Tityrus, are found in abundance; though the naked rocks and the spreading beach have disappeared. The Pastorals of Virgil, in which he closely imitated the Idyls of Theocritus, are less descriptive of Italian scenery, than any other part of his works; yet much of his imagery may yet be traced in the environs of his native hamlet, and cannot fail to render a visit highly interesting. We had a charming ramble upon the banks of the Mincio at sunset. The return of the peasantry, with their rustic implements, from the field; the low of cattle in their green pastures; the number of domestic animals about the village; the little church-yard skirting the path; glimpses of the river rolling through luxuriant plains; and a full view of the city in the distance, composed the features of a varied and quiet landscape, which would have been attractive, independent of those classical associations, that imparted an additional charm to the scene. Before reaching the gates of Mantua, amidst the dense vapours of the marshes, we fully realized the shepherd's poetical imagery: Et jam summa procul villarum culmina fumant, In the evening we strolled through the principal street, the Corso of the city, and were surprised to find it so crowded, so busy, bustling, and gay, after the desolation that had been witnessed at our entrance. This fashionable avenue is lined with arcades, superior even to those of Bologna in magnificence. Beneath them are numerous coffeehouses, the windows of which were hung with silken curtains, and the walls glittered with mirrors in the French style. They were brilliantly lighted, and filled with genteel people of both sexes. The women have a full share of Italian beauty, and dress with taste and elegance. It was not too cold for ices, and the coffee was better, than is generally obtained in Italy, though not to be compared with that of Paris. In chocolate, the Italians surpass even the French, giving it the true Spanish consistence and richness. We found here a curious kind of jelly, composed of must and flour boiled together. It is made to be eaten with bread; but ours by mistake was taken as a tart, and did not possess a very high relish. A fine band of music, kept up a serenade at the doors. Even Punch had found his way to the classical banks of Mincio, and drew a large audience to one of the public squares. He is here a much inore dignified personage, than at Naples or Florence. These puppet shows are common all over Italy. The theatre is portable, of the size of a watchman's box, open at top on one side, where there is a miniature stage. An invisible showman is stationed the inside, who gives loco-motion and speech to the wooden images. They sometimes enact regular dramas, and are as tragical as Tom Thumb. Lilliputian heroes and mimic queens, military combatants and pigmy pugilists, strut upon the boards, with all the self-importance of the originals. A collection of sous is made in the same way as at religious meetings, by shaking the hat. On the following morning, we resumed our examination of the city, by a walk to the Piazza Virgiliana, a spacious public square upon the immediate bank of the Mincio. A substantial quay, ten or twelve feet above the water, has been extended along the margin of the river, which affords a fine view of the bay, of the bridge below, and of the opposite shores. The area is planted with four or five concentric circles of elms, shading the beautiful walks opening between them. Marble slabs are placed, at suitable distances, for repose. In the midst stands an amphitheatre, which is a modern building of the Doric order, encircled on the outside with the heads of the great men of Italy, in alto-rilievo. The interior does not exhibit much taste. Barbarous caryatides support the stage. Spectacles commence at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Seating myself upon the parapet, which overhangs the clear but reedy waters of the Mincio, I read the splendid project of a classical temple, in the beginning of the third Georgic: The eye Primus Idumæas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas: finds but a sorry imitation of the poet's model, in the stuccoed walls of the amphitheatre, which was dedicated to him, on the 15th of October, (his birth-day,) in the year 1801, by order of General Miolis, then the French commandant in this district. In the church of St. Andrew, we found the tombs of the Gonzagas; and in that of St. Mauritius, many sepulchral monuments, in memory of French officers, who fell during the Italian campaigns. On one of the monuments, Bonaparte is styled "Augusto Cæsare Napoleone." This is quite too much like the "sempre Augusto," tacked to the name of the Emperor of Austria. The church of St. Barnabas enshrines the dust of Julio Romano, the favourite pupil of Raphael, without a stone to tell precisely where he sleeps. On the same street (the Unicorn) stands the house of the artist, where he died. It presents a handsome front, with a statue of Mercury over the door, which he brought from Rome, on his removal to this city. The mansion was erected in 1695. We strolled again beyond the Roman Gate, to look at the T Palace, so denominated from its form. It stands upon a low, level, green lawn, surrounded with luxuriant woods, much in the style of an English park, and scarcely less beautiful. The grounds are marshy and girt with stagnant waters, the effects of which are visible in the interior of the palace, and render it unfit for a residence. In traversing the lawn, we started swarms of frogs, as numerous as they were upon the banks of the Nile, or as grasshoppers in summer. The walls of the apartments are covered with a long white mould, giving hoary beards to some of the Gonzagas in fresco. Julio Romano devoted the last years of his life to the embellishment of these spacious, vacant, damp, and gloomy halls, which resemble the cloisters of a Campo Santo. There was not a soul in the house, except the Custode; and he looked more like a grave-digger than the guardian of a palace. He led us through a silent labyrinth of saloons, where the pupil of Raphael has indulged in the wildest freaks of his fancy, without adding in my opinion to his reputation. I was happy to be done with looking at his frisking satyrs and sprawling giants. The Dukes of Mantua have manifested consummate vanity, in putting their names, titles, and initials upon every thing about the palace, even to the fire-places. On our return to the city, we called at a bookseller's shop, labelled in staring capitals with the words "Tipografia e Liberia