snowy Mediterranean heath, shining like frosted silver! I sat upon a little bridge, and watched a bubbling rivulet fighting its way through impeding oleanders and coronellas, and through beds of the lovely yellow citysus, which, in London, is a hot-house plant in March. Along the stream a hedge of myrtle shut off a field of the lilies of Solomon, and the bank was one gorgeous mass of narcissi, hyacinths, and violets. With the help of no other cup than that used by Diogenes after he had discovered the superfluousness of his wooden bowl, I drank of the merry current, whose waters seemed perfumed by the sweet bed over which they coursed so joyously; and, turning round to gaze upon the field of Solomon's lilies, I thought what a favoured spot that must be; which alone save Palestine-was considered worthy to rear so magnificent a flower. Well may its glorious hues, its proud bearing, and "the fiery star, which is its eye," challenge comparison with the great king" in all his glory." Crossing this half acre of dazzling colours, I was led by a circuitous path up a hill where the rocky soil was adorned with the blue flower of the sage, the prickly genet, and the delicate shrubs of the cassis, which is said to form the basis of all the perfumes manufactured at Grasse, about twelve miles off. The wild thyme crackled under my feet, and sent up an aromatic odour from its small bruised leaves. An hour's walk brought me to the spot known as Hannibal's bridge. As I leant over its ruined arch, and watched the stream flowing on as peacefully as if its bed had never been stained with the noblest blood of the world's rulers, I mused on the strange destiny of the two great men whose characters had been shown forth in its noblest aspect, whose courage had been displayed in its most glorious light, after so many ages, and in so small a space. The one bold, daring, dazzling his men by his own physical courage and by his victories, not only over nations, but over nature itself the other, reigning by the influence of his great mind, attaching his soldiers to his person, to his shadow, to his name, as the charmer attracts the serpent, and withers his rage beneath his gaze exercising an unknown fascination that bound all his followers to him in spite of his heartlessness, in de fiance of his selfishness-acharm evoked, even to this hour, amongst those who remember him, and by the mere mention of his name! Hannibal is supposed to have brought Moorish prisoners to the South of France, and it is stated that Cannes had its origin in the settlement of a Moorish colony. Upon my return into the little seaport town, I began to give credence to the legend. There is much of the Moorish in the countenances of its inhabitants; and the women, as they walked about in their fête-day clothes, with their many gold chains shining on their dark skins, their brilliant petticoats of red, and blue, and white, and the orange handkerchief that divides their fine black hair from the picturesque, broad-brimmed hat, with its baby crown, that distinguishes the southern French paysannes, had an air of indolence and of grace that seemed to attest their descent from a more southern people. The fish-market presented a very remarkable appearance. Fish of every colour lay pêle-mêle upon the ground, exposed for sale— "Of dazzling hue, Vermillion, spotted, golden, green, and blue; Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard;" and not more quaint or varied in colour than in shape; some all head, others all tail-a feast, indeed, for a lover of icthyology. Without pretending to a knowledge of this science, the natives have learnt to make a feast out of all these incongruous materials. Not one of these fish, however problematical in appearance, however brilliant in colour, escapes the great sacrifice of the bouilleabaisse, of which I might not have eaten so heartily this morning had I known the nature of the compound. The name may be construed into “always simmer, never boil;" and it is made thus :-Every one of these fish, green or purple, large or small, without distinction, is thrown into a pot; to it is added the round of a bitter orange, parsley, sweet herbs, and samphire. Long slices of the coarse brown bread, rubbed with garlic, and soaked with oil, are laid upon the top. Then the whole is left to simmer for a long time, respecting the injunction implied in the name, never to let it boil (the reverse of the celebrated kettle-holder motto), and served up hot-“de cette façon là, on mangerait son grand père was the assurance of my landlady. This being a great feast-day, all sorts of games were going on. Silver watches were elevated upon