nations far behind. 
 Some strong and powerful facts we see. 
 In reading ancient history : 
 And which, having no exceptions, 
 Deeper fall on our perceptions — 
 As ever since the world began. 
 Sly man has been deceiving man ; 
 And under some concealVl pretence. 
 Stealing his freedom, and his pence —
 
 MILAN, 
 
 Nay, life itself has not been free 
 From this detested tyranny. 
 
 The strong man early learnt to seek 
 Subsistence from the poor and weak ; 
 And craft and cunning soon to smother 
 Affection for a simple brother — 
 Nor is there, at this present hour, 
 Either of grandeur, wealth, or power, 
 That can a better title name 
 To what they hold, or what they claim, 
 
 .■0 ' 
 
 The heathen priests we early find 
 Gulling with humbug half mankind : 
 Deceiving them with tales of wonder, 
 Invented but to cheat and plunder : 
 And under different shades of power, 
 The thing is practised to this hour. 
 And while the crafty, and the sly. 
 Can live at ease, and wants supply, 
 Just by imposing upon these 
 Who swallow any tale they please. 
 The world will ne'er want crafty men 
 To plunder and bamboozle them. 
 
 Perhaps you may not quite approve 
 The word " humbug'' I 've used above — 
 
 c 5 
 
 S3
 
 34 
 
 MILAN. 
 
 I had myself some thoughts contrarVy 
 And look'd all o'er the Dictionary, 
 But could in no page ever hit 
 Upon a word I thought so fit 
 To picture the idea true 
 That in my mind I had in view — 
 So I must let it pass, and venture 
 To hope it will escape your censure.
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Florence, 1835. 
 
 I NEVER knew a two days'* ride 
 So tiresome, and hard to bide, 
 As from Bologna unto Florence — 
 And when the day arrives to go hence, 
 1 11 try to take another route. 
 If such a thing can be found out. 
 And then the inn you stop to rest at — 
 Which in truth 's the very best that 
 Road affords — but such a dwelling ! 
 Its wretchedness is past all telling. 
 'Tis meanness all — save your account, 
 Which these sad rogues make to amounf 
 To something like the sum at least, 
 They \l charge you at a city feast.
 
 36 FLORENCE. 
 
 The lines that follow from a door 
 In this hotel will tell you more 
 Than I can do in half a page, 
 So their assistance I '11 engage : 
 'Twill save me trouble and the time 
 I take to find out evVy rhyme, 
 
 " Perhaps some traveller will inform us 
 The charge at this house is enormous — 
 
 Indeed for bed and board I say 'tis : 
 But then injustice I must note, 
 The lots of dirt cramm'd down your throat. 
 
 The cook and landlord give you, gratis. 
 
 " It's quite correct as I have said, for 
 Every trifle must be paid for. 
 
 Except the filth, and bugs, and fleas — 
 Or any other such like article. 
 For which they never charge a particle — 
 
 The gen'rous souls — they give you these." 
 
 And likewise in another place. 
 Upon a wall these lines I trace : — 
 
 " If crawling bugs, and hopping fleas, 
 And peradventure inore than these ; — 
 If buzzing, humming, dread muskitoes. 
 Those horrid, sly, blood-sucking sleep-foes —
 
 FLORENCE. 37 
 
 I say if some few charms like these, 
 Have any chance thy taste to please — 
 Traveller, thank thy stars that sent thee 
 To this hotel where there are plenty." 
 
 For pictures Florence yields to none ; 
 Nor eke for statues but to Rome : 
 Though there are amateurs and many, 
 Who say it 's not surpassed by any. 
 Be this allowed or be it not, 
 It never ought to be forgot. 
 The Medicean Venus here. 
 Has been the toast for many a year ; — 
 I mean with learned connoisseurs 
 Who love to pass their vacant hours 
 'Mongst figures made of stone and wood. 
 Rather than those of flesh and blood ; 
 But as I happen still to prize 
 A pair of moving, sparkling eyes, 
 I ""m wanting in that erudition 
 Required for this competition. 
 With all respect for that great genius 
 Who form'd the splendid Grecian Venus ; 
 I think Canova's for invention*, 
 Merits still our close attention. 
 
 * A beautiful statue of Venus, by Canova, which stands in the 
 Grand Duchess's dressing-room, in the Palazzo Pitti.
 
 38 FLORENCE. 
 
 Of sex she has a consciousness, 
 
 Much more than I can well express ; 
 
 A modesty of air and mien, 
 
 To be admired needs but be seen ; 
 
 A timid, sweet, incentive thing, 
 
 That blushes at the zephyr's wing 
 
 She feels is undulating round her. 
 
 And with its balmy breath has bound her. 
 
 The dancing fawn good Mister Bell* 
 
 (Who knows about such things quite well) 
 
 Says, in proportions anatomical, 
 
 That this old ugly figure comical 
 
 Surpasses all that Time has left us. 
 
 Or all of which he has bereft us. 
 
 For my part I Ve not seen a satyr. 
 
 And so know little of the matter ; 
 
 I hate all heads with horny bumps, 
 
 And men with goats' tails on their rumps. 
 
 Here there is more than one museum, 
 And truly I oft go to see 'em : 
 They are the lions of the town, 
 And justly merit their renown. 
 StufTd savage beasts that quite affright you — 
 They look as if they meant to bite you. 
 
 * Mr. Bell, the surgeon of Edinburgh, published two volumes 
 of letters on Italy, in which he speaks, in the highest terms of 
 approbation, of the anatomical beauties of this figure.
 
 FLORENCE. 39 
 
 Cramm'd fowls of evVy kind and feather, . 
 
 Arranged — each genus put together. 
 
 In short here's ev'ry thing one wishes, 
 
 Large pickled snakes, inflated fishes — 
 
 Insects preserved, gumni'd butterflies, 
 
 That both astonish and surprise. 
 
 In fact there seems just evVy creature, 
 
 That ever has been formed by Nature. 
 
 Hopping, flying, leaping, grinning. 
 
 Running, crawling, creeping, swimming; 
 
 And other nasty-looking things — 
 
 With tins, scales, claws, or feet, and wings — 
 
 Which are, an auction-bill to quote, 
 
 " By far too numerous to note." 
 
 We here in various rooms may see 
 Queer subjects in anatomy ; 
 Prepard with skill, in wax and gum, 
 And very much admired by some, 
 Who understand man in detail — 
 A subject upon which I fail; 
 Nor is there any likely chance 
 I e''er shall clear my ignorance ; 
 Because I have no predilection 
 For either medicine, or dissection. 
 I grant it's useful to mankind — 
 The study does not suit my mind.
 
 40 FLORENCE. 
 
 But as I was about to say, 
 
 Where'er you turn, whichever way. 
 
 You ve heads and shoulders, legs and thighs, 
 
 In pieces cut before your eyes — 
 
 No tempting sight for leisure hours, 
 
 Save to your ardent connoisseurs — 
 
 And yet I beg you '11 understand, 
 
 I love a lady's pretty hand ; 
 
 But being tack'd I think no harm, 
 
 Unto a perfect trunk and arm. 
 
 A lady's well-turned foot — pray note — 
 
 At bo-peep from a petticoat. 
 
 Is more attractive far to me. 
 
 Than when it's cut off by the knee. 
 
 In short I am not one of these 
 
 That mutilated bodies please : 
 
 My prejudice has always run 
 
 Upon a perfect living one. 
 
 Here are some objects in the town, 
 Besides, most worthy of renown. 
 Perhaps there 's no place where one meets 
 So many treasures in the streets ; 
 For busts and statues — works of art — 
 Are strew'd about in ev'ry part. 
 Of amateurs the great delight 
 Is Angelo's famed group of " Night ;"
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 Which in Lorenzo's church we all 
 
 Can see by giving but a paul. 
 
 It is a work of fire and spirit, 
 
 Of bold design, and striking merit : 
 
 Unfinished — yet enough we find 
 
 To prove the author's splendid mind : 
 
 In fine contrivance, most romantic ; 
 
 In execution, quite gigantic. 
 
 It's said no modern artist can 
 
 Be found to finish Michael's plan. — 
 
 I grant his style is hard to follow ; 
 
 Yet harder still this tale to swallow. 
 
 But ere I leave this building quite, 
 
 It is perhaps no more than right 
 
 To say a word before I go. 
 
 About that noted rary-show — 
 
 The chapel, where they put to bed 
 
 The poor old dukes when they are dead ; 
 
 The cost of which the living may 
 
 Find rather burdensome to pay. 
 
 But toiling man has not the skill 
 
 To change a reigning monarch's will ; 
 
 And grievous imposts are his doom 
 
 To build a palace or a tomb. 
 
 What's finish'd in this fav'rite spot — 
 
 (And very much of it is not, 
 
 41
 
 42 FLORENCE. 
 
 Or ever will be I '11 eno-a»:e, 
 
 In this or any other age — 
 
 Not that the reigning Duke can curse 
 
 Dame Fortune for an empty purse : 
 
 But reigning dukes, and reigning kings, 
 
 And such revered and sacred things. 
 
 Would rather spend, it 's oft been shown, 
 
 Their subjects'' money than their own.) 
 
 In rich materials all that see 'em, 
 
 Confess those in this mausoleum. 
 
 In value cannot be exceeded 
 
 By any thing that has preceded. 
 
 But yet admitting all this true, 
 
 If I have ta'en a proper view 
 
 Of this affair — it 's my belief, 
 
 If finished it would want relief. 
 
 These gems and marbles, I suspect. 
 
 Will never have that fine effect 
 
 AVe view at Venice in the Scalzi, 
 
 (In which I never could a fault see,) 
 
 Or Saint IVIartino on the hill 
 
 At Naples, that 's more perfect still. 
 
 I never could make up my mind. 
 Or quite a cogent reason find. 
 Why here one very rarely meets 
 The least good music in the streets.
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 And yet we evVy moment call 
 Th'' Italian people musical. 
 Now if for such a thing there be, 
 As national partiality — 
 (And I can neither wholly doubt it 
 Nor quite make up my mind about it,) 
 One would expect to find some traces 
 In streets and lanes, or public places ; 
 But almost ev'ry note I hear 
 Grates, more than satisfies, the ear. 
 Perhaps the humble artists share 
 More ijicmey when they go elsewhere ; 
 For here are far- too many schools, 
 Where they teach music and the rules, 
 To want a bountiful supply 
 Of artists, who are forced to sigh 
 At humble distance from the spot 
 To which the inspired few have got. 
 
 Academies for music making. 
 Are all the rage, and very taking — 
 The big-wigs talk upon this theme. 
 Until they 're in a perfect dream — 
 They '11 one day see, though now they Ve dark, 
 That Nature only gives the spark ; 
 And she, and she alone imparts, 
 What makes your Handels, and Mozarts. 
 
 4-3
 
 44 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 I know Academies Royal can 
 Teach ev"'ry rule that 's known to man — 
 But all the schemes by man e'er woven, 
 Will make no Bishop, nor Beethoven — 
 For such but Nature has the mould 
 The mind to form, and to unfold. 
 
 All rules of the poetic art, 
 May soon be taught, and got by heart. 
 You may teach that " academy," 
 Will rhyme well with " how sad it be'' — 
 But teach such things till them you tire on, 
 You '11 never make a Pope, or Byron. 
 The rule in music I would fain 
 Think as conclusive, and as plain. 
 And, certainly, we want no college 
 For practically gaining knowledge. 
 A horse's tail may be drawn pat 
 Against the bowels of a cat — 
 And well the first with rosin spatter. 
 Before it 's laid upon the latter ; 
 Without the grand conservatorl, 
 To put the few plain rules before ye ; — 
 Say what you will, the simple fact is. 
 The best instructor's Doctor Practice. 
 To prove I 'm right I '11 set before ye 
 Both Lindley, Loder, Herz, and Mori ;
 
 rLORE>;cE. 45 
 
 From pre) udices won't this wean ye ? — 
 Then add young Bull*, and Paganini. 
 
 You say what 's done, I '11 say what 's undone 
 By the academy in London (^')? 
 Have they enriched — come, let us see — 
 Our nation's stock of harmony ? 
 Or show me just one thing about them, 
 That might not have been done without them. 
 What works from which it can be granted. 
 That such a school as this was wanted ? 
 Not any that are known to me, 
 V^'ill give the least celebrity. 
 One thing is sure, 'midst our disasters, 
 We '11 ne'er more want for music-masters — 
 To speak a fact in just and true sense. 
 They swarm already to a nuisance. 
 I know that we shall gain some fruits 
 From this new system in recruits ; 
 Which it will one day, I '11 engage, 
 Prepare for our declining stage : 
 And these, by such it will be granted 
 As love the drama, are much wanted. 
 
 * A violin player from Norway, (where shall we have musicians 
 from next?) whom I heard at Naples and at Rome. He pos- 
 sesses great taste and execution ; he does many of the Paganini 
 tricks with facility and ease ; and is of no school ; having (as he 
 iiimsclt informed me) acquired all his knowledge from observation 
 and practice.
 
 46 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 But Still the greatest benefit 
 
 To be derived from this plan yet 
 
 Is to be told — and that you'll meet 
 
 Ere long in evVy public street. 
 
 For there'll be soon such competitions 
 
 Among the numerous musicians, 
 
 That I '11 be glad if they will show facts, 
 
 How else these men can fill their stomachs. 
 
 And what in England 's been so long 
 
 Disgraceful quite to look upon. 
 
 Will then be soothing, sweet, and winning- 
 
 I mean our horrible street singing('"). 
 
 How often various folks we see miss 
 An inclination, for a genius. 
 And hence so many boys are sent, 
 'Gainst Nature's meaning and intent, 
 To hammer notes into their brains ; 
 Which, if their parents had ta'en pains 
 To search a bit, their little ones 
 Might have been sent to hammer stones, 
 Or wood, or leather, which might be 
 Useful to the community. 
 
 Might not this new-discovered art 
 Of feeling biunps in ev'ry part 
 Of men and women's bodies whence 
 They can pronounce, with confidence,
 
 FLORENCE. 47 
 
 Upon their just propensities, 
 Prevent all these anomalies ? 
 
 I recollect, some time ago, 
 A person wish'd my thoughts to know 
 About a calling for his son; 
 When like what follows this pass'd on 
 The subject ; which, without a doubt, 
 He 'd quite made up his mind about ; 
 For many ask, for asking^s sake. 
 Advice they do not mean to take. 
 " My friend, if you'd be ruled by me, 
 " I thfrik your son brought up should be 
 " To some good trade ; viz.^ to a baker, 
 " Carpenter, tailor, or shoemaker/' 
 " Oh, Sir — but then the lad, between us, 
 " Has for that music such a genus ; 
 " Dear, it would give you quite new life 
 " To hear him play upon the fife. 
 " Besides, good Mister So-and-so 
 " Has promised me the lad shall go 
 " To where they plays, and where they sings, 
 " And all these them there sort of things,"" 
 
 So hence from this increasing panic. 
 We lose a useful, good mechanic ; 
 And what perhaps than this still worse is, 
 We get bad music to our verses.
 
 48 FLORENCE. 
 
 I think I 'in (juite right when I say 'tis 
 The fashion likewise for the ladies, 
 To learn here both to play and sing, 
 And ev'ry necessary thing 
 That may enable them to shine 
 Before the public in that line. 
 But while they labour for this measure, 
 I fear they lose a greater treasure ; 
 And skill they gain but at expense 
 Of modesty and diffidence : 
 And what earthly gifts can even 
 Be compared to those of Heaven ? 
 Nor wealth nor beauty we esteem, 
 Wanting this soft celestial beam. 
 It's like the bloom upon the tree, 
 Before the budding fruit we see ; 
 And all accomplishments, 'tis plain. 
 Without this greatest are in vain : 
 This is the wish'd-for charm of life 
 In man's companion, and his wife. 
 And in whatever rank and station, 
 The aim of woman's education 
 Should be to train the mind to this — 
 The most substantial earthly bliss. 
 
 Young females standing up before 
 A public audience, is much more
 
 FLORENCE. 49 
 
 I think, befitted to impart 
 
 A callous feeling to the heart ; 
 
 Which courts applause, but at th"* expense 
 
 Of sweet, attractive, innocence. 
 
 Such education, 1 11 engage. 
 
 Will best prepare them for the stage ; — 
 
 If they 're to act the wife and mother, 
 
 You'd better far give them another (la). 
 
 Naught in the world looks half so pleasing. 
 Naught in the world is so deceiving, 
 As when, from some commanding height, 
 A village first attracts the sight. 
 Oft, in lone dales, they smiling rise, 
 A seeming earthly paradise ; 
 Or, on, a vine-clad summit lie. 
 Like white clouds in an azure sky. 
 But, only set your foot in there, 
 The magic scene dissolves in air. 
 On ev'ry side is seen distress. 
 Rags, dirt, and squalid wretchedness. 
 A single chamber oft supplies 
 Protection for large families : 
 And, in addition, I should note. 
 For ducks and fowls — a pig and goat — 
 Or e'en an ass, it is not rare 
 To find the filthy dwelling share.
 
 50 FLORENCE. 
 
 But, who can paint the dirt one meets, 
 In traversing these village streets — 
 The modest muse would blush for shame, 
 If I should venture once to name 
 The sights and smells, that quite disgust ; 
 So, you must take the thing on trust : 
 And, in mind-seeing, all your tact 
 Will ne'er exaggerate the fact. 
 
 I think the Opera is, in no sense, 
 Half so good, just now, in Florence, 
 As it was, when I was last here. 
 In the season of the past year. 
 For then, Ave had some little mixture ; 
 But, now, one opera's a fixture, 
 " II Furioso San Domingo (^^)" 
 Contains some pretty things to sing, though 
 I cannot say it 's my delight. 
 To see Domingo evVy night : 
 Besides, a work, however curious, 
 Is sure to tire, if always furious. 
 So, as there seems no likely changement 
 In the opera-house arrangement, 
 I '11 take my leave, the week to come. 
 And bend my steps as far as Rome.
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Rome, 1835. 
 
 I STogp'u at Terni on my way, 
 And pass'd the best part of a day 
 Among the mountains' craggy tops ; 
 The cascades, waterfalls, and rocks : 
 And even pleased myself a bit 
 With what, upon the spot, I writ 
 On this sublime, romantic scene — 
 This picture of a fairy dream ; 
 That first appals the mind with fright. 
 Then sinks it into soft delight. 
 Methinks I hear you now cry out, 
 " \V^here are these lines you talk about?" 
 Oh ! that is quite another story — 
 They never can be placed before ye. 
 An instant list, and you '11 descry, 
 The real wherefore and the why.
 
 52 
 
 KOME. 
 
 At night, before I went to bed, 
 I was (and very oft am) led 
 To read a page or two of Byron — 
 An occupation T ne'er tire on : 
 "When, to my very great surprise, 
 The first few words that met ray eyes, 
 Were — *' roar of waters,"" in a page 
 Of the Childe HarokFs Pilgrimage. 
 1 11 venture fearlessly to say, 
 No poet in our, or any day, 
 Or any country, any clime. 
 Has e''er accompli sh'd so sublime 
 A picture of a waterfall. 
 As this (to which I more than call 
 Your very serious attention) 
 For truth, force, beauty, and invention. 
 While fix'd on these, in keen desire, 
 Mme dropped unheeded in the fire. 
 And had they ever met your sight. 
 You might have said, and said quite right. 
 In no place else a single line 
 Had any other chance to shine. 
 
 Whatever thy faults may be to some, 
 Welcome to me again, dear Rome. 
 They call it dull — I do not doubt it — 
 But still there is a charm about it —
 
 HOME. 33 
 
 A something that attracts me more 
 
 Than all the racket and the roar 
 
 Of Naples, or old Reggio, 
 
 Where Stentor sent his brats I know; 
 
 For faith, none else of human kin, 
 
 Could ever make half such a din. 
 
 I own my quiet temperament 
 
 Feels much more pleasure and content 
 
 In scenes of sober contemplation ; 
 
 More fitted to my situation. 
 