Virgiliana.” Over the door was the head of the poet, encircled with the distich, "Mantua me genuit." Inquiry was made for a copy of Virgil's works; but strange as it may seem, none was to be had except a London edition. So true is it, that a prophet is not without honour, save in his own country. The citizens of Mantua are nevertheless proud of their native bard in a certain way. Theatres, coffee-houses, and hotels bear his name; but no great monument has been erected worthy of his memory, and his poems are probably less read in the land of his nativity, than in the remotest sections of our own country. The Cathedral presents a noble front of white marble. It was designed by Julio Romano, but not finished till after his death. The architecture of the interior is simple, uniform, and beautiful, with the exception of tawdry gildings, which detract from its purity of taste. In the chapels are many good paintings; but our attention was attracted from the canvass, to the living picture of two fair Mantuese ladies, clad in the weeds of woe, who sauntered up the aisles and knelt side by side, before an altar hung with escutcheons, and with requests to pray for the souls of the dead. No artist ever painted a pieta more beautiful, devotional, or interesting. After dinner we ascended to the top of the Torre della Gabbia, which rises to the height of perhaps two hundred and fifty feet above the palace of the same name, belonging to the Marquis Gonzaga, the last of the family. As he is a bachelor, this long line of noblemen is likely to become extinct in blood, as it has long been in renown. The tower is of brick, fifteen feet square, intended as an observatory. In the balcony is a table with other furniture, for the accommodation of breakfast parties. We found here an excellent map of Mantua and its environs, which were now spread at our feet, and afforded a delightful view in the afternoon of a bright day. The Alps and the mountains of Verona are visible towards the north, and the Apennines to the south; but between them extend vast plains, on a dead level, and presenting an unbroken expanse of verdure. You look down upon every house in the city, which is five miles in circuit, and contains a population of little more than 20,000. It is completely insulated by the waters of the Mincio; though they flow on the western side through swamps of willow, so as to be invisible. The eye traces the river for many miles above and below the town. Another view of the village of Andes was here obtained. The bridge of St. George crosses the lower lake, which is about a mile in extent. But after all, Mantua is not situated in a poetical or romantic region, and the scenery depends much on moral association for its interest. In ascending the tower, we saw the iron cage of the old Dukes, in which they used to confine their vanquished enemies for a show. The apartments of the palace contain a gallery of family portraits, and are furnished in handsome style, for the accommodation of the Viceroy, in his visits to the city. The evening was passed at the new theatre, at the next door to our hotel. It is a pretty building, exhibiting four tiers of boxes, hung with rich tapestry, and brilliantly lighted, not only by chandeliers, but by circles of beauty. Above the stage is a rotatory clock, which gives the hour, and the subdivisions of every five minutes, in illuminated figures. It is an excellent idea, worthy of imitation in our own country. The play was a translation from the French, and afforded us little amusement. There appeared to be great poverty of talent in the dramatic corps, and their performances abounded with low buffoonery, scarcely superior to the exhibition of Punch on the preceding evening. In this instance the music of the orchestra did not relieve the dullness of the stage. A last and glo Early next morning, we left Mantua for Cremona. rious view of the former city was obtained at sunrise, some miles beyond the gate. The road runs along the shore of the upper lake, which slumbers on its bed of osiers. It was soon found, that our vetturino was an entire stranger to this part of the country, and wholly unacquainted with the route. He was obliged to inquire, which was the Cremona gate, before he left the streets of Mantua. In passing the villages, he stopped at the corner of every street, to ask the way, affording us more time than was needed, to examine a uniform country and a succession of dull towns. The plain is watered by the Olego, which is a large stream, with a current sufficiently rapid to turn mills. Bozzolo is a place of some importance, and has its coffee-houses, at the doors of which groups of Austrian soldiers were lazily smoking their pipes. We took breakfast at Piadena. The hostess gave us an omelet, grapes, and fresh figs, the usual bill of fare in this part of Italy. A supply of black tea was constantly carried in our trunks, and made by ourselves, when it was required. From the windows of the hotel, we witnessed the process of making wine. The grapes are thrown into the body of a water-tight cart, furnished with a spout at one end, and placed at a suitable inclination. Two men and a female were treading out the juice with their bare feet and legs, and looked like Bachuses, stained with the purple must. In strolling through the village, while the horses were resting, we observed a priest engaged in knitting, among a group of women under the arcades. He might have been more uselessly employed; though the picture reminded us of Hercules and his distaff. The altars of the church in this obscure hamlet exhibit ornaments of verde and nero antique, with half a dozen other rare varieties of marble. At 5 P. M. we passed the stately Ionic Gate of Cremona, and took lodgings for the night, at the Royal Hotel, near the Cathedral, and in the centre of the city. In ten or fifteen minutes after our arrival, we were upon the top of the Campanile, an insulated tower rising to the giddy height of five hundred feet above the Piazza del Duomo. It is the loftiest work of the kind in Italy. The elevation of the different stages is marked upon the walls of the interior. It is built of brick, and possesses none of the beauty of the belfries at Florence and Pisa. The cupola affords an extensive prospect of all the great features of Lombardy-the Alps and Apennines in the distance, boundless plains spreading like the sea itself beyond the reach of vision, and the Po winding in broad and silver mazes, through fields of exuberant fertility. This noble river flows under the very walls of Cremona. Its current |