greasy poles, and held up in temptation to both sexes. The result of the feminine endeavours can be perhaps imagined, and will be known to those who have read Paul de Kock's amusing book, La Maison Blanche. I walked down to the port, and there engaged a small sailing-boat to convey me to the islands of St. Marguerite and St. Onora, the former of which is celebrated as the site of the prison where the "Man with the Iron Mask" was confined for twenty-nine years. We pushed off into the dark blue Mediterranean, and hoisted a little sail, which carried us rapidly across its tideless ripples. The view of Cannes from the sea is lovely. It seems as though Providence had provided, for those who are unable to withstand the storms and tempests of the world, a little harbour of refuge, which no wind but that of the balmy South can reach, and which seems so peaceful, so smiling, as to bid defiance to worldly cares and troubles, throwing up alike against the rude blasts of the North, and against the inroad of the tales of trouble which it brings, and the bitter thoughts which it engenders, a double range of mountains to shut out "this valley of bliss from the world." The bay in which it lies forms almost a complete semicircle. To the right rises the beautiful Estrelle, that seems as though it were a gigantic mass of rich brown mould, and beyond it, jutting out into the sea, stands the Cape Roux, as jagged and rough as though the rich vegetation which surrounds it were miles and miles away. Immediately behind the town rises a succession of hills which completely encloses it, and upon these grow rich plantations of orange trees and olive groves, which Wordsworth has so beautifully compared to an "autumn sea waving in the breeze." The original portion of Canues is built upon a spiral and porphyritic rock, but the town is now much extended, and presents a very desirable harbour, the fourth in importance on the French shores of the Mediterranean. Thence is exported its graceful produce-perfumes, oil, cassis, &c.—and receives principally what in our "harsh, northern, whistling, grunting, guttural," we term breadstuffs, here known by the sweet name of céréales. To the right of the town lies quite a colony of English settlers, who, following the good example of Lord Brougham, have come and pitched their winter tents upon the shores of the Mediterranean. O, ye English, why is it that on the Continent ye mar all that ye make! Why, having invaded this little oasis, do ye build houses in such villanous taste? Is there no law against the desecration of places such as this, of nature's own hallowing True, you have brought wealth and commerce to these shores. Any one of you may now kill his own fatted calf here whenever his Cockney heir shall give up the dull dissipation of Vauxhall and the Casino, whereas, some years ago, a subscription was got up among the neighbours, before the most speculating butcher ventured upon the sacrifice of an ox. But will these benefits atone for the sin of placing your citizen's boxes, your vile turrets, your cottages ornées, your white and green pastrycookeries, upon the gentle slope of that hill, amongst silver rivers, and meadows enamelled with eye-pleasing flowers? Was it for this that those Dauphiné Alps have formed their background of perpetual snow? Was it to reflect their abominations that the waters beneath you were coloured with molten turquoises, and, can the umbrella-pine and the Oriental palm, cast their shade otherwise than with scorn upon your obtrusive display of bad taste? I turn away with pleasure, for we have reached the island. My boatman Babylon-accompanies me to the gate of the castle, which forms the chief attraction of the place. Here is shown the window from which the mysterious prisoner threw out the silver plate, which is said still to exist, having been purchased at a great price by some collector of curiosities from the family of one of the fishermen, in whose possession it had remained many years. impenetrable mystery that hangs over this tale is one of the greatest curiosities of history; Voltaire alone could have elucidated the subject, as is very clearly conveyed in his Philosophical Diction The ary. There appears to be no very distinct local impression here upon the subject; he is always spoken of under his pseudonyme of Marchiali, and the story of the silver plate is rigidly be lieved. (Vide Voltaire's Siècle de Louis XIV, chap. 25, also Dictionnaire Philosophicale, article "Anecdotes.") Leaving this mystery unsolved as I had found it, I passed on to the place of confinement tenanted by the Emirs and the Bedouins, who, either from economy or from consideration