musical accent, which few singers know anything about, gives a neatness to his enunciation which every one can feel and admire. He may be regarded as the Polyphemus of the stage, surpassing the efforts of all other actors and singers. I was informed that the King, who is interesting himself in a charity, met him the other day, and said 'Come, Lablache, you must sing for us.' The performance was to be in St. Carlo, his own theatre. Oh, my liege,' he replied, I am no longer the man I was; it is true, I succeed in humbugging the people of London and Paris, but it never will do for me to appear again upon the stage in Naples.' I was delighted with my interview with this extraordinary man, who, perhaps, has created a more lively impression than any actor since the time of the Olympic Games," &c.

P. 55. The author is visiting and describing the delicious scenery that surrounds Sorento:

"The drive to Vico is acknowledged to be the finest in the world. The road gradually ascends by the side of the sea, winding like a serpent in and out among the mountains and on ledges of rocks, with frightful precipices below. Midway up the mountains are millions of olive trees, with their elegant shape and tender leaves, and wherever a promontory appears, a monastery or castle is perched upon a point apparently inaccessible. Siano recedes a little inland, forming a covert bay, in which the houses are sprinkled in a forest of vines. Here we saw the yellow maccaroni hanging out in wreaths to dry-that delightful food, the daily bread of this simple people. As you proceed the road increases in beauty and in height. The number of carriages we met, full of idle ragamuffins, is surprising. Twelve or sixteen will crowd upon a wretched two-wheeled dray, without room either to sit or stand, rather than walk to enjoy the scenery and the air, perfumed with odoriferous flowers. Vico, how beautiful! thrusting itself into the sea; with its churches and villas, towers and terraces, half-hidden in groves of citron and olive. Enraptured as you are by a succession of pictures, which you see in this show-box of nature, when you arrive at the highest point Sorento appears buried in an amphitheatre of green and gold-the flat-topped Spanish houses just peeping above a wood of orange trees sparkling with fruit.

It is

Babylon with her hanging gardens--richer than Hesperides. What language can paint this scene-this Paradise! Oh, Jerusalem, if I forget thee, let my right hand forget her cunning.' The heat in

this Elysian grove is so great that, were not the streets extremely narrow, and shaded by high walls and trees, it could not possibly be borne. In the widest part of these alleys, two carriages cannot pass, and in the case of only one, persons are obliged to place themselves close against the wall to avoid the wheels.Sorento has nothing of the usual appearance of a town.-Instead of houses clustering together, the road runs for miles through villas on each side, which you cannot see, smothered in orange trees. It is a Pompeii that has escaped being overwhelmed, existing to the present day. Had it been burnt up and covered, it would have exposed a wreck similar to the disentombed city itself. We at last found the Inn-the very mansion where Tasso lived and was born, standing with its arches in the blue waters. From the terrace what a noble view of the entire crescent of the bay! Opposite lie the isles of Capri and Ischia, and on the left the rocky shores of the Syrens. I listened for their music in the ocean caves, but it is no longer heard. In the horizon stands the bold promontory of Posilippo at the extremity of the bay, from which you trace the dazzling shores of Naples up to the everflaming Vesuvius. Certainly this was a spot to fire the mind of Tasso-to bring Babylon and Jerusalem before his eyes, and furnish him with the pictures that adorn his divine poem."

P. 84. In the chapter on agriculture we find the following remarks:

"The mule is the most useful animal they have. The farmer uses him to carry the manure on his back to the fields, and to bring back the corn and fruits in the same way. Carts and waggons are never seen. Merchandize and military stores are conveyed by strings of mules tied head and tail together. Horses are not common. The most powerful animal for draught is the buffalo-a short-legged ox with a bristly coat, and enormous widely-extended horns, turned back upon its shoulders. You occasionally see him wallowing in the mire like a hog. In their heaviest land I have seen ten and twelve oxen yoked to a wooden plough, in the structure of which not a particle of iron is used. They have no such thing as a spade. They chop the ground with a large hoe, and work with it as a carpenter does with his adze. This mode of cultivating the earth is the same as it was 2000 years ago; for precisely the same implements have been dug out of Pompeii, and are to be seen in the Museum. The general produce of the farmer is corn, oil, and wine; but in the coves amongst the mountains,