 I love, alone, to muse among 
 
 Remains of splendour, long since gone : 
 
 Suppose what marvels time's bereft us, 
 
 From those that barbarism left us : 
 
 Then people ev'ry spot before me 
 
 In all its early pristine glory. 
 
 And, culling from the ancient store 
 
 Of venerated classic lore. 
 
 Follow the Roman glory on 
 
 To that great height, from which it shone ; 
 
 Then sighing for its sudden flight. 
 
 Retrace it back to Gothic night Q'^). 
 
 Rome now contains — perhaps e''en more — 
 Churches and chapels, fifteen score : 
 All well appointed ; every man 
 With ammunition Vatican.
 
 54 ROME. 
 
 A certain salvo for each evil, 
 
 Of that sly enemy, the devil. 
 
 If mumbling latin won't avail. 
 
 The gentleman with horns and tail 
 
 Is then attacked with relics — dry bones 
 
 Of saints, the arms, toes, legs, and thigh bones ; 
 
 Which seldom fail the fiend to hamper, 
 
 And make him turn his back, and scamper 
 
 Away, as fast as hoofs can rattle, 
 
 From off the dreadful field of battle — 
 
 And other relics, not less good, 
 
 To scare away old Beelzebub : 
 
 Bits of garments, tapes, and garters, 
 
 Of the early female martyrs : 
 
 Then, in addition to all these, 
 
 There is the virgin's old chemise ; 
 
 Which legends (all of course true) tell, 
 
 Has saved so many folks from hell (^^). 
 
 In short, the devil has no chance 
 
 Against such varied ordinance ; 
 
 And the different resources 
 
 Of the pontifTs standing forces. 
 
 And then their numbers — "'twould afFrigiit you, 
 
 If I were only just to write you 
 
 A list complete of all I \e seen. 
 
 In many churches, where I've been. 
 
 In St. Peters may be numbered. 
 
 If not more, at least three hundred ;
 
 ROME. 55 
 
 Cardinals, bishops, deacons, singers, 
 
 Priests, and sacristans, and ringers. 
 
 Then take a walk in any street. 
 
 And ey'ry third man that you meet, 
 
 I 'U lay a bet, is either friar, 
 
 Or else a monk, or priest, or prior. 
 
 Now, joking for a while put under. 
 
 How can one for a moment wonder, 
 
 With such a drain upon the state, 
 
 Its coffers are so desolate ? 
 
 Nor will the Pope, with all his care, 
 
 E''er h^vc a single groat to spare ; 
 
 Until he sends these idle hands 
 
 Away, to till the barren lands. 
 
 And many a strong-arm'd monk, I trow, 
 
 I see, fit only for the plough. 
 
 And if I might judge from the face. 
 
 Precisely that is just the place 
 
 That nature, with unerring skill. 
 
 Designed the greater part to fill. 
 
 Before I 've done with churches quite. 
 Perhaps 'twill be no more than right. 
 To say, that most of those in Rome, 
 Are thought (and justly so) by some, 
 To be more worthy of renown 
 Than any lions of the town :
 
 56 ROME. 
 
 And certainly, as to the arts 
 Of painting, sculpture — many parts 
 Contain a treasure, where you find 
 A fund to entertain the mind. 
 
 I 'ni sometimes told the singing creatures, 
 That do the duty at St. Peter's, 
 Are not so good as those we see, 
 Paid by the king of Saxony. 
 I 've heard them both, with great attention, 
 Which makes me very bold to mention 
 My judgment, form'd upon this test. 
 Which, else, I 'd let in silence rest. 
 So, if I err, I pray you grant 
 It is because I 'm ignorant 
 About the matter that I mention — 
 In truth, I 've not the least intention 
 To lead your mind at all astray. 
 By what I think, or what I say. 
 Oh, no ! — I 'm not one of your folks, 
 Who, for effect, just cut their jokes ; 
 And to amuse, will set before ye. 
 Any ridiculous, idle story ; 
 And write, your kind ap])lause to gain. 
 Just what is floating in the brain. 
 For truth, this letter none can match it. 
 Because my muse ne'er throws the hatchet ;
 
 ROME 
 
 57 
 
 Indeed, it 's right that you should know, 
 
 She never uses the long bow. 
 
 Your prosing writers say strange things, 
 
 But heav'nly muses, graced with wings, 
 
 Despise, whatever tale may be, 
 
 That has not strict veracity. 
 
 So, you can swallow evVy bit here. 
 
 And circumstance that you find writ here. 
 
 But I should finish, beyond doubt, 
 
 The subject I began about; 
 
 Which was, as to the best that sings, 
 
 The Dresden or the Roman things; 
 
 (I 've tried enough, at any rate. 
 
 To find a name that 's delicate. 
 
 To call them by — but I '11 not vex. 
 
 There is no name, when there's no se.v.) 
 
 Now, I '11 declare, whate'er may follow, 
 
 The pontiff"s forces have it hollow. 
 
 I grant, the king of Saxony 
 
 Has music good — ^'tween you and me, 
 
 He well deserves it — for, if they 
 
 Would sing him masses all the day. 
 
 He'd never miss so straight and even 
 
 A passage to the gates of Heaven*. 
 
 * The King of Saxony has the character of being a great 
 bigot. 
 
 d5
 
 58 ROME. 
 
 Between the wall that yet surrounds, 
 And marks the ancient city's bounds. 
 And modern Rome, there is a space, 
 AVhere you may either shoot, or race 
 After a badger, fox, or hare, 
 And other game, which you 11 find there- 
 So destitute of population 
 Is now its alter'd situation. 
 
 If you would ask me, Avhat art still 
 Is followed up here with most skill ; 
 I should say, that next to priestcraft, 
 Which, in Rome, is yet the chief craft ; 
 Bagging, without hesitation. 
 Hanks the next in estimation. 
 In this, their skill and perseverance 
 Is quite unique in my experience : 
 And, though most cities in this clime, 
 Have clever artists in the line. 
 It's certain, none have ever shown 
 The power and tact of those at Rome (''), 
 
 The Romans oft by practice tell ye. 
 That evVy thing's made for the belly ; 
 Whether the creature cleave the air, 
 Or on the earth inhabit there ; 
 Or crawl in ditch, or swim in sea, 
 Or river, or Avhere'er it be :
 
 ROME. 59 
 
 But very few, which I can note, 
 
 That e'er escape a Roman's throat. 
 
 His stomach 's a digesting place 
 
 For all — except the human race. 
 
 And though, 'tis clear, most things they cram, 
 
 I never heard they eat a man. 
 
 Put down a roasted crow or jackdaw, 
 
 A real Roman ne'er will lack jaw ; 
 
 A cuckoo, swallow, hawk, or tom-tit. 
 
 And such like, is to them a bonisie bit. 
 
 I do not think they feed on rats ; 
 
 But I^ have ascertain'd that cats 
 
 Are often eaten up, by some 
 
 Among the lower ranks at Rome (^''). 
 
 Now understand the thing quite clear ; 
 
 I do not mean to say that e'er 
 
 The higher, or the middle race. 
 
 Show such a vitiated taste — 
 
 Indeed, far from it — I don't know 
 
 That, in my travels, I can show 
 
 A better sample of good breeding, 
 
 Choice vintages and tasty feeding. 
 
 Than I have seen at table, when 
 
 I 've dined with Roman gentlemen. 
 
 1 contemplated, with some dread, 
 The awful steep, and dizzy head
 
 GO 
 
 ROME. 
 
 That I sliould feel, whene'er in sight 
 I came of that most fearful height, 
 The old renown'd Tarpeian rock ; 
 The fall from which gave such a shock, 
 As never faifd, so authors tell us, 
 To set at rest those sad poor fellows. 
 That happened, in an evil hour, 
 To thwart a wicked tyrant's power. 
 Nor did the thickest Roman crown, 
 That I can find, e'er tumble down 
 This horrid precipice, without 
 Its whole contents being knock'd about ; 
 Nor was a bone left whole, within 
 The poor unhappy culprit's skin. 
 But on inspection, at this hour, 
 You 're forced to call in fancy's power, 
 To picture all those scenes of dread 
 About the spot, that have been said. 
 For now, j ump down and back again 
 You may, without much toil and pain. 
 An English sportsman, in the chase. 
 Would not be stopp'd at such a place ; 
 But clear the rock in half a minute. 
 There's now so little danger in it. 
 So chang'd some spots in ancient Rome 
 To modern travellers have become.
 
 ROME. 
 
 Gl 
 
 The English that are here declare 
 The opera is too bad to bear. 
 For my part, I cannot agree 
 To join in this severe decree. 
 i erant it's not the best I Ve seen, 
 But, faith ! at many worse I 've been. 
 By lines already writ, you '11 see 
 My friends and I can ne'er agree 
 Upon this theme. They will decide, 
 By simply viewing the outside : 
 With them, the pattern's quite enough, 
 And »ot the goodness of the stuff. 
 But I affirm (and do not doubt it) 
 Thev know, or care no more about it, 
 Than Hecuba, or mother Eve ; 
 Who, I have reason to believe. 
 Ne'er learnt to either play or sing. 
 Or any such delightful thing ; 
 But spent their time (by author's showing) 
 In nursing babes, and fig-leaf sewing. 
 Now, let my countrymen confine 
 Their thoughts to Port, or Sherry wine ; 
 And then, I '11 bet you what you please, 
 They 're always right enough on these. 
 But honestly, 'tween me and you, 
 Upon the fine arts and virtu, 
 I 'd not give much for what they please 
 To say to me respecting these.
 
 G'2 ROME. 
 
 They have but httle taste for Spohr, 
 
 Meyerbeer, Cherubini, nor 
 
 Does Spontini's modulation 
 
 Ever meet their approbation. 
 
 So dull the ear, so cold the heart, 
 
 Th"" inspired strains of sweet Mozart, 
 
 Please seldom like a Vauxhall sons:. 
 
 Or, " Molly, put the kettle on."" 
 
 Nay, only just the other night, 
 
 I was tormented by a wight. 
 
 Who told me, in a perfect pet, 
 
 'Twas all sad stuff to " Hart's last set *"— 
 
 Or, " ]VIoll i' the wad"— or, " Fairy Elf "— 
 
 Or, " Go f the devil, and shake yourself -f-."" 
 
 You see, in various parts of Rome, 
 In different architecture, some 
 Fountains, so splendid, that their plans 
 Appear the work of fairy hands : 
 Materials of a vast expense. 
 Designs of strikino; excellence, 
 llivers of water here are spent, 
 In purposes of ornament ; 
 Alas ! alas ! but how far less. 
 In purposes of usefulness. 
 
 *■ Mr. Hart is a voluminous composer of quadrilles, 
 f Names of country dances.
 
 ROMK. 
 
 63 
 
 I wisli they Vl use more on their floors, 
 And both within, and out their doors ; 
 And none can tell, but he who knows it, 
 The joy of water in a closet ; 
 But many great events will come. 
 Before that joy is known in Rome ; 
 So little in their contemplation. 
 Is any joy, but vegetation ; 
 And as their fathers jogged along, 
 They 're just contented to jog on ; 
 And in the streets the dirt to lay, 
 And^ee the water waste away. 
 
 I 'm sorry, quite, I cannot show, 
 How people kiss the good Pope*'s toe ; 
 But I have not the custom seen, 
 Or at an audience ever been. 
 The Pope has never sent to call me 
 Unto his palace Quirinale. 
 I know not if the subjects kneel, 
 Or if the Pope cocks up his heel : 
 I 'd like to tell the thing to you, 
 More than I \1 like the thing to do ; 
 For there can be no marvllous treat 
 In kissing an old ivomans feet — 
 I beg his pardon — pray forget 
 This disrespectful epithet.
 
 64 ROME. 
 
 I know not any period, when 
 I Ve made a like slip of the pen ; 
 Besides, it is a thing uncommon. 
 To take a Pope for an old woman ! 
 So pray don't let a word be said 
 Of what I \'e mentioned on this head. 
 I find this little cob, I ride, 
 Is sometimes rather hard to guide, 
 And often starts about and shies 
 At any queer, odd thing he spies. 
 I must, in future, be more guarded, 
 Or stand a chance to be rewarded 
 For all my horrid profanation, 
 With papal excommunication ; 
 Or with an interdiction, ne'er 
 Again my impious feet to dare 
 Within his city's walls to set. 
 Or, in a prison I may get : 
 And as he says he holds the key, 
 (It's not a lion one can see ; 
 Because popes always safely lock it. 
 Or, guard it in the breeches pocket — 
 The parenthesis I must prolong. 
 To say, if he 's got breeches on ; 
 For no one can distinctly note, 
 He wears so long a jjetticoat.) 
 Of that bless'd gate, my daily prayer 
 Has Ions been to find entrance there.
 
 ROME. 
 
 65 
 
 I should not like him to refuse 
 Admission — so I '11 not abuse 
 His Holiness. But, I 'm inclined 
 To think, he'll leave the key behind ; 
 And, still repenting sinners may 
 Yet hope to find a certain way 
 Of gaining, when they 've finished this, 
 A life of everlasting bliss. 
 
 One ruler, as a right, demands 
 You'd bow your head, and kiss his hands: 
 Wherr to another's court you go, 
 You 're ask'd to stoop, and kiss his toe : 
 And it is hard to say, from this, 
 What part they '11 ask you next to kiss. 
 I think, they're nature's broad way missing. 
 In practising new kinds of kissing. 
 They may kiss this, they may kiss these, 
 They may kiss just what part they please ; 
 But, I'll maintain, more joy they'd sip, 
 From kissing a sweet woman's lip. 
 
 Men oft resemble so each other, 
 You 'd think the father and the mother 
 Of either party you could name, 
 I^Iust be, without a doubt, the same. 
 The closest likeness I have noted, 
 And one deserving to be quoted.
 
 ^6 ROME. 
 
 Is here, between the Pope of Rome, 
 
 And that droll dog, John Reeve, at home. 
 
 Now, it was never told to me, 
 
 If John's papa, in Italy, 
 
 Had pass'd a season, any time 
 
 AVhen he was in his youthful prime— 
 
 Or, if the Pope had play'd the lover. 
 
 And ever slyly cross'd to Dover 
 
 Or, if the parties, men and wives, 
 Had ever met in all their lives— 
 If not, then all that can be said. 
 Is, Chance a freakish trick has played: 
 For, if the Pope e'er had a son. 
 It surely must be honest John. ' 
 I never see his Holiness 
 Without a feeling of distress, 
 That I 'm obliged my mirth to smother, 
 And feign some odd pretence or other, 
 To stifle whim, which would disirrace 
 Both me, and such a sacred place ; 
 The Pope so brings my mind upon 
 That funny son of Monuis, Jolm 
 Reeve — and of whom the very sioht. 
 Is sure to make me lauffh outrio-ht • 
 And when I 'm near the Pope, decorum 
 Can scarcely keep me grave before him ; 
 He so reminds me that I see 
 John Reeve burlesquing tragedy.
 
 ROME. 
 
 In Rome, sight-seeing, I declare, 
 Is quite a troublesome affair : 
 And, added unto which, what 's worse, 
 A tax upon your health and purse. 
 This walking all day, tires to death. 
 It wants an organ-bellows breath ; 
 And riding to all places, you see. 
 Requires a pocket full of scudi. 
 Beside, they always make a rout, 
 At thing's no creature cares about : 
 But only once the trade begin. 
 You 're forced to go through thick and thin ; 
 For, when you home agani once come. 
 You always find that there is some 
 Good temper d friend, who asks about 
 What he is sure you ne'er found out ; 
 And, if you happen to say, " No" — 
 He tells you back again to go ; 
 For thaVs the only thing in being, 
 That he conceives the least worth seeing. 
 
 Old Sheridan, one time, set forth, 
 To visit, with his son, the North ; 
 And, passing by a colliery. 
 The son expressed a wish to see 
 The very bottom of the hole. 
 From whence they dug the dirty coal. 
 
 6T
 
 68 ROME. 
 
 " But why a step take," said the old one, 
 
 " So troublesome, and eke, a bold one ?" 
 
 " AVhy, one Avould like to say, I ween, 
 
 " That in a coal-pit one had been." 
 
 " Well, foolish boy, you make me stare — 
 
 " Can't you that say, and not go there ?'"* 
 
 Now, if we could adopt this plan, 
 Proposed by Mister Sheridan ; 
 'T would save us much what now we pay for. 
 Besides some hot days sweating labour. 
 
 Here are remains of ancient grandeur, 
 Of early Roman gorgeous splendour ; 
 And various works of art, which one 
 Can ne'er be tired of lookino; on : 
 But evVy ten bricks stuck together. 
 That have escaped the storms and weather ; 
 And bits of columns, and pilasters. 
 Just left from Time's tooth, and disasters* ; 
 Or, parts of trunks, so mutilated. 
 Their sex can scarce be estimated — 
 These, I '11 not search for, at th' expense 
 Of both my time and common sense. 
 
 • Dupat)', a witty French traveller, has said that the people of 
 Rome take care of their ruins as beggars keep open their wounds, 
 and for the same reason.
 
 HOME. 
 
 'Tis true, I know some connoisseurs, 
 
 Who always pass their vacant hours 
 
 In hunting after bits of stone. 
 
 Or marble, ivory, or bone ; 
 
 Or article in Terra Cotta, 
 
 So crack'd and broken, there is not a 
 
 Single likeness, trace, or feature, 
 
 Of any thing that 's known in nature. 
 
 And then the boundless ecstacy, 
 
 AVhen any little bit they see — 
 
 For, from the joy and pleasure shown, 
 
 You.Vl think they'd just found out the stone 
 
 Caird the philosophers — and which 
 
 Has power to make its holder rich. 
 
 I ne'er can enter into this 
 
 Excessive agony of bliss. 
 
 About a thing, at any rate. 
 
 Quite useless, if indefinite. 
 
 They call me stupid, dull, and heartless, 
 
 All true — but then, let me be artless : 
 
 Now, pray, what name would I deserve. 
 
 Should I declare, without reserve, 
 
 I feel a passion for a thing. 
 
 The which I take no infrest in ? 
 
 Why, sure a name that 's less exempt 
 
 From reprehension, and contempt — 
 
 So, to preserve my truth, I "11 try, 
 
 And keep the one they call me by. 
 
 G9
 
 70 ROME. 
 
 Whene'er we find that myster}^, 
 
 Is clear'd away from history, 
 
 By hunting deeply in the store 
 
 Of mouldVing antiquated lore ; 
 
 Inquiry I would follow on, 
 
 ■"Till ev'ry cha,nce and hope were gone. 
 
 No connoisseur, with all his zeal. 
 
 Can any other use reveal ; 
 
 For, barring this, 'tis childish whim, 
 
 Mere antiquarian gossiping — 
 
 A doll, a plaything of no use. 
 
 But grown-\ip babies to amuse. 
 
 What artful, sly, and cunning ways, 
 Some men pursued in former days : 
 Often employed in worldly pleasures, 
 And all the whije, pretending measures, 
 That for the country's weal alone. 
 Were all they were engag'd upon ! 
 The heathen priests, we clearly see, 
 IVIost skilful in this trickery : 
 The artful rogues could ever show 
 One track, and by another go. 
 These gentlemen were most complete 
 In ev'ry artful, cunning cheat ; 
 And, on reflection, 'twill be granted. 
 To be the very thing they wanted ;
 
 HOME. 71 
 
 Because, from what we read about it, 
 Their trade was useless, quite, without it. 
 
 How much more blest, in modern times. 
 Are we, in pious, good divines. 
 But love and meekness now are shown. 
 From curates, to the bishop's throne. 
 No vain conceits — no thought of self — 
 No panting after worldly pelf: 
 No looking down, with pride and scorn, 
 Upon the man more lowly born. 
 They stand, as their great IMaster stood — 
 Meek, poor, and lowly, doing good : 
 Not preaching nonsense, to deceive, 
 But just the truth, what they believe ; 
 Ne''er meddling in the state aifairs, 
 But all their time is spent in prayers, 
 And lectures, to the wicked sinners, 
 And furnishing the poor with dinners. 
 Now, if they truly would abide 
 By precepts of their heavenly guide ; 
 There need no more be writ or said — 
 It's just the path that they should tread. 
 But I must leave this wandVing vein. 
 And turn to ancient Rome asrain. 
 