of the effects of French climate, were shut up there, when Abd-el Kader was consigned to Ambroise. His niece was among the captives, but she and many of her companions have been lately released. The Emirs wear a somewhat imposing, but a very ragged and dirty appearrance. Their stained Bournous, that had once been white, striped with silk, is now of any colour but its original one, and the edges formed very eccentric and irregular fringes upon legs that resembled exactly in colour the oak trees that grow upon their island. Of course I was not admitted to see the ladies, but I caught a glimpse of one plaiting her hair at the window. The wall concealed from me the lower half of this " mysterious lady," but I can affirm that the upper portion had no covering but such as was afforded by innumerable strings of golden sequins. There were great wailings in one part of the house, for a woman had died in giving birth to a child. I was amused to hear, however, that, in the midst of their grief, the relatives had not been so unmindful of their duties as to neglect tattooing the wretched little being, though it had not been two hours in existence. Were it not for this execrable custom, these women would be really handsome. On the further island-St. Onora -I picked up several bits of fine coral, and could have staid an hour gazing on the calm, blue expanse before me, but Babylon reminded me of approaching sunset; and, awaking from my reverie, I stepped again into my little boat. The wind had now completely fallen, and the sea had responded with that rapidity which cha racterises the Mediterranean. My boat man explained to me the process of fishing for the mother-of-pearl shell, and illustrated his explanation by throwing a little oil on the water, and bidding me look down. The sun, preparing to set, was throwing his most gorgeous light upon the sea now, and I could distinctly count the pebbles at the bottom, although the water was declared by Babylon to be upwards of thirty feet deep. The mother-of-pearl shell is thus visible to the naked eye, and is fished up by a hook constructed to fasten on to it without injuring its delicate edge. It comes up, looking like the head of a drowned woman, its long streamers hanging like the matted locks of a human body. I gazed down intently into the transparent deep, and when I raised my eyes, beheld the most glorious spectacle that I ever witnessed. It would need the pen of a Byron to do justice to such a scene. The sun was setting behind the Estrelle, and had bathed the upper half of the mountain with a stream of liquid purple, while the lower portion retained its sombre brown hue. The isle of St. Marguerite was steeped in a bath of rose-coloured light, relieved by the deep, long shadows of the evening. The sea retained its own deep tinge, but seemed as though its surface was covered with a widespread sheet of rose-coloured glass, the snowy Alps, white at the base, were topped with gauzy clouds of brilliant gold, and set in all this circle of cameleon light, the little amphitheatre of Cannes, too low to receive the sun's parting rays, set forth its own dark green velvetty colouring in contrast to the glory of light with which it was surrounded. To complete the picture, a flight of storks passed over our heads, their wings catching a passing colour as they "sailed athwart the setting beam. I returned home in silence; my joy was not of that sort that finds relief in words; and I rejoiced to think that I shall ever have pleasure in recalling the Twelfth Day which I passed, with snowy mountains for my twelfth-cakes, and the glorious elements for my Kings and Queens. CAMPANA. CHORAL SELECTIONS FROM THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES. Chorus 2. Of all the wondrous works we see, Than man may none more wondrous be, At early morn he leaves his hearth, The birds that wing their way through space, The bull that climbs the mountain side, The use of language and of thought, With plans for ev'ry passing chance, Chorus 4. MIGHTY power, all-conquering Love! Often, when the wide world sleeps, B Wandering o'er some maiden's cheeks, Far and wide his power extends, All must bow beneath his sway. Dancing Song. THOU of the many names, Whom Semele loveth with a mother's pride, To Thebes! O, Bacchus, come ! On our beloved home. Thy votive flame ascends, And sees thee o'er Parnassus' double crest; A greeting to thee from her liquid breast, Whilst all the leaves on Nysa's ivied bead, Hear thy name on every tongue, Who loudly hymn their leader's praise. Of holy maidens, who will raise Their hymns of joy, Iacchus, CAMBRIDGE. Their joys to thee, O, Bacchus ! T. H. |