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desolated Pompeii under volcanic ashes, partly laid bare in its garments of woe!

All these spots we have visited, alternating from paradisiacal beauty to unutterable terror. We have seen the exhumed relics of these cities in the great Museum, studied their domestic history in the familiar household utensils and personal ornaments, their pictures and statues. And, as if in mockery of these warnings, we have listened to the sweet voices of the "children of this azure sheen" swelling in mellow music and falling in tremulous cadence, in the opera; have seen them decked for the gala day, with their altars and fountains decorated as none but the Neapolitans can ornament them, and mingled with them in their joy under the very shadow of that fearful mountain, and over the very lava, under which lies stiff, and rock-bound, the city of Herculaneum.

Of all the places I have yet seen, upon which Nature has been lavish to prodigality, Naples seems the primal one. The sense aches with the continual beauty of all around. "In sweet madness" the mind is robbed of itself, and in still ecstasy it delights in the ineffable grace, music and loveliness which curls, sings and moves in the water, and is reflected in the bending blue above and the leafy landscape around.

XIII.

Sicily and Malta.

"He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed
The saints as fervently on bended knees

As ever shaven cenobite."

Bryant.

ROM the sunny land of the military priesthood of St. John,

FROM

my present greeting hails. Its unique and peculiar history lends a charm which would not otherwise belong to these dazzling streets and motley palaces.

We left Naples on Monday, the 23d of June, and were a long time in losing sight of the bay of Beauty. All that is magical in the combination of light and shade has been daguer reotyped by the mild sunshine upon our memory-fadelessly there pictured. We took our passage upon a French man-of-war. All went below to sleep; I alone remained above to obtain a nearer view of the Isle of Caprae, which, from Naples had slept so tremulously lovely amid her sheen of cerulean setting. We passed between the isle and Point Campanelli, leaving Sorrenta and Castel a Mare behind. The top of Vesuvius, with her flag of smoke, darted behind the point. The farewell view of evanishing Naples, becomes more and more enchanting by distance, which robes its sky and water in azure hue. Caprae looked bleak and rocky. On the seaward side, I saw an arch formed by rocks in the sea, under which undulations of light and water flashed in rivalry of beauty. The Apennines range closely to the shore-indeed, their rocky barriers here shut in the sea. Huge palisades rising 3000 feet or more, broken into promontory, gorge, bay and inlet, guard the coast. The rocks were mantled

with a sort of yellow lichen. Here and there smiled spots of cultivation. We gradually diverged from these shores, leaving the Gulf of Salerno behind us, until we passed Point Palinurus, whereabouts we watched a round and golden sun roll down his disk into the waves. The waves were lit into blazing splendor by his fire. A long line of dazzling, flashing radiance, swam upon the horizon, under a canopy of cloud impurpled and red with long illumined cords and tassels dripping with sunlight down to the water's edge. The spray made by the steamer was as royally purple as the stole of the imperial Cæsar. Soon the last tint of gold was softened into a rich mellow lustre of orange. Evening sobered down gradually into night. The flickering shadows of the air played between the eye and the distant horizon. A sunset upon the Mediterranean-is it not an object to be seen with rapture? What pen can distil its beauty into expression, or enthrall, by words, the tranquil spirit of the scene?

Yesterday morn I hurried on deck to see Stromboli with his column of fire, and Ætna with his pillar of smoke and his top of snow. The last was just observable above the highlands of the northeast part of Sicily. We had passed the gulfs which form the instep of the boot of Italy, in the night, and were now in the gulf of Gioja, approaching the veritable Scylla and the undoubted Charybdis! The land and water, too, of classic memories, begin to appear as we draw near to Hellas and her Ionian isles. Scylla is a high rock, twelve miles from Massena. Here the dogs of Homer and Virgil barked in the caverns where the waves rolled around the fabulous monster. We did not, owing to the state of the tide, see any peculiar commotion, nor hear any peculiar sounds. The waves glistened blue and bright as ever they did to the eye of Æneas. The sailors had just washed the decks, and were busy burnishing the metallic portions. The whistle of the boatswain and the bustle of the sailors, the cries of the officers to the pilots, and the additional man at the wheel, betokened that more than ordinary precaution is still necessary, even with steam, to pass this point of classic terror. Our boat