 ^o" 
 
 King Numa was a pretty sample, 
 One ought to quote, as an example ;
 
 72 ROME. 
 
 He practised fraud, with most complete art- 
 He often went to meet his sweetheart ; 
 And told his friends and wife, at home. 
 It was to meet a nymph, or some 
 Aerial being — I know not what — 
 To have, on state affairs, a chat : 
 Nor could he have contrived a place. 
 Much better suited to his case. 
 To keep a mistress snug from view in, 
 Than near that antiquated ruin. 
 That now is called yEgeria's fountain. 
 Just at the bottom of a mountain ; 
 The sweetest spot I ever saw. 
 For making either love or laic. 
 A spot Pompilius well might walk to. 
 And have a little private talk to 
 The lady, and in time get home. 
 For it 's not very far from Rome. 
 At last his wife said, 'twas not right 
 To leave her all alone at night. 
 And in the country take the air. 
 Going, no soul on earth knew where ; 
 And so, to keep a peaceful home. 
 And please himself the time to come ; 
 He hit upon this happy way, 
 To lead his friends and wife astray. 
 I grant the scheme a little odd is. 
 To say he went to meet a goddess ;
 
 ROME. • 73 
 
 But Numa swore with all his might, 
 Such "was the very fact each night : 
 And that she gave him information 
 On subjects vital to the nation. 
 This trick in Numa's days might do, 
 It wotlld not suit the taste just now : 
 If I mistake not, he would fail 
 To gull a wife with such a tale — 
 Nymphs don't in private now meet kings, 
 To chat on such dull serious things : 
 I would not pledge my word to prove 
 They have not often met on love ; 
 But such affairs, just at this time, 
 Are no concerns of your''s or mine. 
 
 No ladies now, in these our days, 
 W^ould tolerate such naughty ways ; 
 They'd Numa show another course, 
 And bring an action of divorce : 
 He'd have an arbitrary summons 
 To show himself at Doctors" Commons. 
 Or, if the law could not be had, 
 They 'd give him what is quite as bad, 
 Or even worse, to bear, some say, 
 A curtain lecture ev'ry day ! ! 
 
 Thank heaven, now we never hear 
 That females wish to interfere
 
 74 ROME, 
 
 In government affairs and leagues, 
 State patronage and court intrigues. 
 Some people say (devoid of sense) 
 That ladies still have influence ; 
 But such a wicked intimation 
 Applies not to the English nation. 
 And long may we our laws protect 
 From such a mischievous defect ; 
 Nor petticoats a power e'er get 
 Within a British cabinet. 
 
 If I leave Rome, and should not speak 
 About the far-famed holy week, 
 I do suppose that while I live. 
 You never would the fault forgive. 
 It will not incommode me much. 
 Upon the subject just to touch. 
 
 I quarrel with no faith ; but mine 
 To ceremonies don't incline ; 
 Nor can I lay the smallest stress 
 On change of attitude and dress — 
 Or what shaped cap is on the head — 
 Or whether it be white or red : 
 Nor will the strangest customs, even. 
 Of man's device, get one to heaven. 
 The only end, it seems to me, 
 Of true religion, ought to be
 
 ROME. 75 
 
 To make us virtuous and good — 
 
 At least that 's how I \e understood 
 
 The Bible — nor, unto my seeming, 
 
 Have I mistaken its true meaning. 
 
 To speak the truth, I cannot find 
 
 These gaudy shows direct the mind 
 
 To that divine and just pursuit, 
 
 That makes the tree produce " good fruit'' — 
 
 Witness the base rascality. 
 
 The lies and cheats of Italy. 
 
 This whole affair appears to me 
 But childish to the last degree. 
 From this, perhaps, it 's easy known 
 My days of pantomime are gone : 
 Not that these things were an abuse. 
 When first we read they came in use ; 
 Perhaps no better way had risen 
 To wean men's minds from paganism. 
 But customs, of whatever kind. 
 Should always keep pace with the mind ; 
 And mind, in all its nice formation, 
 Is such a thing of education. 
 That what to-day appears most true. 
 To-morrow 'tis not wise to do. 
 But while men fatten by deceit. 
 They '11 find excuses for the cheat.
 
 76 
 
 ROME. 
 
 How like to ancient Greece and Rome 
 The present centVy has become — 
 The higher wishing those below 
 To give up ev'ry jot they know ; 
 And credit what 's elsewhere unheard of, 
 Or they themselves believe a word of. 
 They recollect that Pulcher lost 
 His battle ""gainst the Carthage host, 
 By forcing all the sacred pullets 
 To take salt water in their gullets. 
 So from old customs they '11 not part 'em. 
 But follow them, secundum artem. 
 
 To Protestants it seems to be 
 A wonderful anomaly, 
 How men contrive these shows to bind 
 With piety upon the mind : 
 For surely nothing can impart 
 l^ess holy interest to the heart ; 
 And if Religion be not there, , 
 
 In vain you'll search for her elsewhere. 
 
 The washing of the pilgrims' feet 
 Had been to me the highest treat, 
 Could I have but gone back to when 
 I was of years some eight or ten. 
 Now, e'en admitting all excuse 
 That can be offer'd for its use.
 
 ROME. I < 
 
 It ill accords with that blest light 
 That 's bursting on a Gothic night. 
 It makes one blush to see and name, 
 J/ew earnest in a baby-game ; 
 And as a type of what is meant 
 To bring to mind and represent — 
 It's just as like as is a potion, 
 Or draught unto the German Ocean. 
 
 No musical effects I 've heard. 
 Can be in any way compar''d 
 To tJioSe inspired strains, which here 
 Fall softly on the ravish'd ear — 
 Such " dying falls''^ — so sweet, so new — 
 That ask like words to speak them true. 
 
 The misereres (there are three) 
 Are perfectly divine to me : 
 Nor can I, when performVl, detect 
 One single blemish or defect. 
 Each part melodious, full and free — 
 With force, yet soothing harmony — 
 Then dying soft upon the ear, 
 Until the feeble sound you hear 
 Is almost gone — and floats around 
 A faint aerial dying sound — 
 Soft swelling, then again the tone, 
 Th'' enrapturd mind is hurried on —
 
 78 ICOME. 
 
 (And breathing almost seems intrusion, 
 In such a sweet, profound illusion) 
 From light affections vmto deep ; 
 Until the soul but longs to weep 
 Itself from such a scene as this, 
 Into the realms of heavenly bliss. 
 
 I envy not the cold, dull heart. 
 To which such sounds cannot impart 
 A joy unspeakable, and keep 
 The mind absorbs in pleasure deep. 
 
 The choir''s performance on each day, 
 Is quite perfection in its way ; 
 The misereres, so oft quoted. 
 Deserve e''en more than has been noted — 
 For this one thing's worth leaving home for. 
 And coming all the way to Rome for. 
 I know that many, in our days, 
 Find fault with just the thing I praise ; 
 They have no relish for such music. 
 Which is, they say, a Papist's true trick — 
 I fancy they but mean to state. 
 They dont like music of that date — 
 And madrigals, of fine invention, 
 Would share an equal reprehension : 
 With them the waltz and country dance 
 Has, ten to one, a better chance ;
 
 ROME. 79 
 
 And few quadrilles of any measure. 
 That don't afford such critics pleasure. 
 
 Some parts of this week's pageantry 
 Dramatic are to a degree, ^ 
 
 If undescribed, you''d scarce conceive ; 
 And if unseen, you 'd scarce believe. 
 Such bowing — nodding — change of dress — 
 And, what 's to be observed no less — 
 The grouping — which is, most of all, 
 Fantastic and theatrical ; 
 Sometimes encircling in a ring. 
 Until the choir a service sing ; 
 Then wheeling off, they, one by one. 
 Regain the place from whence they 've gone. 
 And words are wanting to express 
 The almost endless change of dress 
 The Pope, on some days, in an hour, 
 Poor, good old man 's forced to endure. 
 My wonder I cannot refuse. 
 At how they recollect their cues: 
 The ceremony must be stated. 
 To be both long and complicated. 
 No grouping in a modern play. 
 Is half so puzzling in its way — 
 From hence, the Pope and Co. one sees 
 Are all bless'd with good memories.
 
 80 ROME. 
 
 I HOW behold, as clear as day, 
 How our performers learn the way ; 
 And how they all their knowledge gain 
 To dress the stage at Drury Lane. 
 Oh ! what sly dbgs these actors are ; 
 They steal hints just from any where: 
 They steal from coronations — balls — 
 From courts of justice — Barons' halls — 
 And not contented with this scope, 
 ' The cunning rogues have robb'd the Pope. 
 
 Say what you will, write what you can, 
 Ivlan ''s ever borrowing from man. 
 From whence the earliest customs came. 
 Is not so easy now to name-^ 
 But this we Ve certain of, at least, 
 Th"" Egyptians stole their's from the east. 
 The Jews, while groaning with disasters, 
 Stole customs from their hard task- masters ; 
 And not contented with that measure. 
 Stole both their jewels and their treasure. 
 The Catholics cannot refuse 
 Their obligations to the Jews ; 
 For you can plainly trace, of course, 
 Their ceremonies to that source : 
 And what are left of our's at home, 
 Are from our old Mamma at Rome.
 
 ROME. ,81 
 
 Words have no force to paint aright 
 The truly grand, imposing sight, 
 That ends this holy pageantry — 
 This week of gloom and revelry. 
 The benediction of his love, ^ 
 
 The Pope delivers from above 
 To all the people in the square, 
 And troops drawn out, and kneeling there. 
 A crowd immense, at any time 
 I think imposing and sublime : 
 On this occasion — in this place, 
 The sjjene 's beyond my pen to trace : 
 Imagine what effects you please, 
 Exaggerate you cannot these. 
 
 Th'' illumination at St. Peter's, 
 Is one of the most striking features — 
 And persons all to please, has more chance 
 Than any in the week's performance. 
 The sparkling, blazing dome, seems even 
 To emiilate the dome of heaven ; 
 For who, before this, shining lights 
 Could place upon such fearful heights — 
 Since in the world there is but one 
 Saint Peter's dome to hang them on. 
 
 The fire-works at Saint Angelo 
 End brilliantly this gaudy show — 
 
 E 5
 
 82 ROME. 
 
 Nor can I one more striking, mention, 
 
 For good eiFect and fine invention. 
 
 The rockets towVing up on high, 
 
 As if they meant to storm the sky : 
 
 But scofTd at by each starry light, 
 
 They bow their heads and sink in night. 
 
 And sun-flowers turning night to day, 
 
 Then in a moment fade away — 
 
 Like ev'ry other joy on earth 
 
 They vanish ahnost at their birth. 
 
 And fiery forests in the air. 
 
 That quite astound one with their glare — 
 
 And what adds still unto the wonder. 
 
 They rise in lightning, fall in thunder. 
 
 A foaming cascade — dripping fountain — 
 
 Beside a blazing burning-mountain, 
 
 With streaming lava down its side, 
 
 And flowing in a perfect tide ; 
 
 Then serpents, wheels, and squibs, and crackers, 
 
 And all such fiery, noisy matters. 
 
 It 's waste of time to lay a stress 
 
 On what one can so ill express. 
 
 Suffice it then for me to say. 
 
 That should his holiness one day 
 
 Take Vauochall Gardens, and give there 
 
 This bright and splendid bill of fare,
 
 ROME. 83 
 
 He 'd beat all managers I know, 
 
 E'en from the first, to Hughes and Co.*, 
 
 And what is equally as certain, 
 
 He 'd make a very rapid fortune. 
 
 • Hughes and Co., the present proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens.
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 Naples, 1835. 
 This letter was addressed to a Gentleman residing in Weymouth. 
 
 The view of Naples, some folks say, 
 Reminds them of our Weymouth bay — 
 I think these flatterers are in fun. 
 Or shoot with far too long a gun^ 
 In placing us upon a par 
 With scenes which are so very far 
 Beyond our county to compete with, 
 Or, in the kingdom e*'en to meet with. 
 For, till our open, naked hills 
 Are cloth''d with orange-groves and rills — 
 With ancient ruins — modern villas, 
 And waving trees that kiss the billows ; 
 The likeness is as far from truth 
 As east from west, or north from south.
 
 86 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 In short, this is enchanted land, 
 
 Form'd by a fairy's magic wand — 
 
 Our's is a bleak and barren steep, 
 
 Tho' very good for Dorset sheep. 
 
 Perhaps some wise-one next will prove t' us, 
 
 Our burning-cliff is like Vesuvius ; 
 
 Or, that the fumes of my cigar 
 
 Eclipse its smoky columns far — 
 
 Or, that these weak and hobbling lines, 
 
 Have all the wit of Butler's rhymes — 
 
 Or, that but why employ more space ? 
 
 I Ve said enough to prove my case. 
 
 If noise can make a city gay. 
 Why then, I can most truly say, 
 This place is cheerful beyond measure — 
 That is, if din affords that pleasure. 
 For on my life, 'tis quite astounding, 
 To hear the drums and trumpets sounding — 
 The noisy shows each hour one meets, 
 And horrid racket in the streets. 
 The people here no occupations 
 E'er follow in their habitations. 
 The cobbler bawls, and thumps together, 
 His last, his lap-stone and his leather. 
 The tinker clanks his tin and brass ; 
 The blacksmith shoes the horse or ass.
 
 NAPLES. 87 
 
 Indeed, whatever trade or clatter — 
 
 Of what description, or what matter, 
 
 Is practised in the open air, 
 
 Or most frequented thoroughfare. 
 
 And then, innumerable, come, 
 
 With voices fit to crack the drum 
 
 Of either ear, and stentor notes 
 
 That swell like trombones from their throats. 
 
 The basket-traders pouring down 
 
 From evVy alley of the town. 
 
 Noisy boys, with wares on asses, 
 
 Screaming to each one that passes — 
 
 Whistling, hollowing, and bawling — 
 
 Singing, bellowing, and squalling. 
 
 Just call to mind each horrid sound 
 
 That on this busy globe is found ; 
 
 Then add to these, some twenty more 
 
 Imported from the Stygian shore. 
 
 And you will have a specimen 
 
 Of dins I lay such stress upon. 
 
 But let me leave this noisy scene. 
 For one more tranquil and serene : 
 A city, in whose streets you roam 
 In death-like silence, all alone. 
 Tread o'er her precincts — no sound meet. 
 Except the echo of your feet ; -
 
 88 NAPLES. 
 
 Or else the fluttVing in the air 
 Of some lone bird tliat nestles there. 
 A breathless stillness all around — 
 Deep, penetrating, and profound. 
 A city that has late had birth 
 From out the moukFring dust and earth 
 And customs now with clearness show. 
 Of near two thousand years ago. 
 I love Pom pel's walls to trace, 
 And muse upon a by-gone race- 
 Visit her forum, and step o'er 
 Her temples, theatres ; explore 
 Each deep recess, where I may see 
 Tokens of her economy. 
 If Naples had no other claim, 
 This disentomVd old city's fame 
 Is more than ample to repay 
 For all the labour of the way. 
 
 Lo ! Passtum's ruined temples stand 
 Some sixty miles along the strand 
 From hence ; upon a spreading plain ; 
 On one side mountains, and the main 
 Upon the other. Legends write 
 It flow'd up once unto the site 
 Of this once Grecian colony — 
 Now one mile distant from the sea.
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 89 
 
 Old Neptune s temple still remains, 
 
 To prove how futile are the pains, 
 
 The whims, the fancies, and the tricks, 
 
 Of architectural empirics. 
 
 To add one beauty to a part 
 
 Of this all perfect Grecian art : 
 
 And Paestum's Doric temples show 
 
 The taste three thousand years ago — 
 
 The most esteemed. Time's mouldVing hand 
 
 Has left us in this favoured land. 
 
 You do not find here much beside. 
 
 To pay you for so long a ride. 
 
 A small bit of the wall remains 
 
 Perfect ; and that is worth the pains 
 
 And trouble of a strict inspection ; 
 
 In workmanship, it is perfection ; 
 
 And jointed with such skill, each block, 
 
 You 'd think it all one solid rock. 
 
 These, and some traces of a street. 
 
 Are all you now in Paestum ineet : 
 
 But if you wish her mine f explore, 
 
 Of splendour in lost days of yore — 
 
 Go seek them in Salerno's walls. 
 
 Cathedral, churches, banquet halls — 
 
 Columns and capitals, the best o' em. 
 
 All rent, and stoFn away from, Pastum — 
 
 (Confound this name, it plagues me sadly. 
 
 It rhymes with any word so badly.)
 
 90 NAPLES. 
 
 The Naples' costumes are quite pretty. 
 Seen in a print-shop in the city. 
 The London artists, in their traces, 
 Show all the figures with clean faces ; 
 Nor do they ever represent 
 A single fracture, hole, or rent, 
 In jacket, trowsers, or in hose — 
 The cunning rogues, they hide all those : 
 They care not much the truth to tell. 
 If they can make their pictures sell : 
 And who would stick 'gainst walls or niches, 
 IVIen without stockings, shirts, or breeches ? 
 They know their customers, forsooth, 
 Want pretty pictures more than truth : 
 And hence, you striking objects see, 
 You ne'er can find in Italy ; 
 For here, if I the fact must speak, 
 They never shave but once a week ; 
 And as for water — why immersion 
 Just happens to be their aversion. 
 Now filth, and dirt, and rags, and tatters, 
 MXach nearer represent these matters. 
 Than these fine garments, with such tact. 
 They put upon each wretch's back : 
 Why, you can see with half a glance. 
 They 're copied from a ballet dance : 
 At any rate there's not a feature 
 Approaching any thing to nature.
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 91 
 
 I fear the day will ne'er come, when 
 The sketchers will be honest men : 
 And sketching ladies likewise may 
 Improve a little in this way : 
 For some of them, I must pronounce, 
 Are very much inclined to bounce — 
 I mean with pencils, not with tongue ; 
 Which, e'en to hint at would be Avrong. 
 Oh, no ! — I never could imply 
 Youns ladies condescend to lie. 
 
 W^Ve lots of English folks at Rome, 
 And Naples too ; the most of whom 
 Just pass their time, if I must say truth, 
 As they would do at Bath or Weymouth : 
 Nor am I quite wrong in asserting, 
 IMore hours are spent in chat and flirting. 
 And idleness of ev'ry kind, 
 Than either with the head or mind ; 
 Wasting their precious time all day. 
 At night quadrilling it away. 
 The sage mammas — not very wealthy — 
 Declare that dancing is so healthy. 
 That it would be a perfect slaughter, 
 Should they forbid it to a daughter : 
 And, as we know that health alone 
 Dictates this kind opinion.
 
 92 
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 I think 'twould be a sin to doubt it, 
 Or say a single word about it. 
 Some envious folks, I know, pretend 
 The manifest and only end 
 Of taking davighters from their home, 
 About in foreign climes to roam, 
 Is but to get them off their hands. 
 Fast tied in matrimonial bands — 
 A wicked, sly insinuation, 
 Without a shadow of foundation ! ! 
 
 Where'er the English congregate, 
 IVIost wretched, truly, is their state. 
 If they cannot, just as they may. 
 Trifle both time and life away : 
 Nor is the thing confined to station, 
 To age, or sex, or situation. 
 I 've heard a parson preach on Sunday, 
 And seen him foot a dance on Monday ; 
 And both performed, without one trace 
 Of learning this, or that, of grace. 
 
 I do not wonder men with no sense. 
 Oft go from home to Rome or Florence ; 
 And then return, but to declare 
 To all their friends that they Ve been there. 
 For if a young man takes the pains 
 To study, and improve his brains.
 
 NAPLES. 93- 
 
 The pert young misses call him fool, 
 
 And turn him into ridicule ; 
 
 And names opprobrious will invent, 
 
 To marii derision and contempt : 
 
 The very last, in scandaPs muster, 
 
 Has been to call the man " disguster ('^) /" 
 
 Now after this, pray who can marvel 
 That young men, when they go to travel. 
 Should be as careless about knowledge, 
 As they have been at school or college : 
 For bold ''s the man that can despise 
 Derision shot from sparkling eyes ; 
 And, give the thing what name you please. 
 The women rule men"'s destinies (^^). 
 
 With few exceptions you may see 
 In evVy shop in Italy, 
 A picture with a light before it — 
 And sometimes two, they so adore it. 
 Then just a moment bring to mind, 
 A print of the most common kind ; 
 Such as, with you, are sold to any, 
 About a dozen for a penny ; 
 And let it but the Virgin be. 
 Holding a baby on her knee ; 
 It 's fram'd, and hung up at the door, 
 Enabling them to cheat the more ;
 
 9-t NAPLES. 
 
 And if a lamp before it — worse — 
 If two — take care to guard your purse : 
 For when they are devout and civil, 
 They Ve always nearest to the devil. 
 One half the population are 
 But cheats and beggars, I declare ; 
 And then the other half one meets, 
 Are form'd of beggars and of cheats ; 
 Exceptions I have met with, some — 
 At Naples, certainly not one. 
 
 In England, if we e'er beat down 
 A tradesman, he begins to frown ; 
 But when you haggle here the while, 
 You always see the dealer smile. 
 Give him just what he asks, he's sore 
 He did not ask a little more ; 
 But beat him-down, and then he 's sure 
 He 's got the most he could procure. 
 
 Into Calabria talk of going (-^), 
 And all your friends, long faces showing, 
 Begin a shocking, dread account 
 Of murders, to a long amount ; 
 That makes the hair upon your pate, 
 From fear, erect itself as straight. 
 As quills upon a porcupine — 
 (Observe this simile 's not mine)
 
 NAPLES. 95 
 
 That is, if you 've got hair upon 't — 
 
 For my part, I 'm but thin in front : 
 
 I find the greatest weight of mine 
 
 Is creeping very fast behind. 
 
 Suppose Italians to be 
 
 Well skiird in evVy roguery ; 
 
 And granting murders have ta'en place, 
 
 By many of the scoundrel race — 
 
 Yet still I think the thing 's debated 
 
 Until the danger's over-rated. 
 
 What odd and unexpected marvels. 
 Some people meet with in their travels : 
 The Goddess of Events (if there 
 Be such a lady in the air) 
 Has never deign'd to favour me 
 With proofs of her divinity : 
 But suffers me from day to day 
 To jog on in a hum-drum way, 
 Without affording me, once, e''er 
 An incident to make folks stare. 
 Much happier some, who never roam 
 A single week or two from home, 
 Without adventures — so sublime — 
 Fit for a Christmas pantomime. 
 I Ve heard of those a sheet could fill. 
 Just from Cheapside to Highgate Hill,
 
 96 NAPLES. 
 
 With strange adventures on the way, 
 
 "Which have enabled them to say 
 
 A hundred incidents and sights, 
 
 As strange as the Arabian Nights. 
 
 Now, I have often been distress^ 
 
 To think how little I am bless'd 
 
 With this imaginative vein, 
 
 Just suited so to entertain 
 
 Your dearest friends, with where you've been 
 
 And what you 've heard, and what you Ve seen. 
 
 But that said lady, just now quoted. 
 
 Has made a solemn vow, that noted 
 
 No tour of mine shall e'er become. 
 
 For what strange things I 've seen or done. 
 
 Pray do not think, I wish t' advance. 
 These people fib, or e'en romance — 
 
 It 's farthest from me, to imply 
 
 That trav'llers ever tell a lie : 
 
 For such no tourists e'er have cause shown, 
 
 At least, since Baron Count Munchausen. 
 
 I only say, howe'er it be. 
 
 They' re favoured greatly more than me — 
 
 Nay, e'en Vesuvius ne'er sviW vomit 
 
 Smoke, fire, and flame, when I go on it, 
 
 But rests in quiet slumbers, deep. 
 
 Just like a cradled baby's sleep: 
 
 So, when I trace my steps again, 
 
 I 've little left me for my pain.
 
 XATLES. 97 
 
 Except a pair of dirty hose, 
 
 Well burnt, and shoes still worse than those. 
 
 In Naples, pilfVing is a trade 
 That very rapid strides has made — 
 Indeed, it almost is perfection. 
 And seldom subject to detection. 
 A handkerchief, unless you lock it, 
 You cannot keep long in your pocket ; 
 A friend of mine, the other night. 
 Met with a wretched ragged wight, 
 Who piteously began t' implore, 
 " Ho multojame, huon Signor.'"' 
 My friend, of great benevolence, 
 Began to hunt out for his pence ; 
 And while his right he searched about, 
 The rogue his left pouch emptied out. 
 Nor can you get the least relief 
 If you should chance to spy the thief; 
 For on a mob the rogue falls back. 
 Who all have gone the self-same track — 
 And in their shops there 's not a man 
 That will not cheat you when he can ; 
 And if the thieves will cheat you there, 
 'Tis clear they '11 rob you any where. 
 No wonder, in this population, 
 That rogues are held in estimation ;
 
 98 NAPLES. 
 
 And that they fly for safety, where 
 Tlie greatest sympathy they share. 
 The artists of the handkerchief 
 Are impudent, beyond belief: 
 They rob here in the open day, 
 And if they Ve seen, scarce run away : 
 Or else, perhaps, the rascals scout 
 Some hundred yards, then turn about. 
 And there, depending on alliance, 
 Set all your vain threats at defiance (^^) ; 
 For ev'ry creature that in sight is 
 Appears to think the robber right is — 
 For lose your handkerchief or money, 
 They laugh, as if 't was something funny ; 
 Instead of lending their assistance 
 To overcome the thiefs resistance. 
 They grant the rascal that protection 
 That just secures him from detection: 
 Being cheats themselves, they never smother 
 Affection for a falling brother. 
 
 " When will the English cease to sigh 
 For pleasure "'neath Italians sky? 
 And honestly, to be sincere, 
 I blush to ask that question here ; 
 But hard it is to hide thoughts, when 
 Pure simple truth directs the pen.
 
 NAPLES. 99 
 
 In boyhood''s days, when hopes are bright, 
 We paint each object, not in sight, 
 In colours glowing, ardent, keen, 
 But in youth's fancy only seen. 
 Then tell-tale time too quickly flies, 
 And one by one, from off our eyes 
 Unfolds the fairy, iris-bands, 
 And truth at last before us stands. 
 
 I used to think a carnival (^^) 
 Must be a thing, surpassing all 
 Things that are underneath the sun, 
 For humour, frolic, whim, and fun. 
 ^l\ ell, now I \ e seen one, I declare 
 It is, of all, beyond compare, 
 The very dullest thing on earth — 
 There's neither pleasure, joy, nor mirth : 
 Masked characters — but not a bit 
 Of any thing approaching wit — 
 Unless bedaubing in the way 
 Your neighbour's clothes with balls of clay. 
 Or flour, — be worthy of the name ; 
 For nothing else that I saw, came 
 Near to a joke, in any fashion, 
 Save some young Englishmen, whose passion 
 For driving made them start a coach, 
 That truly nearer did approach
 
 100 NAPLES. 
 
 To fun, than any in tlie show — 
 
 "r was called the Brigliton Tally-ho. 
 
 It carried only four inside, 
 
 But out, as many as could ride. 
 
 " Come si chiama Tally-ho f 
 
 Whisper d a dame to me — " Non W 
 
 Said I to her, and walk'd away ; 
 
 For truth to tell, I could not say. 
 
 I think you 11 own, at any rate, 
 
 It^s rather puzzling to translate. 
 
 The King, a Chinese Mandarin, 
 
 The very dullest creature seen ; 
 
 And if the truth I must declare, 
 
 He look'd the part just to a hair. 
 
 The Queen's too handsome, far, to please, 
 
 Drest as a stupid, dull Chinese : 
 
 The King's set-out was very fine — 
 
 Indeed, some folks calPd it sublime. 
 
 A Chinese temple moves along, 
 
 The wonder of a gaping throng: 
 
 Hung round with foolery and bells, 
 
 Well deck'd to show the scene it tells : 
 
 Besides a guard of Chinese forces. 
 
 Most gaily clad, on Naples horses. 
 
 This show, believe me, most surpasses 
 
 For fools, pickpockets, knaves, and asses. 
 
 Some others of the Royal stock 
 
 Started a castle, or a rock
 
 NAPLES. 101 
 
 On six wheels; which, in armour bright, 
 They guarded well, with valiant might. 
 Against whole showers of sugar-plums, 
 That here are used instead of bombs. 
 And sugar-plums, beyond all mention, 
 Are much the pleasantest invention ; 
 For bombs will often heads off take, 
 But sweat-meats only make them ache — 
 Or, cause a heart-burn, or the bile, 
 But that lasts seldom any while, — 
 And aching heads can soon be cured ; 
 If nqt, they 're easily endured : 
 But when they Ve off, they Ve past the skill 
 Of doctor''s potion, draught or pill, 
 Which proves me right in what I 've said 
 A few lines back, upon this head. 
 
 The carnival — much more don't seem 
 Left me to say upon the tlieme ; 
 Vast crowds, and coaches, in the streets — 
 And evVy one his neighbour meets 
 With salutations of sweet balls 
 (Just so a peppering hail-storm falls) 
 Until black dominoes, in spite 
 Of ev'ry care, become quite white. 
 And this is truly what they call 
 A joyous, pleasant, carnival.
 
 102 ' NAPLES. 
 
 From this tom-foolVy, 'tis but right 
 
 That I should here except a sight, 
 
 Which is, for splendour and for show, 
 
 The most effective thing I know. 
 
 The mask-ball, with which always they 
 
 Conclude this grown-up babies' play — 
 
 'Tis here Teatro Carlo seems 
 
 To realize our fairy dreams. 
 
 A thousand shining lustres light — 
 
 A thousand brilliant eyes more bright — 
 
 Tripping, bounding, full of pleasure. 
 
 To the music's sprightly measure, 
 
 Until Aurora's ruddy beam 
 
 Dispels the fascinating dream. 
 
 Now, if I must declare the truth, ^ 
 
 These little kingdoms in the south 
 Are very like a canine pet, 
 That 's flatter'd till he'll saucy get. 
 A little pretty, tiny darling, 
 But wayward, snappish, proud, and snarling — 
 A creature, that has tolerance 
 But from its insignificance. 
 A thing, with temper to annoy, 
 But not enough strength to destroy — 
 A being, to which power is lent 
 To raise, not anger, but contempt.
 
 NAPLES. 
 
 The first annoyance they begin 
 
 The moment that you enter in 
 
 Their kingdoms, where they make you pay, 
 
 Or, some pert rascals stop your way. 
 
 For this ahnost direct demand — 
 
 Pretence — to hunt for contraband ; 
 
 As if one did not know the curse 
 
 Was only meant to hunt your purse. 
 
 They may assign j ust what, and wherefore, 
 
 But that, in fact, is all they care for. 
 
 Come to a city — you must pay, 
 
 Either to stop or get away (^*). 
 
 In short, I know no human force 
 
 With power enough to guard a purse ; 
 
 For, under some nice feignd pretence. 
 
 They 're sure to finger out your pence. 
 
 Nor are our Consuls always free 
 
 From this mean paltry trickery. 
 
 They say the thing is nothing new, 
 
 And that their fee is just and true —   
 
 Why then, I truly blush to know 
 
 My country pays her servants so : 
 
 For, what you here may tolerate, 
 
 Is quite unworthy a great state. 
 
 But if 'tis right, it should be so, 
 I really don't the reason know, 
 
 lOS
 
 104 NAPLES. 
 
 Why ev'ry Consul sent from home, 
 To this or that place, or to Rome, 
 Should not pursue the straight, fair plan, 
 And try to act the gentleman. 
 But just as sure as I 'm Feee Born, 
 I Ve seen some shabby tricks, with scorn, 
 In Consuls of the British nation. 
 That merit little approbation. 
 
 But I have been quite led astray 
 From what I was about to say ; 
 Which is, the pride they dare presume, 
 These little kingdoms, to assume. 
 In Naples, strangers all declare 
 The thing has got too bad to bear. 
 Their insolence — one time amusing. 
 And now humanity abusing — 
 And as I wish to write what 's true. 
 Take two examples, which are new. 
 
 One day, while passing by a guard, 
 I recollected a reward 
 I ought to render to a servant 
 That had assisted me most fervent ; 
 And then, I just took out, at random. 
 To make a little memorandum, 
 A message-card and black-lead pencil. 
 But never dreaming, in my sense, ill ;
 
 NAPLES. 10.5 
 
 And then began to write away. 
 
 All what I ought to do and say : — 
 
 When straight up came a whiskerd soldier, 
 
 Who rudely tapt me on the shoulder, 
 
 And told me, with a haughty scoff, 
 
 I must not write there, but be off: 
 
 I show"'d him soon, at any rate, 
 
 I 'd not been plotting 'gainst the state — 
 
 Nor could he have a jot of reason 
 
 For thinking I was hatching treason — 
 
 Nor need he dread the least disaster 
 
 Against his jolly-looking master. 
 
 But all was useless, nor could I 
 
 The angry sentinel satisfy. 
 
 As he'd a musket, and I none, 
 
 I made my bow, and so walked on. 
 
 The other tale that I must tell. 
 You'll see, did not conclude so well. 
 A friend of mine, much out of health, 
 Was walking one night by himself; 
 And passing near, with a cigar, 
 A station, while a guard was there — 
 Without once knowing, he avow'd 
 That such a thing was not allow'd ; 
 The whisker'd rascal, with a frown, 
 But not a word, quick knocked him down. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 NAPLES. 
 
 My friend, astounded with the blow, 
 Half rose, and wish'd the cause to know- 
 But with the butt-end of his gun 
 The wretch renew'd what he'd begun ; 
 And but for some kind friend who pass'd, 
 My friend had likely breath'd his last. 
 His arm was broken, and his head 
 So wounded, he long kept his bed. 
 Our minister, I must declare, 
 Lent all his aid in this affair ; 
 And the offending man was sent 
 To well deserved punishment. 
 But this did not, if truth be said, 
 Cure either my friend's arm or head. 
 'Tis true, the act might be repented ; 
 But better had it been prevented. 
 
 Full many evils, in my day, 
 Have been removed and swept away ; 
 To see, I ask but this last favour. 
 All tyrants whipt to good behaviour. 
 
 Here are ranged out to all beholders, 
 Lots of tall men, dress'd up as soldiers ; 
 Most ivhiskerando looking creatures. 
 With hair enough upon their features 
 To scare away from babes the wits, 
 Or frighten women into fits.
 
 NAPLES. 107 
 
 If courage did but come with hair, 
 
 I 'd have no scruples to declare 
 
 They 'd never more from battle run, 
 
 As formerly they Ve always done; 
 
 But show their foes that valour's brisker 
 
 Under a modern well-turn 'd whisker ; 
 
 Therefore the French, as well as Swiss 
 
 And Austrians too, their aim might miss, 
 
 If they should think to rule the roast here, 
 
 As, formerly it was their boast here, 
 
 And say a Neapolitan 
 
 Was but the tenth part of a man ; 
 
 Just as a drunken English sailor 
 
 Would say, in speaking of a tailor. 
 
 If enemies again should come 
 
 Against this land of song and sun, 
 
 Let them look to it — I 'm their friend. 
 
 And very prudent counsel send — 
 
 For headed by their jolly king, 
 
 And each man with a well clothed chin, 
 
 They 'd show their foes, before they W yield, 
 
 Or run away, sport in the field. 
 
 Some people choose to blame the king, 
 
 And say it is a foolish thing 
 
 For him to keep a useless band 
 
 Of men, to drain wealth from the land. 
 
 Useless, indeed ! — but I have said 
 
 What's quite sufficient on this head.
 
 108 KAPLES. 
 
 And sure a king like Ferdinand 
 
 Knows best himself how to command 
 
 His people, and his kingdom too, 
 
 Without advice from me or you. 
 
 Perhaps they'll next say, he's a fool, 
 
 And does not know well how to rule. 
 
 'Tis shocking quite, to hear such jokes 
 
 On royalty and royal folks ; 
 
 I should not wonder next to liear 
 
 The wretches say (devoid of fear) 
 
 That kings and queens, were but the common 
 
 And human race of men and women — 
 
 Or, that their flesh and blood did not 
 
 Differ from our's a single jot. 
 
 Now was there e'er such horrid treason, 
 
 Without a proof, or without reason : 
 
 Can it be thought the world would be 
 
 So foolish in this century. 
 
 To lavish so much wealth and treasure 
 
 On kings, for their sole whims and pleasure ? 
 
 If they, by virtues — talents — learning — 
 
 Were not, than others, more discerning — 
 
 Most surely not — the world 's too wise 
 
 For such a wasteful sacrifice. 
 
 But all this scepticism falls 
 
 From those sad dogs the Radicals. 
 
 I 'd send them evVy one to gaol, 
 
 Or whip them at a waggon's tail.
 
 NAPLES. i09 
 
 I should not wonder, if one hears 
 Them say, the sons of our old peers 
 Play sly aristocratic tricks 
 To keep in hand the bishoprics — 
 And that we have no right to pay 
 So many thousands in that way — 
 And that our bishops are at best 
 But drones upon the poor bees' nest, 
 Sipping all the sweetest honey ; 
 (Meaning, I suppose, our mone}?) 
 And while the poor-paid curate, he 
 Does all the work and drudgery. 
 Indeed, there's naught, in any way, 
 Inquiring people will not say. 
 
 But this digression 's led me from 
 The track that 1 was going on ; 
 Which was to argue, that in spite 
 Of all that's said, this king is right, 
 liut then the other party say, 
 Yes, but to keep these men in pay ; 
 And dress them up, in beards and caps. 
 Until they look most warlike chaps ; 
 He drains his subjects to distress, ^ 
 Want, poverty, and wretcliedness : 
 And gives one half of them good pay. 
 To keep the other in the way
 
 110 NAPLES. 
 
 That he would have them always walk in. 
 Viz. pay their taxes without talking. 
 Now bantering put quite behind ; 
 I question much but we shall find. 
 On close inspection, that such things 
 Are pretty common among kings, 
 And dukes, and empVors in the north, 
 And margraves, viceroys, and so forth : 
 Who, all love ruling have forgot, 
 And substitute, now, cannon shot. 
 
 I own "'twould save us heaps of treasure, 
 If they'd adopt the former measure. 
 The standing armies of our kings 
 Are truly very costly things — 
 Not that I complaints would say for ''t, 
 If the kings themselves would pay for 't ; 
 But all their labVing subjects are 
 The grievous burden forced to bear. 
 What man on earth would be content 
 To pay for his own punishment ? 
 
 From very early times we find 
 That kings were made to rule mankind. 
 How dare the wretches tell their masters 
 That any of their sad disasters 
 Are owing to the court expence. 
 Profusion, or extravagance !
 
 NAPLES. Ill 
 
 How dare the sheep turn round, and say 
 
 Unto the shepherd, in wliich way 
 
 Pie ought to shear their fleece, and use it, 
 
 Or, whether sqviander, or abuse it ! 
 
 It's but becoming and quite fit. 
 
 That they be silent and submit. 
 
 Supposing he should spend their wealth 
 
 In gewgaws to amuse himself: 
 
 Do let them hold their tongues, nor say 
 
 Unto a sacred king, which way 
 
 The money, wrung from daily toil, 
 
 Shall make the royal kettle boil ; 
 
 Or, how a palace shall arise 
 
 In gorgeous splendour to the skies. 
 