moves on; but no opening appears. All is rock-bound, save a sand bank, near a fort. This soon opens and displays the channel of Massena, which divides the toe of Italy's boot from the northeast of Sicily. It seems as if some convulsion of nature had torn this channel from the rocky range of the Apennines, leaving the twin of horrors on either side to guard the shores. Massena is in sight, and Charybdis with her slight whirl of waters, some 600 feet from Massena, on the Sicilian side, attracts the eye. It is not a very great thing, although it plays such a "bloody bones" part in the hexameter. Hell-gate, at Long Island, is altogether more horrific. Indeed, since the Genoese sailor struck out into the vexed Atlantic, putting to shame the Argonautic and the Ulyssean expeditions, these old haunts of monsters look like foolishness, especially from a steam boat.

The head point of Sicily is a sandy beach, upon which are windowless houses, in a deserted fishing town. Massena is quite a pretty place, half hid under the shade of the rough, uneven mountains, orange-covered, yet bleak-looking, overtopping and surrounding the city.

We pass under the guns of the fort, and are surrounded with a motley crew in boats. Degenerate Sicilians! Ye who were once giants, and with your tread shook this volcanic (?) isle; ye who were once Cyclops, and with single eye glared, and with heavy arm forged Jove's thunderbolts in the depths of the fires of Etna, Oh! how have your glories been dimmed, since they shone in the imagination of the bard of Scio!

At breakfast we were desserted with green almonds, yellow apricots, cherries, ripe pears and fresh figs. The latter had a mawkish sweet taste, a little like our paw-paws, which they resemble in form and color. We begin to feel in the South. Indeed, we are in Homer's "isle of the sun."

What vicissitudes, physical and historical, has not Sicily underwent! Her first inhabitants were from Spain. She was subsequently held by Saracens, Turks, Spaniards, Austrians and French. The Bourbon house was replaced upon the throne in

1820. The Revolution of 1848 extended here. The marks of it, in the ruined forts, are still visible. Successful for some months, and separated from Naples, she was again, however, reduced to the vassalage of Ferdinand II., the prince who now adorns the throne of Naples.

After breakfast, we went on deck, when, looking astern, I observed our steamer on fire! The sails were ablaze! I hardly knew, in my excitement, what to halloo, so I told an English friend near, whose ready French proved very serviceable. The sailors soon leaped amidst the rigging, tore the sails, and with water quenched the fire. This little incident leads me to remark upon the extraordinary safety of the boats here, compared with those at home. Human life is valued here much more than human liberty. Why cannot America at least learn a lesson in this regard from Europe?

In some respects we could well interchange some of our own manners and institutions for such knowledge. Let me exemplify. Our bankers at Naples, correspondents of Barings, overpaid us $160 in gold, while paying £125! Such a mistake at home would soon dismiss the officer. But the truth is, the Italians are utterly unfit for business. Two hours will hardly answer for them to do what our brokers would do in ten minutes. Their bank at Naples was away up in the steeple of a church, not so high, quite, as Vesuvius. It was a trial to wait upon such business men. They are so absorbed by pleasure in the luxurious now, that providence seems wholly severed from their habits. Irresponsible, and careless even of their souls' salvation, they yield themselves to the gayety of the day, and commit their future, here and hereafter, into the hands of chance, or what is worse, of the priests, whose ready absolution is a perfect salve for every wound. The genius of the West, and of the rugged North, seems to them a wild Quixotic adventure, to end in pain and trouble. "Heart within," they have not, only as it vibrates to the music of the festival, and the garlanding of flow

ers.

"God o'er head," what or where is He, save that He is

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