 Now, kings and queens, like other bodies, 
 Of course, must have their little hobbies. 
 If, making babies, folks will try it, 
 Pray give them dolh, to keep them quiet. 
 'Tis true, their pastimes are extensive, 
 And, very often, most expensive ; 
 Palace building, for example, 
 Always forms a pretty sample 
 Among the hardships that the poor 
 Are forced to suffer and endure. 
 And here, the ruinous expence 
 That 's swallowed, in the residence
 
 112 NAPLES. 
 
 That''s called Caserta, would affright you, 
 If half the items I should write you. 
 Its vestibules, and marble walls, 
 Its chapel, theatres, and halls — 
 In short, half Naples might find there 
 Quite room enough, and much to spare. 
 I know there are some folks, who say 
 The king might find a better way 
 To spend the money — in road making — 
 In building bridges — undertaking 
 What, for his people, might no less 
 Add to their wealth and happiness. 
 But these are enemies to kings — 
 Your snarling, growling, Jacobins. 
 Rascally Radicals, I know, 
 Expect to reap the crop they sow : 
 And so they may ; but church and state 
 Must not a single tithe abate ; 
 But, while the people till the land, 
 Hold tight the curb-bit in the hand. 
 Or else they '11 get too brisk to ride ; 
 Too proud for priests or kings to guide. 
 
 And here, I beg you '11 bear in mind. 
 Whene'er of kings and priests you find 
 Me writing — it's but those I see 
 About me, here, in Italy.
 
 :NfAPLES. 
 
 I 'd think myself unjust, to venture 
 Our own good folks, at home, to censure. 
 Indeed, I have a firm reliance, 
 Their worth sets censure at defiance. 
 
 lis
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 Palermo, 1835. 
 
 Thje coldest six weeks of the year 
 I Ve pass'd most comfortably here : 
 And if a fine romantic scene, 
 A climate mild, and sky serene — 
 If vine-clad mountains, fruitful vales i^") — 
 If almond groves and orange dales — 
 If spots like these have power to charm you- 
 If smiling nature e'er can warm you — 
 No winter residence can be 
 Compared with that of Sicily. 
 
 Few days have pass'd, that I Ve not been 
 Warni'd by the radiant solar beam : 
 But cold and wet ones, let me tell. 
 Are here endured, not half as well 
 As where a carpet, fire, and rug, 
 Make evVy room so very snug,
 
 116 
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 That oft it is a pleasant matter 
 
 To hear, without, the tempest clatter : 
 
 But not so here on marble floors, 
 
 With cracks in window-frames and doors — 
 
 And no coal-fire to warm folks' faces. 
 
 Because there are no coal fire-places ; 
 
 And chafing-pans, with burning wood, 
 
 I do not think are half so good 
 
 As grates and blazing fire-light, 
 
 To pass away a stormy night. 
 
 Now here, in houses, you but meet 
 
 Arrangements made against the heat ; 
 
 The winter is so mild and short. 
 
 They note its rigours but in sport ; 
 
 And when they chance to talk about it, 
 
 It's but to laugh at and to flout it. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Far ofl", Palermo's city may 
 Be seen upon a sweeping bay : 
 On each side craggy mountains rise 
 In tow'ring summits to the skies ; 
 And distant isles, which seem to be 
 But white clouds resting on the sea ; 
 Nor can e'en fancy's day-dreams trace 
 A more romantic, lovely place. 
 And then there is a spacious plain 
 Between the mountains and the main ;
 
 PALERMO. 117 
 
 With rides and walks so intersected, 
 Whichever way your step's directed, 
 Some charming landscape meets the sight, 
 Some scene of pleasure and delight. 
 
 Both nuns and monks are here abounding ; 
 In numbers they are quite astounding ; 
 You 'd think the people of the place 
 Had vow'd to crush the human race ; 
 Or formM a league, at any rate, 
 'Gainst heaven's law — to propagate. 
 
 Some nunn'ries are of great extent, 
 And, joining each establishment. 
 You find a spacious high chiesa — 
 The splendour of them would amaze ve : 
 Which proves, that now, or very late. 
 Their revenues must have been great. 
 Go to these churches when you may. 
 At any moment of the day. 
 You'll find, at least, some four or five 
 Of all the dirtiest men alive ; 
 In the shape of monk. Capuchin, 
 Priest, friar, or some imp of sin, 
 In rusty gowns, with draggled tails, 
 And dirty hands — half mourning nails — 
 A greasy beard and snuffy chin — 
 All filth without — no sense within :
 
 118 PALERMO. 
 
 Black skull-caps on their empty pates, 
 
 And ears stuck close to little grates, 
 
 Hearing all these poor silly creatures 
 
 Confess the weakness of their natures : 
 
 For nothing else, I can make out, 
 
 These nuns have to confess about. 
 
 What sins can women (save in mind) 
 
 In such a situation find 
 
 To answer for — enclosed in floors 
 
 Of stone, and iron-pannelPd doors — 
 
 And windows shut, and gratings narrow, 
 
 That would not let in a cock-sparrow — 
 
 Unless it be a contrite sentence 
 
 Of their sincere beart-felt repentance. 
 
 For all the opposition given 
 
 To strict and wise commands of Heaven ? 
 
 From stories that have come to me, 
 Since I have been in Sicily ; 
 I fear some of the monkish race 
 Do not unfrequently disgrace, 
 By crimes atrocious and appalling. 
 Their sacred offices and calling. 
 A Roman doctor, settled here 
 To run the medical career, 
 Tells me, the first case that he had, 
 Was in a priest, so very bad^
 
 PALEEMO, 119 
 
 It baffled almost all his skill — 
 Draught, lotion, potion, drench, and pill. 
 His cure was deemed a miracle — 
 But his disease? — mum — not clerical. 
 
 Another proof — this tale of woe 
 Occurred but eighteen months ago. — 
 Two men, in humble situation, 
 Employed to make an excavation, 
 Came to a passage underground. 
 Mysterious, gloomy, and profound. 
 They groped along, without a ray 
 Of light to guide them on their way. 
 At length a faint and feeble gleam. 
 Either imagined or seen, 
 Led them into a horrid room. 
 By vapours half obscured, and gloom — 
 A female body lay before 
 Their eyes, in putrid blood and gore. 
 Appaird and horrified with fright, 
 AVith quickened steps they left the sight ; 
 And following one passage more. 
 They reached an iron-clamped door. 
 Which fear, that mingled with their wonder. 
 Gave them both strength to break asunder. 
 
 Now the affrighted workmen see 
 Into a convent's dormitVy :
 
 120 
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 The monks and they began to stare, 
 
 Each M oner ring how they all came there. 
 
 The men related where they 'd been, 
 
 And what a horrid sight they 'd seen ; 
 
 And wliile engagVl about the tale, 
 
 They saw two monks turn deadly pale ; 
 
 And then, with aspects full of gloom, 
 
 Precipitately leave the room. 
 
 The men in secret were soon on sent 
 
 To the old prior of the convent ; 
 
 Who told them what they thought they 'd seen 
 
 Was merely whim — an idle dream — 
 
 A simple ignis fatuus sight, 
 
 Occasioned by their dread and fright ; 
 
 And threatened them with all the evils 
 
 Of hosts of imps and fiery devils. 
 
 And everlasting pains of hell, 
 
 If the adventure they should tell. 
 
 But still, in spite of all this care, 
 
 The thing was whispered here and there ; 
 
 And proved, beyond a doubt, to be 
 
 A piece of hellish villany 
 
 Of two wretches — pity loathing — 
 
 Ravenous wolves, in mild sheep's clothing. 
 
 Who'd lured tlie woman to the place, 
 
 For purposes most vile and base ; 
 
 And then, detection to elude. 
 
 Had stain'd their hands in human blood.
 
 PALERMO. 121 
 
 Fearing from what I may have said 
 Here, and before, upon this head, 
 You may imbibe a prejudice. 
 Unjustly, for the monkish race; 
 I ought distinctly to declare, 
 That bright examples are not rare, 
 Of virtue and urbanity, 
 Of honour and humanity. 
 Rut truth compels me still to say, 
 A greater portion of them may 
 Be reckoned idle, uninquiring — 
 But little knowing; — less desiring- — 
 And ^perstitious in degree 
 Exceeding probability. 
 And such T 've found the common case 
 Of this poor, sad, deluded race. 
 
 The lower ranks here, seem to be 
 Deep sunk in abject misery: 
 And beggars, almost numberless — 
 Disgusting objects of distress : 
 And when not busy in their calling, 
 In groups, in sunny corners sprawling — 
 Or, coupled two and two together, 
 Hunting the vermin from each other. 
 Nor is this nasty, dirty trick. 
 The sight of which quite makes one sick, 
 
 G
 
 loo 
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 Practis''cl in Palermo wholly 
 By the abject poor and lowly ; 
 But likewise by some other grades, 
 And such as follow little trades ; 
 The wives and daughters at the doors, 
 Are chasing, from the ample stores 
 Of game that nestle in their hair, 
 Or, on their garments, furrow there. 
 And if smear'd skins and matted locks 
 Be good preserves to guard their flocks 
 Of creatures, they '11 not want, in short. 
 At any time, most noble sport. 
 
 One week there is, in evVy year. 
 When all the people that live here. 
 Have licence from the town-police 
 To be as foolish as they please. 
 'T would give me no small joy to tell 
 The hisfry of this festival ; 
 But only that I have some doubt 
 The story I shall not make out 
 Quite clear unto your con) prehension — 
 However, I'll just try to mention 
 All I have heard and all I know 
 About this shocking tale of woe. 
 
 Once on a time ('tis thus begins 
 The web of ancient gossippings)
 
 PALERMO, 123- 
 
 Lived here a spinster, Rosalia, 
 
 Of all around the cara mia ; 
 
 A lady young, of beauty rare, 
 
 And just as good as she was fair. 
 
 Well, sweet Miss R. had not the ways 
 
 We see in Misses now-a-days ; 
 
 She hated dress, she hated flirting, 
 
 She hated squeezing hands, and courting — 
 
 Detested parties, cards, and dancing, 
 
 Or murdering her hours by prancing 
 
 Up and down, in that appalling 
 
 Occupation, morning calling ; 
 
 But spent her time from door to door 
 
 In visiting the abject poor. 
 
 Administering to their distress. 
 
 And soothing human wretchedness. 
 
 At last, she could no more endure 
 
 A wicked world she could not cure, 
 
 (For in Palermo, men and wives 
 
 Did then, as now, lead naughty lives) 
 
 And so «he left them altogether. 
 
 And braving wind and braving weatiier, 
 
 She fix'd her dwelling on a spot — . 
 
 A dreary, rugged, mountain's top, 
 
 Caird Pelegrino. — Rumour says. 
 
 She lived and ended there her days. 
 
 But how she found the means to dress, 
 
 One cannot easily now guess ;
 
 124 PALERMO. 
 
 Or, where materials she got 
 At once to fill and boil her pot, 
 ^Vould puzzle wiser heads than mine, 
 With satisfaction to define ; 
 For all the writers that have noted 
 Miss R. the subject have not quoted : 
 But this I 'm sure, for I went there, 
 She must have lived upon the air — 
 For such a lonely rock — so steril, 
 Would not yield food to dine a S(|uirrel. 
 But nice objections set before ye. 
 Are always sure to spoil a story — 
 And if it be a good and new one, 
 It matters not to be a true one — 
 But when it 's dull and circumspect, 
 It alwavs ought to be correct — 
 So I shall let it rest, nor try 
 To prove the story all a lie. 
 
 About this time, a horrid pest 
 Had fiird with dread each anxious breast 
 Its dusky wings spread all around 
 A scene of agony profound. 
 More numbers to the grave were borne, 
 Than left behind their fate to mourn. 
 Some hundreds each succeeding day 
 Precipitately swept away.
 
 PALERMO. 125. 
 
 The living few, appalFd by dread, 
 Shrunk from the last rites to the dead ; 
 And many a lovely maiden fair, 
 Whose breadi had erst perfumed the air, 
 Now putrid, added to the dense 
 And dark devouring pestilence. 
 On this side splendid mansions lay 
 Deserted — all were swept away — 
 On that — one only left to moan 
 The fate of those untimely gone: 
 Domestic animals slow group 
 Aboy^ the streets, and seem to look 
 For one who all their wants had fed — 
 For one who all their steps had led. 
 All now was gloom, — all now distress — 
 Horror, and abject wretchedness. 
 
 But see how, in a single day, 
 This dreadful pest was swept away. 
 There lived, 'tis said, not far remote, 
 A farmer who had lost a goat ; 
 In search of which, one day, he got 
 On Pelegrino's very top ; 
 Where, to his horror and surprise. 
 Extended lay before his eyes 
 The bones of Saintess Rosalia, 
 The lady lately mentioned t*" ye.
 
 126 
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 Some wicked sceptics choose to note, 
 
 'Twas but the dry bones of his goat — 
 
 But how absurd — how could he make 
 
 So great, so monstrous a mistake ? 
 
 Could any man be such a baby, 
 
 To take goat's bones for bones o' a lady ? 
 
 Most surely not — a heretic 
 
 Alone could contemplate the trick. 
 
 Your modern nice inquiring folks 
 
 Spoil all the ancient classic jokes — 
 
 I don"'t mean jokes — but histories 
 
 Innumerable, that one sees 
 
 In evVy olden chronicle — 
 
 All true, and quite canonical. 
 
 The countryman the bones bore down 
 Most reverently to the town. 
 Now mark — the gloomy bat-wing'd pest, 
 That hovered o'er, from east to west, 
 Flew, like a borealis light. 
 Before the sacred hallow'd sight ; 
 And ruddy health assimi'd again 
 Her long-suspended jocund reign. 
 And such is the original 
 Of Rosalia's festival ; 
 Which now they celebrate each year. 
 With joyous mirth and laughing cheer.
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 A car dressVl out with banners bright, 
 Pile upon pile, a fearful height — 
 In solemn state moves up and down 
 The leading strada of the town ; 
 "IVIidst muskets"' rattle, cannons' roar, 
 Rebounding back from shore to shore — 
 Trumpets sounding, cymbals ringing. 
 With hooping, hollowing, and singing. 
 Now all this lasts, till hunger s pain 
 Tells them 'tis time to work again. 
 
 P^ermo's city still contains 
 Some curious Saracen remains. 
 I think they conquerVl Sicily 
 About — about — why, let me see — 
 The year nine hundred, or some more — 
 I quote but from my memory's store ; 
 And therefore may not calculate 
 With certainty the proper date : 
 Nor has it much in any way 
 To do Avith what I have to say. 
 The Ziza palace, let me mention. 
 Deserves the traveller's attention — 
 A splendid relic of the past. 
 And which, with care, still long may last. 
 Then, in the lower marble halls, 
 A purling limpid streamlet falls 
 
 12:
 
 128 PALERMO. 
 
 Playfully, in a bath profound, 
 Most richly sculptured all around ; 
 From thence a fountain it supplies. 
 And afterwards is seen to rise 
 In graceful jets and iris rays, 
 All sporting in the mid-day blaze. 
 
 I do not think, at any time. 
 In any country, any clime. 
 There ever were, 'midst all their strife, 
 A people who enjoy'd a life 
 Of lux'ry, past comparison. 
 Like your bold turban'd Saracen. 
 The rogues nought wanted to make merry. 
 Except indeed old Port and Sherry — 
 And that, perhaps, if we coidd spy 
 Their secret lives, they tippled sly : 
 For they were all so curious 
 In every thing luxurious, 
 I doubt if they would quite forego 
 So sweet a balm to human woe. 
 They seeni'd determined, at all rate, 
 On earth but to anticipate 
 The revels of eternity, 
 (Which I suspect they '11 never see — 
 The Alcoran this tale supplies. 
 But Mah'met told most horrid lies) ;
 
 PALERMO. 
 
 For nothinfj could exceed the measure 
 
 Of all their earthly bliss and pleasure — 
 
 Gardens, palaces, and fountains — 
 
 Fruitful vales — romantic mountains — 
 
 Seraglios teeming with delight, 
 
 With music, wit, and beauty bright. 
 
 But here I think, with deference, 
 
 Our custom has the preference ; 
 
 For surely women were for use meant, 
 
 Much more than simply man's amusement- 
 
 Or, if they were, I think it wrong 
 
 For man to wish for more than one — 
 
 Or, if 4ith two or three supplied. 
 
 He Surely should be satisfied ; 
 
 And not monopolize a houseful. 
 
 Which might to others be so useful : 
 
 I think no one should follow on 
 
 This fashion of King Solomon ; 
 
 But, like an honest, good, and true man, 
 
 Be quite contented with one woman. 
 
 I fear, that very many wives 
 And husbands here, lead naughty lives — 
 And that they do not always stand on"t. 
 But often break the tenth commandment. 
 Conjugal faith aud chastity 
 Are little known in Italy ; 
 
 g5 
 
 1^9
 
 130 PALERMO. 
 
 And people only seem to marry, 
 Intrigues the better on to carry : 
 The thing beside is done so cool — 
 So snug — methodical — by rule — 
 ' Not such a fuss and noise and clatter, 
 As we oft make about the matter. 
 In England, when a fickle wife 
 Gets weary of domestic life — 
 And leaves her husband's house and bed, 
 For one she likes full well instead — 
 Or, when a man, for change is panting — 
 Goes to his neighbour''s gallivanting — 
 And just to vary his dull life. 
 Takes for a while, his dear friend's wife : 
 You \1 think, from what is said and penn'd. 
 The world was coming to an end — 
 Or that, at least, some comet's power 
 Was getting nearer ev'ry hour. 
 And which (I quote an almanack) 
 Would give our planet such a whack, 
 As might most likely send us prancing 
 Into unbounded space a dancing — 
 Such inuendoS' in the prints, 
 Such sly surmises, and such hints. 
 Mammas are fainting — sisters blushing — 
 And brothers to a duel rushing. 
 The lawyer making lengthy speeches — 
 " The jury's strict regard beseeches
 
 PALERMO. '131 
 
 " To facts — the most atrocious sort 
 
 " That ever came before a court."" 
 
 Then follow statements of a case, 
 
 Too gross to notice in this place : 
 
 And this the public papers send 
 
 From John-o-Groat's to the Land's end — 
 
 And naught is talk'd about for days, 
 
 But Mistress B.'s inconstant ways. 
 
 But you must know the customs liere 
 Are not so rigid and severe. 
 Before a girl has left the convent, 
 Whe»e, for instruction, she 's been long sent, 
 A husband ''s chosen by papa ; 
 And one, perhaps, she never saw — 
 A lover she herself selects. 
 With fewer wrinkles and defects. 
 And all this passes without strife 
 To incommode domestic life. 
 
 It may indeed seem curious. 
 But men- are not penurious — 
 For oft a husband's known to lend 
 A willing wife unto a friend (-'') ; 
 And cases are not very rare 
 When friends have made consent to share 
 Domestic treasures, from which flow 
 Our greatest happiness below.
 
 132 PALERMO. 
 
 But few the married ladies here 
 Without servente cavalier — 
 And faith I can with truth assure, 
 The post is no great sinecure. 
 The dames are mostly so capricious — 
 One moment sad, and then facetious — 
 You don 't, to use a quaint reply, 
 " Know well which end to take them by.'' 
 
 The cicisbeo's forced to bear 
 The freaks and fancies of his fair — 
 Attend upon her beck and call — 
 A " fetch and carry " ahimal 
 Has scarcely a more restless life. 
 Than he who serves his neighbour's wife. 
 Some people say the thing's platonic — 
 Hum — hum — indeed — to be laconic 
 In my remarks — observe — I know 
 One single case in which it 's so — 
 But then, the lady is four score — 
 The gentleman, a trifle more.
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Mvssina, 1835. 
 
 Messina rises from the sea 
 Jn most imposing majesty ; 
 And from no other point of view, 
 Is half so picturesque and true. 
 Its splendid quay and harbour lie 
 Then as a map, before your eye : 
 And stately dwellings on the shore ; 
 Extending for a mile or more. 
 Then over these are seen to rise, 
 TowVs, churches, domes, and monastVies. 
 Behind the town, a sea of rocks, 
 And craggy mountains' pointed tops ; 
 All undulating in their form. 
 Like mighty billows in a storm. 
 Then turn to where old Scylla laves 
 On fair Italians coast its waves.
 
 134 
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 And there, alike extending rise, 
 Calabria''s mountains, to the skies : ' 
 Each towVing up in solid might, 
 Like giants marshalling for fight. 
 Perhaps no spot has greater claim 
 To modern charms or ancient fame. 
 
 On earth, there 's naught so odd — uncommon 
 As man (except it be a woman.) 
 And then he 's so devoid of sense — 
 Puffed up with self and consequence — 
 So wayward — stubborn — hard to guide — 
 So ful] of vanity and pride : 
 And fancies nature's wisest measures 
 Formed only for his use and pleasures. 
 Now granting him, for argument. 
 The first, in all its full extent — (^'') 
 (And yet in spite of all that 's said 
 I have some doubts upon this head.) 
 I cannot think that heaven's will 
 Designed man for his sport to kill : 
 Or, in proportioii he should gain 
 Delight, as he inflicts a pain. 
 But now, the more he can destroy 
 The greater his content and joy. 
 How much more pleasing to contend 
 His place is rather to defend —
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 'Twould grace his nature better far, 
 
 Than all his skill God's works to mar. 
 
 I 've thought on 't much and seriously ; 
 
 But never could a motive see, 
 
 Why nature, that on earth — in air — 
 
 Forms all her works with so much care, 
 
 Should but such perfect things create, 
 
 For sporting men to mutilate. 
 
 Then man's so full of predilections, 
 
 Such odd, and such strange contradictions. 
 
 He follows after in the track 
 
 Of evVy thing that turns its back ; 
 
 Anckruns with all his strength and limb, 
 
 From evVy thing that follows him. 
 
 Now these, and some such meditations. 
 Formed all this morning's contemplations; 
 Returning from a ramble down 
 The mountains, just behind the town : 
 Occasioned by a novel snare 
 For catching birds, I witnessed there. 
 
 A boy at this sport never fails. 
 Yet puts no " salt upon their tails.'''' 
 And as to me, the custom's new, 
 Perhaps it may be so to you. 
 They tame an owl, which acts you '11 see 
 The first part in this tragedy : 
 
 I35
 
 136 MESSINA. 
 
 And those that are well educated, 
 Are here most highly estimated. 
 This owl is taken to a thicket, 
 And placed upon a little wicket, 
 Near which, unto projecting bushes 
 Are set a line of bird-limed rushes. 
 The sportsmen then retire, and leave 
 The rest their agent to achieve. 
 The owl, instructed for the game, 
 Hops from his perch, then back again : 
 And all the little feathered race 
 Seem fascinated to the place; 
 And soon are fetterM in the snare 
 That artifice has planted there. 
 Alone, by this strange agents power, 
 They oft catch fifty in an hour. 
 
 There's nothing sets the mind a craving 
 For foreign tours, like an engraving. 
 There, all the places smiling lie, 
 In sun and shade before the eye — 
 Like England's history, or France, 
 Told in a novel or romance : 
 The style is pleasing, flowing, new — 
 Very attractive, but not true — 
 The facts distorted, to avail 
 Some hidden purpose of the tale.
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 It"s thus those pretty views one sees 
 
 In " Keepsakes^'' and "■ liemember mes^ 
 
 Are just as like another place, 
 
 As those they are design"'d to trace. 
 
 Trees, woods, and rocks, inserted where 
 
 The real scene is dull and bare, 
 
 'Tis true, this is a striking feature, 
 
 But then it does not picture nature : 
 
 And hence come that regret and marvel 
 
 We oft experience when we travel. 
 
 Our sketching friends have places shown, 
 
 Thafr'either from the globe have flown ; 
 
 Or, danc'd but in their minds and eyes, 
 
 Our own to tease and tantalize. 
 
 In short, if you for fibs v/ould look. 
 Turn o'er some female traveller's book. 
 Or views, or drawings, or what not — 
 (All ta'en of course, upon the spot) 
 But which are finisli'd up so high. 
 In bushes, trees, and clouds, and sky. 
 As quite to hide the true intent 
 Of what they Ve meant to represent. 
 
 While I was staying at Messina, 
 As at some places I 'd not been, a 
 Journey I thought to Syracuse 
 Might both instruct me and amuse. 
 
 131
 
 138 
 
 MESSIKA. 
 
 Of Etna and Catania too, 
 
 I might in that case write to you — 
 
 And if I could find breath, and time 
 
 Tormino's rugged steeps to clime : 
 
 I should at least have food much better 
 
 Than ordinary, for a letter. 
 
 Anticipation paints more bright 
 Than honest truth e'er brings to liffht ; 
 And here, the swans I'd put on lakes, 
 Turned ev'ry one to ducks and drakes. 
 
 In no one spot that I can name, 
 So noted and renownVl by fame ; 
 Is there so little left to see, 
 Of intVest and antiquity. 
 The spacious harbour's ample range 
 Has undergone but little chancre — 
 There, where the old Athenian fleet 
 Got so completely thrash'd and beat, 
 By warlike Syracusan men — 
 Most famous fighting fellows then. 
 The present race, I ought to mention, 
 Have quite forgot the old invention — 
 We may, for aught I know here say 'tis 
 Long lost, with those of Archimedes. 
 
 We read of stories very specious, 
 About the ear of Dionysius :
 
 MESSINA.. 
 
 139 
 
 They 're truly good ones, tho' not new ; 
 And but one fault— they are not true : 
 At least, if he could prisoners hear, 
 By means of this huge granite ear ; 
 We moderns cannot have repute 
 For organs that are so acute. 
 The echo of this place profound, 
 But adds confusion to the sound. 
 
 This cave, and all the neighb'ring ones. 
 Perhaps were quarries, where the stones 
 Were^ug, and taken for the use 
 Of purposes, in Syracuse : 
 And afterwards, thd)' might have been, 
 By some dread tyrant, made the scene 
 Of cruelty, in various ways ; 
 For many monsters, in those days. 
 Were most ingenious in their skill 
 Of adding woe to human ill. 
 At present, 1 but wish to doubt 
 If any person can make out. 
 From what remains now to be seen. 
 How possibly it could have been 
 Constructed, just in that same way. 
 That ancient authors please to say. 
 Most surely not— 'tis but one more 
 Of those good fables from the store
 
 140 
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 Of olden times ; and which but few, 
 AVhen searched by reason, prove quite true. 
 
 Alas ! how oft I 'm dooni'd to see. 
 Plain, unadoru'd reality, 
 Turn goddesses to dirty wretches. 
 And give the lie to fancy's sketches ! 
 My long and nourished fairy dream, 
 Of Arethusa's bubbling stream, 
 Turns out at last, a pool for those. 
 Who daily wash there dirty clothes*. 
 No nymph is seen to sport and lave 
 Her limbs upon the buoyant wave — 
 No Naiad on its bosom floats, 
 But those in flannel petticoats ; 
 Tuck'd up — it made me blush to see, 
 Some inches far above the knee. 
 And then so vulgar — I was vex'd. 
 And wished them evVy one unsex'd, 
 And turn'd to something far more common, 
 Than to the species of lov'd woman. 
 A more disgusting group of creatures. 
 With human forms and human features — 
 Or more unlike those deities, 
 Old Authors place before our eyes, 
 
 * The fountain of Arethusa is now tiie jjublic vvasliing place of 
 the town.
 
 MESSINA. l^l 
 
 Have never yet, in any time, 
 That I can recollect, met mine. 
 Besides, no author ever notes 
 Nymphs wearing flannel petticoats. 
 They patronise light flowing dresses — 
 Transparent gauze in graceful tresses; 
 Which is the best that can be worn, 
 To show a goddess lady''s form. 
 
 I 've often thought those blooming lasses 
 That live in Phoebus's Parnassus, 
 Emplo^'d much better undertakers 
 Of dress, than modern mantuamakers. 
 If one of them should e"'er remove 
 To Bond Street, from the courts above, 
 All female artistes will be undone, 
 That follow now that trade in London. 
 
 If I must nothing but what's true say 
 About the spring of Arethusa — 
 The veil is dropt — I now shall cease 
 To think this fountain comes from Greece (^^) 
 So many leagues beneath the sea, 
 And rises here again, to be 
 A place (oh, profanation shocking !) 
 To wash a dirty shirt or stocking.
 
 14;2 MESSIXA. 
 
 Vesuvius would only cut 
 A sorry figure, if "'twere put 
 Against Mount Etna's snow-clad top — 
 Mysterious nature''s chemist shop. 
 She here compounds her various gasses, 
 Her lava, steam, and fiery masses; 
 And sends them thundering up on high, 
 A mile or two towards the sky ; 
 Or pouring down upon the plain, 
 A glowing stream of liquid flame. 
 It grieved me much I could not go 
 Upon the top for frost and snow ; 
 I should have liked a hasty peep 
 Straight down that formidable steep, 
 To see if one could there make out 
 Something of what she was about ; 
 For very little do we know 
 Of what is going on l3elow 
 In nature's fearful laboratory — ' 
 Perhaps some power preparatory 
 To that which Etna's mania 
 Once burst upon Catania ; 
 A city that supplied the wants 
 Of thirty thousand habitants, 
 Which, phoenix-like, has risen once more 
 To grace the bright Ionian shore.
 
 MESSINA. 143 
 
 We often read, in days of yore 
 The people went down to explore — 
 Some for their pleasure, or their wives. 
 And some to vary their dull lives — 
 These fiery paths, that lead you right 
 To Pluto's awful shades of night. 
 I hope the roads are better there, ^ 
 
 Than we have in the open air (^^) ; 
 Perhaps then mules had surer feet 
 Than those dull things with which I meet — 
 The last two days my stumbling beast 
 Has kiss'd the ground five times at least ; 
 But if Sicilian tracks we travel, 
 At such mishaps we must not marvel. 
 
 Perhaps King Pluto's been advised 
 
 To have his roads macadamized — 
 
 I wish King Ferdinand would be 
 
 As kind and good in Sicily. 
 
 Mister Macadam need not fear 
 
 Of finding jobs if he'd come here. 
 
 I wish his steps were southward bending. 
 
 For all Italian ways want mending. 
 
 Who knows but that great cavity, 
 At such a distance that I see. 
 May happen just to be the same 
 So sung and talk'd about by fame ;
 
 144 MESSIXA. 
 
 That Pluto, at the very time 
 He ran away with Proserpine, 
 Commanded, without more delay, 
 To open unto them a way ; 
 When quickly in the trembling ground 
 Appeard this dark abyss profound ; 
 And soon they vanished from the sight, 
 Into the realms of endless night. 
 
 It makes one shudder at this hour 
 To think — if men had now that power- 
 One cannot possibly foresee 
 The evil such a thing might be. 
 Younff ladies then would never dare 
 To venture in the open air, 
 Without being subject ev'i'y day 
 To be caught up and ta'en away ; 
 And carried into earth and air. 
 Or water, or I know not where. 
 By some seducer on the watch, 
 A harmless innocent to catch ; 
 And who would tell, his prize to win. 
 The earth to ope and take them in. 
 Teaz'd we should tlien be all our lives, 
 In guarding daughters and our wives. 
 
 The distant crater I look on 
 Perhaps may be the very one
 
 MESSINA. 14i 
 
 That Orpheus once, for aught I know, 
 
 Went down so many years ago. 
 
 Defying danger, toil, and strife, 
 
 To seek in hell his dear lost wife. 
 
 Few husbands now you'd find, I warrant, 
 
 Would go so far on such an errand — 
 
 But that the story is all true. 
 
 Must be quite evident to you ; 
 
 Because two witnesses forsooth 
 
 Bear testimony of the truth — 
 
 Virgil and Ovid — both I quote — 
 
 Men of veracity and note ; 
 
 And who I "11 any one defy 
 
 To prove have ever told a lie. 
 
 Oh, no ! — these poets, long since gone. 
 
 You always may depend upon. 
 
 I Ve ask'd the man who acts as guide. 
 And now is standing by my side. 
 If ever in his life he''s seen 
 Or man, or woman enter in. 
 He says the path 's now never trod, 
 That people go another road : 
 And he asserts, nor can I doubt. 
 That naught but flames and smoke come out. 
 Our modem wives respect their vow, 
 And never leave their husbands now ; 
 
 H
 
 146 
 
 MESSINA- 
 
 Or, if for change they ever roam, 
 They find a lover nearer home. 
 
 Oh, that I could bound o'er the snow, 
 And to that far-off crater go ! 
 Who knows but I might get a sight 
 Of that condemned unhappy wight, 
 Old Sisyphus, who, to atone 
 For errors, rolls up hill a stone. 
 Poor man, how he must pant and sob, 
 In working at so long a job — 
 Why he's been at it, and not ceas'd, 
 Three or four thousand years at least. 
 About his health IVl like to ask. 
 And offer him my pocket flask ; 
 Some Cognac in such a mood, 
 Would do the poor old soul some good ; 
 And give him strength, if Pluto's bent 
 On his eternal punishment. 
 
 If I could only reach the track, 
 I 'd gain an entrance in a crack ; 
 And pass the gate, for in my pocket, 
 I have the means that will unlock it — 
 Some sandwiches of beef and ham, 
 With which I'd hungry Cerb'rus cram — 
 His stomach full, he'd fall asleep, 
 And I could by the monster creep,
 
 MESSINA. 147 
 
 And see such sights in hell, as ne'er 
 Saw living mortal, that 's quite clear. 
 
 And then to think upon the treat, 
 If I could only Virgil meet — 
 And by-the-bye, 'tween you and me. 
 He's just the man I 'd like to see. 
 To ask him if he'd kindly grant me 
 Some information about Dante, — 
 Or rather those that Dante mentions ; 
 For all my studies and inventions 
 Have n^ver clear'd my doubting quite, 
 Or set me, on some subjects, right. 
 Now, Virgil well must know his mind, 
 Because, by Dante's works we find 
 They walk'd together, in a season. 
 Through all the great infernal region ; 
 And many secrets must no doubt 
 In such a journey have come out. 
 Now all these puzzles I might know, 
 But for this deep and pathless snow. 
 
 I 'm vex'd to think what I have lost 
 By this severe continued frost ; 
 And quite provok'd beyond all measure, 
 Whene'er I contemplate the pleasure 
 That must have follow'd the relation 
 Connected with my observation :
 
 148 MESSINA. 
 
 M\ work would then liave been so prized, 
 I slioidd have been imniortaliz'd : 
 In evVy paper there would be 
 Extracts of " Rhymes from Italy T 
 Among the wits there had been quite 
 A struggle who the most should write, 
 And who the highest trophy raise, 
 Or, wlio my book the most could praise. 
 In short, in evVy page they'd find 
 Some proof of a poetic mind : 
 Sucli pretty things would have been said, 
 The very thought on''t turns my head. 
 Now, if I chance to print my work, 
 Depend upon't they'll whip me for't ; 
 They'll call it dull and common-place, 
 And sav, in no one page they trace 
 A single image that is true. 
 Or one adventure that is new — 
 And that they're weary of perusing 
 What's neither useful, nor amusing — 
 And that the press, from time to time, 
 l*roduces just such trash as mine ; 
 And which can only be of use 
 To line a trunk, or singe a goose — 
 And Sisyphus has but a play-game, 
 Compar'd with drudgeries that they name ; 
 In poring over every minute 
 AVhat has so little int'rest in it :
 
 MESSINA. 149 
 
 It puts nie in a ])erfect fret, 
 To think the whip])ing I shall get — 
 Depend upon 't my back they '11 tickle 
 AVith that long rod they've got in pickle. 
 The thought of a Reviewer's switch 
 Is sure to make my shoulders itch ; 
 So let nie leave this subject dread, 
 And hie me in good time to bed ; 
 \\'here I may hope at least to dream 
 Upon a less terrific theme. 
 
 Kiij^s often w^ar without a cause, 
 Or but to gain the world's ap})lause : 
 Or for a place, perhaps worth not 
 One half the powder and the shot 
 That it has cost, to gain a stand 
 On some bare rock, or barren sand ; 
 And that at last, is but made good 
 By waste of wealth and human blood. 
 How oft have pride and stubbornness 
 Plung'd nations into deep distress ? — 
 Wars, undertaken for a name, 
 And prosecuted without fame — 
 Unless that fame's made out to ])e 
 Poor suffering humanity — 
 The naked orphan's groans and cries, 
 Ov wretched widow's tears and sighs.
 
 150 MESSINA. 
 
 And let these wars end as they may, 
 
 Tlie subjects do the piper pay ; 
 
 And tax on tax must still be laid, 
 
 Till no more taxes can be paid ; 
 
 And imposts are at last combind, 
 
 Destructive to the health and mind ; 
 
 And myriads yet in embryo may 
 
 Lament the inauspicious day, 
 
 When chance plac'd on a throne, to rule, 
 
 A bigot, or a headstrong fool. 
 
 The very plain and simple plan 
 
 Of ruling, seems quite lost to man — 
 
 Or chang'd its clear straight-forward course. 
 
 For one of not so pure a source : 
 
 And human laws are never free 
 
 From quicksands, shoals, and trickery ; 
 
 Anomalies and contradictions, 
 
 Or whimsey strange, and predilections : 
 
 There "'s hardly any thing you see 
 
 That's just what it pretends to be. 
 
 Our real track we often smother, 
 
 And feign we 're going by another : 
 
 For truth you 'd think had fled the earth 
 
 Within a short time of her birth ; 
 
 And men and states (alas ! the shame) 
 
 Pursue a path they dread to name ; 
 
 Gain ends by ways you may detect 
 
 As neither honest, nor direct :
 
 MESSINA. 151 
 
 Before the world, walk to the right — 
 Turn to the left when out of sight. 
 This judgment may appear quite new, 
 But not, on that account, less true. 
 
 'Twould be most happy for mankind. 
 If rulers could a method find 
 Of gaining succours for the state. 
 And not hold out a tempting bait 
 To vice, to foil}', and to sin, 
 For silly men to tumble in, 
 Whoej^er loves his children''s lives, 
 Forplaythings should not give them knives (^). 
 
 Man 's often tempted to a snare. 
 And punish'd then for going there : 
 And hence how plain it 's understood. 
 They favour evil with the good. 
 Like many people gone before. 
 They both the principles adore (^') : 
 Tlie right hand Heav'n ; and, to be civil. 
 They with the left one serve the devil. 
 And in no country is this shown 
 More plain and clear than in our own. 
 Our government allows temptation 
 To drunkenness, past calculation ; 
 And when with gin your noddle rocks. 
 They set you gently in the stocks :
 
 152 
 
 MESSIXA, 
 
 Ti)ey tempt the poor man off" his feet. 
 And then provide him with a seat. 
 Now this is done, and yet they know 
 The state machine can never go 
 Lumbering on, unless they get 
 The entire interest of the debt ; 
 And then the tax this liquor pays, 
 Assists the crippled " mecms and ways."' 
 Hence, such splendid shops you view in 
 London, where they sell blue ruin*. 
 
 In Sicily they doift drink gin, 
 So here they Ve tempted on to sin, 
 And by a Avay as sure to send 
 Poor sinners to a wicked end. 
 The gentleman " that wears the black,'' 
 Ne'er show'd to man a surer track 
 To reach at last his fierv seas. 
 Than when he set up lotteries (^2^. 
 And here they have such pests become, 
 You purchase with the smallest sum. 
 Can any system be more wicked. 
 When only one grain-|- buys a ticket t 
 And so the low, as well as great — 
 N^y even beggars speculate : 
 
 * A cant name for gin. 
 
 t A grain is ratlier less than a halfjjenn-y.
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 And poverty and deep offences 
 
 Are the natural consequences. 
 
 ]Most of the crimes here talkM about, 
 
 Are to this source alone traced out. 
 
 One week they 're buying chances, seen 
 
 The next, upon the guillotine (*'). 
 
 And now, I think, my dearest friend, 
 It 's almost time that I should end 
 This rhyming journal — for I doubt 
 If I have more to rhyme about. 
 No former places where I \e been, 
 Or other objects that I \e seen, 
 Have offer'd any thing inviting. 
 Or suited to my style of writing. 
 If I could reach heroic verse, 
 I then might easily rehearse 
 Deeds, that are suited to such lays, 
 Of noted men in former days; 
 Who said and did such things, as ne'er 
 Men now can do, that I '11 declare : 
 Nor did they then, if we could tell 
 The very bottom of truth's well ; 
 But olden writers of the south 
 Planted such brambles round its mouth, 
 That far from even peeping in. 
 One scarcely can approach the brim. 
 
 h5 
 
 lo.'i
 
 154< MESSINA. 
 
 The German Niebuhr, we know (^'*), 
 Made one bold push, not long ago, 
 And to each thinking man's surprise — 
 At risk of both his clothes and eyes — 
 To our great gain, and his renown, 
 He scrambled more than half way down. 
 Who knows, but some inquirer yet 
 iVIay one day to the bottom get .'* 
 . Our studies, then, would be a measure 
 Of truly enviable pleasure. 
 What joy, to search out wisdom's height, 
 Convinced the road you're going's right ! 
 
 I sec but little use to dwell 
 On things that all the road-books tell — 
 Or what you '11 find in travels, guides. 
 In prints and other things besides. 
 I wish, for your sake, that this letter 
 And those before it had been better. 
 I liave not fail'd for want of will, 
 But honestly for want of skill : 
 And recollect, before you venture 
 My humble, ambling nag to censure, 
 'Twas you that press'd on this attack, 
 And lifted me upon his back. 
 'Tis true he has not, in one sense, 
 Occasion'd inconvenience ;
 
 MESSINA. 
 
 But been as docile and as mild 
 
 As any good obedient child ; 
 
 And let me put the saddle on 
 
 Whene'er I wishM to jog along ; 
 
 And often I have had him led 
 
 Out, when he'd better been in bed (^). 
 
 Now this I hope you '11 not refuse 
 
 To think a very good excuse 
 
 For many faults that you '11 find lurk 
 
 In various pages of my work. 
 
 And#now, as I 've no more to tell, 
 I '11 take my leave, and say farcAvell ; 
 With wishing you, my friend, no less 
 Than ev'ry earthly happiness — 
 Content, prosperity, and wealth, 
 With length of days in peace and health ; 
 And ev'ry true and friendly greeting, 
 Until our next gay, social meeting. 
 
 155
 
 NOTE S.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 3. 
 .0^y) " Sweet Tasso's strains — they're lost and gone." 
 
 ,* Ii*' Venice the Gondoliers know by heart long passages from 
 Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. 
 But this talent seems at present on the decline [it has now en- 
 tirely ceased] ; — it suits perfectly well with an idle solitary ma- 
 riner, lying at length in liis vessel, at rest, on one of these canals, 
 waiting for his company, or for a fare ; the tiresomeness of which 
 situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories 
 he has in memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, 
 which extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror : 
 and as all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the 
 midst of a large and populous town. Here is no rattling of car- 
 riages, no noise of foot passengers ; a silent gondola glides now 
 and then by him, of which the splashing of the oars is scarcely 
 to be heard. 
 
 " At a distance, he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to 
 him. Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers ; 
 he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself 
 to be heard, as he had heard the other. By a tacit conversation, 
 they alternate verse for verse ; though the song should be the
 
 160 NOTES. 
 
 whole night through, tliey entertain themselves without fatigue. 
 The hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in the 
 amusement. This vocal performance sounds best at a gre.-it 
 distance, and is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils 
 its design in the sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, but 
 not dismal in its sound ; and at times, it is scarcely possible to 
 refrain from tears." — Curiosities of Literature. 
 
 Page 3. 
 (2) " Of toiling man, a brother meeting." 
 
 In the narrow canals, before a Gondolier turns a corner — 
 many of which are very abrupt — he always cries out, " Bada," to 
 give notice of his approach to any other Gondolier, that may be 
 coming in an opposite direction. Many of these canals are most 
 gloomy, suspicious-looking places ; and I do not wonder that 
 novelists have so frequently laid the scenes of mystery there. I 
 believe I am correct in stating, that you may go to every house in 
 Venice, either by land, or by water — but by a gondola, you can 
 frequently reach a spot in five minutes, that would take you more 
 than an hour to thread out by the narrow lanes. 
 
 Page 6. 
 (3) " Old Denner' s pencil the true link fells." 
 
 " Balthasar Denner's fame rose very high on his exhibiting the 
 head of an old woman, in which the grain of the skin, the hairs, 
 the down, and the glassy humour of the eyes, were represented 
 with the most exact minuteness ; but it gained him more applausL 
 than custom, for a man could not execute many works who 
 employed so much time upon the finishing of one. The Empertr 
 Charles VI. gave him six hundred ducats for this picture, and the 
 like sum for the portrait of an old man to match it. Denner 
 finished the portraits of himself, his wife, and children, with sucli 
 circumstantial detail, that the pores of the skin were visible. Denner 
 died at Hamburgh in 1747."— Pilkington's History of Painters.
 
 NOTES. 161 
 
 Page 7. 
 
 (■*) " A larger work upon this theme." 
 
 A noble Venetian lady, not long ago, publislied an amusing 
 work, in two volumes, on the festivals of Venice; and a good 
 description of the ancient pageants may be found in Del . Costume 
 Venexiano, by Mutinelle. 
 
 Page 11. 
 
 (*) " Improve their children' s innocence." 
 
 I know some persons think this of little importance, and talk 
 much about mock-modesty and false-delicacy, when the impropriety 
 of leadmg young females into statue galleries is mentioned. Well, 
 as they please — but I presume no husband, or father of daughters, 
 would like their families to contemplate some objects I could 
 mention, which are in the rooms that are shown in the Doge's 
 palace — of most exquisite workmansliip, I grant — but this rather 
 increases, than diminishes the impropriety I complain of. 
 
 Page 19. 
 
 (e) " What adds unto men's happiness." 
 
 " La liberty, vous I'avouerez avec moi, est le premier bon- 
 heur, la seule gloire de I'ordre social ; I'histoire n'est decoree que 
 par les vertus des peoples libres; les seuls noms qui retentissent 
 de sidcle en siecle k toutes les ames genereuses ce sont les noms 
 de ceux qui ont aime la liberie ! nous avons en nous-memes une 
 conscience pour la liberte connne pour la morale ; aucun honmie 
 n'ose avouer qu'il veut la servitude, aucun homme n'en pent etre 
 accuse sans rougir ; et les coeurs les plus froids, si leur vie n'a 
 point etc souillee, tressaillent encore lorsqu'ils voient en Angle- 
 terre les touchans exemples du respect des lois pour Thonnne, et 
 des liommes pour la loi." — Madame la Baronne de Stael.
 
 162 NOTES. 
 
 Page 25. 
 
 (7) " Or ivhetfier it be Whig or Tory." 
 
 Many people appear to think that the violent party spirit now 
 prevalent is that which is chiefly to be weighed and regarded ; 
 for that Whig and Conservative are all in all. The paramount 
 importance will, however, be found to rest (independently of any 
 particular set of political agents) on that series of public measures 
 which is ardently contemplated by the British nation ; those 
 changes being only the inevitable effects of a decided spirit of im- 
 provement, by which the age we live in is happily distinguished. 
 
 Page 25. 
 
 (8) " Or mark a limit for the mind." 
 
 " Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base 
 
 Abandonment of reason to resign 
 
 Our right of thought — our last and only place 
 
 Of refuge, this, at least, shall still be mine : 
 
 Though I'rom our birth the faculty divine 
 
 Is chain'd and tortured — cabin' d, cribb'd, confined, 
 
 And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
 
 Too brightly on the unprepared mind, 
 
 The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind." 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 Page 27. 
 (9) " Societies and clubs are spread." 
 
 During the last five-and-twenty years, a great number of 
 clubs have been established in London and elsewhere. The in- 
 ducement to young men to become members is considerable, both 
 with a view to economy, and to the comfortable, or rather the 
 splendid accommodations of the club-houses. One of the ill con- 
 sequences which attend this plan of life is, that the men are
 
 >;oTES. 
 
 163 
 
 withdrawn more than they were accustomed to be from social 
 intercourse with the respectable and accomplished portion of the 
 female sex, and thus their influence, sb beneficial to society, is 
 in a measure suspended. 
 
 Page 27. 
 - (10) " Heaven will, I hope, admit th' excuse." 
 
 " But if it is strange, that one man has been immortalized as a 
 god, and another put to death as a felon, for actions which have 
 the same motive and the same tendency, merely because they 
 were circumstantially different ; it is yet more strange, that this 
 difference has always been such as increases the absurdity ; and 
 that the action which exposes a man to infamy and death, wants 
 only greater aggravation of guilt, and more extensive and per- 
 nicious effects, to render him the object of veneration and 
 applause." — Doctor Hawkesworth. 
 
 Page 45. 
 (11) " By the Academy in London." 
 
 I do not mean to state that the Royal Academy of Music has 
 not produced some very clever instrumental performers ; but I 
 maintain it has not, or ever will, educate any superior to the 
 hundred professors I could mention, who studied their art before 
 that plausible institution was established. Why employ steam, 
 when a less expensive agent will produce all the effects wanted ? 
 The advocates of this academy say, the stimulus it occasions is 
 highly beneficial. — Granted ; — but in the present advanced state 
 of society, there is quite rivalry enough, without an institution of 
 this kind; and 1 entirely fail in my judgment, if composers 
 can be manufactured in schools. The rules of composition are 
 known to thousands ; but without the assistance of nature, all the 
 rules are in vain. My reading and experience tell me, the 
 fetters of systems are frequently injurious to the flight of genius. 
 Shakspeare was much less learned than Ben Jonson ; and I have 
 never been able to discover that Burns, with all Doctor Black-
 
 164 NOTES. 
 
 Jock's instructions, wrote at all better than when he followed his 
 father's plough-tail. It is an undeniable fact, that the Royal 
 Academy at Somerset House has never sent a talented young- 
 painter abroad to study, who has returned the least benefited. 
 George Barker painted the Woodman, and was then sent to 
 Italy for improvement: — what did he ever produce afterwards 
 equal to that picture ? 
 
 It is my opinion, that some of the most beautiful things 
 of Mozart and Beethoven, are to be found in their earliest 
 works. But the greatest evil to be apprehended from the 
 Royal Academy of Music is, the immense increase of professors ; 
 and, truth to say, that is needless : — who is there, that is not 
 tired and weary of the everlasting benefit-concerts in London — 
 very often two, and even three, in a day — and which, by the way, 
 is only a genteel method of begging ; for what possible claim can 
 persons have to a benefit-concert, who are always paid for their 
 lessons and services? — why, none that I could ever discover. It 
 would require a pamphlet to contain all 1 could say on this 
 subject — a few words more, and I have done. We are perpetually 
 hearing of persons who return from India with a large fortune, 
 but seldom of those who are less successful ; — and so with the 
 pupils of the Royal Academy of Music — the failures are kept in 
 the background. If it were not an invidious task, I could mention 
 a great many — I '11 just give one as a specimen. The son of 
 most respectable parents, who are known to me, and who brought 
 up the youth with the greatest care and attention, sent him to the 
 Royal Academy, where he learnt enough of music and good con- 
 duct to enable him to fill the situation of a common sailor, and to 
 assist in the band of an East India ship, in which servile situation 
 he is at this moment.
 
 NOTES. 165 
 
 Page 46. 
 (13) " / mean our horrible street singing." 
 
 Both in Germany and in Italy I liave heard persons singing to 
 tlie company in coffee-houses, that were educated at different 
 musics} institutions in the latter country. The first time that I 
 was at Venice, I recollect a female, who used to sing to her guitar, 
 before the doors of the coffee-houses in the Piazza St. Mark, many 
 of Rossini's most difficult songs, in a manner that would not have 
 disgraced an artist of greater pretensions — but, in the south of 
 Italy, I never heard any street singing that was not execrable. 
 
 Page 49. 
 
 (13) " You'd better far give them another." 
 
 i'ar be it from me to say there never was a truly modest woman 
 eitacated at the Royal Academy of Music. I only mean to imply, 
 that it is not a situation the best calculated to produce that desirable 
 end. Children ranged out in front of an orchestra, to assist in the 
 concerted music, at the public performances given by the pupils of 
 the Royal Academy, and which are always numerously pati-onised, 
 must tend to injure that interesting diffidence, and retiring modesty, 
 which is so much, and so justly admired in an English female. I 
 certainly know several instances where this has not been the case ,- 
 and I could mention pupils of that institution who are now filling 
 the duties of wives and mothers, in the most exemplary manner. 
 
 Page 50. 
 (14) " // Furioso San Domingo." 
 
 " II Furioso neir Isola di S. Domingo." An o])er;i by Donizetti, 
 which is performed frequently in Italy, but which lias never been 
 done in Loudon.
 
 16G 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 53. 
 
 (15) '' Retrace it back to Gothic night." 
 
 Had Rome never been ravaged by barbarian armies, — had 
 she proceeded, vrithout interruption, in the natural current of 
 civilization, it is evident, that, in process of time, the Romans 
 would have practised the all-important art of printing; and that 
 too, long before the period of its discovery in Germany. One is 
 led to this opinion by the fact that types were used in ancient 
 Italy, to stamp on the backs of sheep the initials of the owner's 
 name ; and bricks are frequently found in Rome with the maker's 
 stamp. I might likewise notice the loaves of bread that have 
 been discovered at Pompeii, with the initials of a name stamped 
 on them. This was the very threshold of printing — one step 
 more, and they must have discovered the art. Then again, since 
 (!icero has left us in his works the plan of a perfect government, 
 resembling what our own has become ; now that the Reform Bill 
 has secured to the British people their legitimate influence in the 
 state, we must conclude that Rome, if she had not been conquered, 
 would have gradually arrived at a well reasoned form of govern- 
 ment, something like that with which our nation is at present 
 favoured. 
 
 Page 54. 
 
 (16) " Has saved so many folks from hell." 
 
 Credulity itself would scarcely credit the immense quan- 
 tities of trash and trumpery that are exhibited in the churches 
 in catholic countries, as genuine, saintly, and efficacious 
 relics; and I could add to the list already given many others 
 equally preposterous ; among which, the flea that supped on 
 the fair skin of Eve, is, perhaps, one of the most ridiculous. 
 Really, one hardly knows whether to smile or to sigh at such 
 egregious folly — to be amused by the tricks of the deceivers, or to 
 lament the degraded state of the understandings of the deceived 
 — at any rate, it proves that the " schoolmaster" has still much to
 
 NOTES. 167 
 
 accomplish ! — he has likewise a numerous, powerful, and interested 
 host of gentlemen in black gowns and skull-caps to conquer, 
 before he can make much progress in this country — but let him 
 persevere, and he must in the end prove victorious. Bigotry 
 holds little influence over cultivated minds. I never mentioned 
 the subject of these relics to an educated Catholic that did not 
 laugh at .the antiquated mummery. It is only the very lowest 
 and uninformed part of the population who now swallow these 
 degrading cheats — instruct them, and the priests may light their 
 fires with the relics, for they will be of no further use. 
 
 The witty author of the " Two Hundred and Nine Days on the 
 Continent," speaking of the aforesaid flea, which first brought the 
 beautiful mother of us all acquainted with pain, says, " I was told 
 that at Cologne they have the first animal that drew blood, and 
 thus broke, the general peace, viz. the flea that bit Eve the night 
 after hCT fall, and to her great dismay ; for it is said to be nearly 
 as latge'as a well-grown prawn. The vniusual size of the creature 
 is in favour of the truth of the story, and of the antediluvian 
 origin of the insect, for there were giants in those days, and men 
 reached a prodigious age ; but since the deluge, both ourselves and 
 our fleas are a stunted, short-lived, aguish race." 
 
 This shrewd wanderer on the continent favours ihe antediluvian 
 origin of the glistening insect, so profitably preserved by the priests 
 at Cologne ; but he has not ventured to describe the relic as a 
 fossil flea ; and probably for this reason, that being himself among 
 those cultivated persons who read the works of the philosophic 
 Cuvier, he was well awave that at the remote period when fossils 
 were formed (a property which the giobe has since lost), man had 
 never yet existed ; no, nor any of his order of creatures, from the 
 orang to the marmoset 
 
 Page 58. 
 (17) " The power and l.acl of those at Rome" 
 
 If I had visited Palermo before this description had been 
 wTitten, I certainly should have laid the scene there, rather than
 
 168 NOTES. 
 
 at Rome ; for although the Roman beggars are very finished 
 professors in the art, they are infinitely inferior to the countless, 
 importunate, disgusting beggars at Palermo. 
 
 Page 59. 
 (18) " Amovg the lower ranks at Rome." 
 
 Before the reader concludes that this picture is too highly 
 coloured, he is requested to inspect the markets at Rome, fre- 
 quented by the lower orders of the people, and see the disgusting- 
 looking food that is exposed for sale; and which, of course, is 
 intended to be eaten. When I was first informed that some of the 
 poorer ranks had been known to eat cats, I confess I was not a 
 little sceptical of the fact, and set about an inquiry, in a quarter 
 of the city where I was most likely to gain information ; when the 
 first answer which I received, convinced me that I had not been de- 
 ceived : " I gatti, perclid non sarebbero buoni per niangiare ?" 
 
 Page 93. 
 
 (19) " l{as been to call a man disguster." 
 
 In Naples, last winter, " a disguster " was the designation used 
 by the young ladies of high fashion, to distinguish a man who 
 happened to have superior talents, or who wished to improve 
 them by study and application. 
 
 Page 93. 
 (2*5) " The women rule meii's destinies." 
 
 ■' Chilly as the climate of the world is growing — artificial and 
 systematic as it has become — and unwilling as we are to own the 
 fact, there are few amongst us but who have had some feelings 
 once strongly entwined around the soul, and who have felt how 
 dear was their possession when existing, and how acute the pang 
 which their severing cost. Fewer still were the labyrinths 
 unclosed in which their affections lay folded, but in whose hearts 
 the name of woman would be found, although the rough collision 
 with the world may have partially efiaced it."
 
 NOTES. 169 
 
 Page 94. 
 (21) " Into Calabria talk of going." 
 
 One is perpetually hearing of the ferocity of the Calabrians. 
 I do not mean to deny that tliere have been many atrocious acts 
 committed by some of the almost lawless inhabitants of the moun- 
 tain districts — but I repeat, in plain prose, what I have stated in 
 rhyme — I consider the thing greatly exaggerated. The world is 
 very fond of talking about marvels — many of which will not stand 
 the test of cool inquiry. I have all my life heard, that the Cala- 
 brians always go armed, and that the men plough the fields witli a 
 dagger in their girdles, and a musket on each shoulder; but I 
 never heard how they accomplished their work, thus encumbered — 
 that, I iSelieve, would not be so easy a thing to resolve. I certainly 
 did^irfee> with an unusual number of men carrying fir6-arms ; but, 
 on inquiry, I found thej were all collectors of small taxes, and 
 servants of the state. If the deposition of the brigand who shoe 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hunt a few years ago be correct, that melanclioly 
 event was more owing to a momentary impulse of passion than 
 premeditation. The true version of the story is, when the tra- 
 vellers were stopped by the band of robbers, the chief attempted 
 to take a gold chain from the lady's neck; when Mr. Hunt, under 
 an idea the brigand was taking a liberty with her person, struck 
 liim, which was the cause of the fatal catastroplie. 
 
 Page 98. 
 (22) " Set all your vain threats at defiance." 
 
 A few days ago an old gentleman had his pocket picked of a 
 liundkerchief by a young rascal, who, finding the unfortunate 
 suft'erer was too infirm to follow liim, merely crossed the street, 
 held it up in triumph, and lauglied ; in which laugh all the 
 passengers, as if it had been a good joke, joined hiin. 
 
 I
 
 170 NOTES. 
 
 Page 99. 
 
 (23) " / used to think a carnival." 
 
 1 have taken the liberty of making a little transposition here. 
 The characters I have mentioned were exhibited in the carnival 
 of the year 1833. The last, in 18-35, did not produce a single 
 attempt at practical wit that deserves to be noticed — it was, of all 
 the carnivals I ever witnessed, the most stupid and dull. 
 
 Page 103. 
 
 (24) " Either to stop or g"t away." 
 
 " At Naples, the insolence of tyranny respecting passports is at 
 its highest ; it requires three days and two piastres to arrange this 
 troublesome business ; and they do not content themselves with 
 bedevilling the old one, as elsewhere ; but a king, who is kept on 
 the throne by foreign arms, of which he cannot pay the hire, has 
 the audacious impudence to require that a new and separate pass- 
 port should be taken out from his own wretched minister."— 
 Hosg\<: Journal of a Trareller, 
 
 Page 11.3. 
 (25) " Jf vine-clad mountains, fruilfttl vales." 
 
 The plain between Palermo and the mountains is beyond descrip- 
 tion fruitful. In many parts the land produces three crops at the 
 same time — olive trees, and, under them, grapes and wheat. 
 
 Page 131. 
 (26) " A willing wife xmto a friend." 
 
 " I think the female sex in Sicily, with regard both to the 
 mannei-s and morals, very superior to the men, to whom indeed, 
 the oreatest part of their vices are attributable ; for as soon as one 
 sex disregards virtue, the other will rarely be at the pains to keep 
 it. Much mischief also is deducible from the faulty education of 
 their girls within the gloomy unsocial cloisters of a convent, from 
 the restraints of which, they rush at once into a deceitful world,
 
 NOTtS. 171 
 
 without the guidance of example or experience, with few accotn- 
 plishments, either useful or ornamental, but with minds imbued in 
 all the frivolities of superstition, eager only to make themselves 
 compensation by a surfeit of pleasure for that time which they 
 have spent without any enjoyment at all. Intellectual acquire- 
 ments indeed are considered qui^e superfluous, when the only end 
 of a woman's being is to dispose of herself in marriage ; and as 
 marriage is made a matter of traffic, all ideas of mutual attachment, 
 all that refinement which dignifies the institution, is totally un- 
 known. A young lady of high rank in Palermo was offered to 
 my friend with less ceremony than a horse, or a parcel of ground 
 would be submitted to a person desirous to purchase." — Rev. T. S. 
 Hughes's Travels in Sicihj and Greece. 
 
 '^' Page 134, 
 
 ^ " y (27) '' The first, in all its fnll extent:' 
 
 What man's divine Maker intended his food to be, is now a 
 difficult question to determine. The general belief is, that every 
 thing being made for his use, he may freely partake of all. Now 
 this would be very delightful, if experience did not convince us 
 that half the evils we have to endure are entirely owing to the 
 depravity of our appetites, I am very willing to admit that there 
 is great pleasure in good eating and drinking ; and also, if there 
 was a planet where a man could indulge with impunity, I should 
 like to go and live there ; but as the probabilities are, even with all 
 our astounding improvements in travelling, that we shall never 
 accomplish so long a journey, let us endeavour to improve our 
 condition by the aid of reason. If the anatomy of man were to 
 decide the question, it would be brought into a much narrower 
 compass; because, arguing from analogy, we sec all the creatures 
 around us, in a wild state living on a specific food. Man, almost 
 daily, takes into his stomach a part of the produce of the four 
 quarters of the globe. That he is subject to more diseases than 
 animals in a state of nature, is unquestionable; and wliich, I think,
 
 172 NOTES. 
 
 he might diminish, with the assistance of reflection and experience. 
 In this matter the instinct of animals appears more valuable than 
 the boasted reason of man ; for although he endeavours to balance 
 the mischief which his feelings too plainly tell him he is daily com- 
 mitting, by the use of rhubarb, soda, ginger, and a hundred things 
 besides, he cannot shut his eyes to the fact, that creatures which live 
 on their natural food enjoy better health, without the assistance of 
 physic. Among the various inconveniences we experience, in 
 consequence of having left our proper food, perhaps none are more 
 evident than the diseases of our teeth. It is an allowed fact, that 
 there never was a monkey or a baboon, or any of the species ever 
 taken in a wild state, at any age (and they have been caught at all 
 ages) that ever had a decayed tooth. Now take a hundred of the 
 human species that have passed the middle period of life, and how 
 many of them can say they never had a diseased tooth ? — perhaps 
 not ten out of the hundred ! 
 
 It is my opinion, that if man could regain a knowledge of his 
 proper food, and be induced to adopt it, he would be, both morally 
 and physically, improved by the change ; and many strong facts 
 might be brought to prove, that all-bountiful Nature never neglects 
 her works, but corrects the evils that have been contracted by 
 straying from her simple paths, in those that are wise enough 
 to return to them. Take one proof, out of the many I could 
 quote in corroboration of this assertion. The immense droves of 
 wild horses that bound over the extensive plains in South America, 
 are noted for possessing more sagacity; vigour, and strength, than 
 horses under the dominion of man ; independently of which, they 
 are nearly all of one size and colour — now horses are animals 
 which were unknown in South America, before the Spaniards 
 conquered that country; and we are convinced these droves of 
 spirited creatures are the produce of the horses which escaped 
 from the Spanish armies ; and, having regained their liberty and 
 natural food, have recovered their original colour and strength j for 
 one cannot for a moment suppose, that every horse that broke
 
 NOTES. 173 
 
 loose from tlie armies was of one height, and of a dark brown 
 colour, with a black flowing mane and tail; certainly not — and the 
 fact clearly proves what I have stated above. 
 
 Men of reflection have, in all ages, been convinced of the baneful 
 effects of unnatural stimulating food, and one might fill a volume 
 with quotations to that effect. Perhaps no one has given a more 
 powerful and correct picture of the melancholy consequences than 
 Pope, in his " Essay on Man" — third epistle, fourth section — in 
 tlie former part of which, he describes man in his primitive state 
 of happiness, and concludes with these energetic lines — 
 
 " Ah I how unlike the man of times to come I 
 Of half that live the butcher and the tomb ; 
 Who, foe to nature, hears the gen'ral groan, 
 Murders their species, and betrays his own. 
 •^ But just disease to luxury succeeds, 
 ^ y And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds ; 
 The fury-passions from that blood began. 
 And turn'd on man a fiercer savage, Man." 
 
 Among the various institutions in our country, which have 
 been established for promoting the happiness of mankind, J 
 lament there has never been one that has embraced this import- 
 ant subject; and although I do not think that human life could 
 be much prolonged, yet I conceive it might be relieved of many 
 of its evils, which is, perhaps, more desirable. "VVe have from 
 time to time several useful publications, under the titles of 
 " Guides to Health and Longevity," which are all beneficial, as 
 they inculcate the advantages of temperance and exercise; but a 
 society of disi7itc rested scientific men, who would hold monthly 
 meetings for the purpose of discussing this interesting subject, 
 and publish their observations on food, water, and climate, would 
 carry more weight witli tlie public, than the writings of an 
 individual, who, nine times out of ten, is induced to print more 
 from a love of the money which the work is to produce, tlian tlie; 
 love of the welfare of his fellow men. 
 
 I 3
 
 174 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 A person, whose attention lias never been directed to the 
 subject, would be astonished to hear how many millions of human 
 beings there arc on the globe who never eat animal food ; and, 
 even in the United Kingdoms, a large portion of the peasantry in 
 Westmoreland and Cumberland, who are a particularly strong, 
 active, healthy race of men, seldom touch meat but on a Sunday; 
 and there are more still in Ireland, who never eat animal food, 
 save at a wedding or a christening. Every day's experience tells 
 US, the more simple our habits and food, the more robust our 
 health. I know a district in Cumberland, containing 6000 inhabi- 
 tants, which affords only a scanty employment for three medical 
 men ; and I also know a fashionable watering-place, of the same 
 population, that maintains two physicians, twelve surgeons and 
 apothecaries, and six druggists. This single fact speaks volumes 
 in favour of an abstemious meat diet. 
 
 Page 141. 
 (20) ," 2'o tliiitk this fuunta'm comes from Greece." 
 
 Pliny says, that the garlands of conquerors and the dung of tlie 
 victims at the Olympian games, when thrown into the Alpheus, 
 reappeared at Syracuse, in the fountain of Arethusa. " Quaedani 
 flumina odio maris ipsa subeunt vada, sicut Arethusa Pons Syra- 
 cusanus, in quo reddunlur jacta in Alpheura, qui per Olympian! 
 fluvius Peloponnesiaco littori infunditur." Nat. His. lib. 2. 
 " Et ilia miracula plane, Arethusam Syracusis fimum redolere per 
 Olympiam, verique simile quoniam Alpheus in earn insulam sub ima 
 maria permeat." Lib. 31. This idea spread also in Peloponnesus 
 itself, for the priests of the Goddess of Safety in iEgium in Achaia 
 used to throw offerings from the altar into the sea, saying, " they 
 sent them to Aretliusa, in Sicily." Pausan. in Achaicis, 24, ii.
 
 "KOTES. 175 
 
 Page 143. 
 
 (29) " Than we have in the open air." 
 
 The only public roads in Sicily, are from Messina to Catania 
 and Palermo ; all the rest are merely mule tracks, and so bad and 
 dangerous as to require no common share of fortitude and nerve 
 to accomplish a journey by them. The state of the roads in Sicily 
 has ever been a cause of great complaint, particularly among the 
 inhabitants of the country districts ; they have long paid a heavy 
 tax towards them, and it is a usual saying among the farmers, 
 " that had the money they have contributed for this purpose been 
 honestly and properly applied, they might have had roads all over 
 the islpiif, paved with silver." 
 
 Page 151. 
 
 (30) " Yur playthings should not give them knives." 
 
 " La societe punit souvent les penchans que la societe fait naitre, 
 ou que sa negligence fait germer dans les esprits ; elle agit comme 
 ces peres injustes qui chatient leurs enfans des defauts qu'ils leur 
 ont eux-memes fait contracter." 
 
 Page 1.51. 
 (31) '^ Tlioj both the principles adore." 
 
 History furnishes us with examples of nations which worshipped 
 both good and evil deities. Those ancient tribes, having no reve- 
 lation, themselves provided the doctrines and ceremonies of their 
 religion. They reflected on what they saw around them ; and as 
 opportunities must sometimes have occurred of witnessing the 
 sportive cruelty of the tiger and the lion in playing with the wild
 
 176 KOTES. 
 
 goat, the antelope, or the argali, before the destruction of their 
 victims, they came to the conclusion that in the universal power 
 there must be a participator — a Demon of Unrighteousness. We 
 have all observed the protracted torture of the mouse, to which 
 the cat devotes that animal ; but the tiger, when not impelled by 
 hunger, will still manifest, by the flexible motion of his tail, the 
 delight which he has in destruction. 
 
 Page 152. 
 
 (32) " Tlian ivhen he set up lotteries." 
 
 It is impossible to imagine a system more calculated to injure 
 the morals of a people than the lotteries in Italy, as you may stake 
 the very smallest sum. The chances of gain are very slight indeed 
 — the purchaser chooses three numbers, on which he can win 
 nothing, unless they come up consecutively — a very forlorn hope, 
 where there are several thousand tickets to be drawn. 
 
 Page 15;5. 
 (33) " The next upon the gnillofiiie." 
 
 An acquaintance of mine, who has lived many years in ^lessiua, 
 jissured me, that not long ago, an industrious butclicr was per- 
 suaded to purchase some tickets in the lottery, all of which came 
 up blanks. In a fit of despair, he was tempted to risk the whole 
 of his little property, in hopes of repairing his first loss — but here 
 again his expectations were disappointed. Hurried on by fury 
 and madness, he committed a robbei-y on the highway — he was 
 taken, tried, condemned, and suffered death by the guilloline — and 
 all this passed in the course of a few weeks. 
 
 Page loi. 
 (^■4) " The German Siebuhr we hiiow." 
 
 " Niebuhr's History of Rome," a work of great research and 
 merit, wherein the enlightened author lias refuted many of the
 
 KOTES. 177 
 
 popular stories that have been handed down from the earliest 
 periods, until they are received as facts ; but wrhich modern in- 
 quiry is every day proving to be wholly fictitious. 
 
 Page 155. 
 '^ (3.5) '< When he 'd better been in bed." 
 
 Many of these sketches were composed in diligences, when the 
 roads were too rough to indulge in those " dog-slumbers" that 
 occasionally beguile half an hour in a tedious dark night's 
 journey; and many more, which I have lost, from being too 
 faintly traced on the tablet of my mind to be written on the tablet 
 in my pocket when day-light appeared. 
 # 
 
 FINIS.
 
 iokdon: 
 
 fEJNTBO BY T. BRBTTELl., Kl'PERT STREET, HAYMARKBT.
 
 NEW WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JAMES RIDGWAY AND SONS, 
 
 1G9, PICCADILLY. 
 
 LORD COLLINGWOOD'S MEMOIRS AND CORRES- 
 PONDENCE, PUBLIC and PRIVATE. By G. L. Newmiam 
 CoLLiNGWooD, Esq. F. R. S. Illustrated by a fine Portrait, &-c. &c. 
 Fourth Edition, in 8vo. 16s. 
 
 " The portrait of one English worthy more is now secured to posterity." — 
 Quarterly Review, 
 
 " We do not know when we have met with so delightful a book as tliis, or one 
 witli which we are so well pleased with ourselves for being delighted. Its attraction 
 consists almost entirely in its moral beauty." — Edinburgh Review. 
 
 " Having tlius referred to Lord Collingwood's Life, I may be allowed to say, 
 that the publication of that volume is indeed a national good ; it ought to be in 
 every officer's cabin, and in every statesman's cabinet." — Smithey's Life of Lord 
 Nelioti, New Edition, p. 348. 
 
 PHENOMENA OF THE EARTH. 
 
 In One Volume, post 8vo. 427 pages, with two Plates, 7s. 
 
 THE lySVOLUTIONS OF THE GLOBE FAMILIARLY 
 DESCRIBED: By Alexander Bertrand, M.D. &c. &c. &-c. 
 
 The aboveVork, it is hoped, will prove to the general reader in this depart- 
 ment of science what Dr. Lindley's " Ladies' Botany" is doing for that delightful 
 pursuit. 
 
 " ' The Revolutions of the Globe,' by Dr. Bertrand, is one of the most agree- 
 able we have met with. The object of the Autlior is to convey to the idlest and 
 least learned reader an idea of the wonders of Geology. To accomplish his 
 intention in a manner which requires the easiest, and admits with pro])riety of 
 the most trifling mode of treatment, he addresses his nineteen letters to a lady. 
 Tliis matter consists of the striking facts of Geology, rather than of a view of the 
 principles, or a statement of the evidence, on which they rest. His manner of 
 discussion will be best shown by some specimens. The surface of the globe is 
 not a new subject ; yet see how interesting our author makes it." — Spectalar, 
 January 3]. 
 
 GEOLOGY OF SCRIPTURE. 
 
 In One Volume, 8vo. 508 pages, witli Plates, Us. boards. 
 
 A GENERAL VIEW of the GEOLOGY of SCRIP'l'URE ; in 
 which the unerring Truth of the inspired Narrative of the 
 Early Events of the World is exhibited, and distinctly proved 
 by the corroborative testimony of Physical Facts on every part of 
 the Earth's surface. By George Fairholme, Esq. 
 
 " George Fairholme lias, in my opinion, settled tlie question with tlutt inoiM 
 tact and judgment wliich his ojiponents will find it imjjossible to shake. His 
 theory has an inunovable foundation, their's is ' the baseless fabric of a vision,' 
 destined, I humbly and heartily hope, at no great distance of time, to disappear 
 altogether from the minds of men, and to ' leave not a wreck behind.' • • • 
 If my recommendation of Mr. Fairholnic's work should induce even one young 
 person to purchase and peruse it, and if, in consequence, he should obtain the 
 Ijcnefit I have derived from it, my object in thus addressing you will be full/ 
 answered." — Letter to the Editor ef thi " lleeord," signed John Bull.
 
 Works published by James Ridgvvay & Sons. 
 
 THE CARTOONS OF RAPHAEL. 
 
 Second Edition, in 8vo. 8*. 6d. cloth boards. 
 CARTONENSIA ; or, an Historical and Critical Account of the 
 Tapestries in the Vatican ; coj)ied from the designs of Raphael of 
 TJrbino, and of such of the Cartoons whence they were woven, as 
 are now in preservation. With Notes and Illustrations. 1 o which 
 are subjoined. Remarks on the Causes which retard the progress of 
 the higher departments of Paintings in this country. By the Rev, 
 W. GuNN, B.D. Second Edition, with Additions. 
 
 " Mr. Gunn's commentary upon this beautiful production (the Nativity) is 
 well written, and contains canons of criticism which we conceive to be in the 
 
 most correct taste Indeed we would strongly recommend ' Cartonensia' to 
 
 general attention. It bears about it all the marks of a liberal and accomplished 
 mind, cordially devoted to the prosperity of the fine arts ; and we trust that its 
 criticisms, founded, as they generally are, in good sense, and always elegantly ex- 
 jjressed, will exercise a salutary influence upon the public taste." — Monthly Review. 
 
 " In dismissing this work, we would recommend it most cordially to our 
 friends. The artist will find much information, coupled with much admirable 
 advice in its pages, while the general reader will be amused with its details, and 
 instructed by the remarks, both historical and theological, which he will meet 
 with in perusing it. Mr. Gunn is a man of much critical acumen, softened down 
 and polished by his gentlemanly feeluigs, and amiable spirit; and we thir k that 
 few will arise from his book without sensations of gratitude for his labour^ ti its 
 compilation, and of satisfaction for tlie information he so pleasingly connnu- 
 nicates." — Arnold's Magazine of the Fin Ails. 
 
 PERSONAL SAFETY FROM LIGHTNING, &c. \s. 
 Directions for ensuring Personal Safety during storms of Thunder 
 and Lightning; and for tlie right application of Conductors to 
 Houses and other Buildings. By John Leigh, Jun. Esq. Third 
 Edition. 
 
 The whole of the little tract being of that plain, sensible, and accurate thanxter, 
 as particularly to enlighten not only the ignorant peasant, but thfi^ubl • in 
 general, as to the best ascertained means of escaping destruction, oB damage, 
 from thunder storms." — Monlhhj Reiiiw, May 1. 
 
 c"V 
 
 Third Edition, vvuh a Plate and two Diagrams, l*. or Is. \C J. bound and gilt. 
 
 ^ WHAT IS A COMET, PAPA.? or, a fafiiiliar Description of 
 Comets; more particularly Halley'sj Coj^et. To which is pre- 
 fixed, a Concise Account of the IotIieji Heavenly Bodies. 
 By Rosina Maria Zornlin. \Jl_ 
 
 •' A timely question, answered after the German fashion, by telling plainly, ' all, 
 how, and about it.' The first, a conversation among a family of clever children, 
 the boy relating the leading truths of Astronomy to his sisters, while they are 
 waiting the return of their parents: the second part is papa's own account of the 
 passing Comet, in answer to the cpiestion which forms the title. Both are very 
 well done, and the autiioress deserves great credit for the thouffht and its realiza- 
 tion." — Atlas, August 23.
 
 / ^
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 
 
 ^ I 
 
 < V 
 
 ^0/^f 
 
 C 
 
 V 
 
 c 
 c 
 
 c 
 
 Ci 
 
 
 
 t:
 
 ^ 
 
 § 
 
 %a3AIN0 
 
 University of Calilornia, Los Angeles 
 
 L 006 212 828 5 
 
 4J 
 
 ^ 
 
 Mmps( 
 
 iV/t, 
 
 ^OFCAllFO% 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUTY 
 
 AA 000 367 396 9 
 
 5 :t>* 
 
 
 n*nvn. 
 
 Vl'^JIi I ..' J -' 
 
 
 ¥ i*>