where it is much hotter, the fruits are oranges, citrons, lemons, and pomegranates. Chestnuts, which are in abundance, and pumpkins of enormous size-as much as a man can carry-are the principal articles of food amongst the lower orders. Flour is chiefly manufactured into that delightful food, maccaroni. You see it in yellow skeins hanging to dry in all the villagesreminding us of the skeins of worsted hanging out at a dyer's. Their butter, what little there is, is not good; but they have an excellent substitute in their delicious oil. What sheep they have, seem to live in the streets, and lie down with the dogs. Kids and fish are their chief animal food; but even of these they are very sparing. In summer they live entirely on fruit. With all these gifts of Nature, she has been parsimonious in the grand article of lifeaqua pura. Water is so scarce that it is carried about the city and sold at the doors. Their mode of catching fish is curious. From our balcony, I noticed some bright lights moving on the surface of the bay. I learnt that they were those of fishermen, who commence their occupation as soon as it is dark. At the stern of the boat they hang out a strong blazing fire in an iron basket, which, casting a great light, attracts the fish, who follow the boat, and on rising to the surface, they are dexterously speared by the fish. ermen with an iron fork, and they rarely miss their aim."

P. 115. Let us accompany Mr. Gardiner to St. Peter's. We wonder what

he thinks of it. Listen! Let us hear. "We had spent five days in Rome viewing the ancient remains before we visited St. Peter's; and I confess that the impression I received from these vast masses of temples, baths, and amphitheatres unfitted me from that sensation of the sublime which St. Peter's is calculated to produce in any other place than Rome. The approach is through one of the worst streets in the city, and when the edifice first comes into view it fails to produce the overpowering effect you anticipate. Its flat, forbiding front hides the dome, and it strikes you as having more the appearance of a palace than a church. All the surrounding objects are so large, and the proportions between them so perfectly kept, that an ocular deception takes place, which you do not get rid of until you stand by the columns, eighty-eight feet high, which support the pediment. When you have lifted the heavy curtain at the entrance, and find yourself within on the marble floor, a hundred objects strike you at once. In vain you try to com

prehend what is before you the length, breadth, and height of the edifice, and the variety of splendid objects, confuse the eye, and give the idea rather of accumulated beauties than of immensity and the sublime. In all my visits nothing tended to give me so enlarged an idea of the edifice as when I heard the music from the side chapel, rolling in echoes through the vaulted roofs. Immediately on entering I remarked the agreeable softness of the air peculiar to the place, which never varies in its temperature throughout the year. To this cause, and the consequent freedom from damp, may be attributed the fresh and polished appearance of every thing in the place. You would suppose it a structure raised within your own time, instead of one that has stood for centuries. On either side of the building are four magnificent chapels, with cupolas 150 feet high. The grand dome, 430 feet high, is filled with mosaics, that have occupied 100 years in executing, the colours of which will endure to the end of time. The roofs and arches are covered with gold, and, when viewed from particular spots, intersect each other, so as to produce a richness of effect that bewilders the imagination.”

P. 121. On November 18, being the dedication of St. Peter's, high mass was performed in presence of the Pope.

"The music was grand and imposing. At one end of the chapel, on the right of the

altar, was a gallery, an organ, and the pontifical choir, and at the opposite end was another organ and choir. The service was principally choral, with a few solos interspersed, coarsely performed. It was the noble plan upon which the music was exhibited that delighted me, out of which arose new and striking effects. At once I understood Dr. Johnson's observations upon the pleonasms of David's Psalms, that in many parts they could not pos sibly be translated, owing to the frequent repetition of the same words, just as we read them in a song set to music. Here the mystery was at once explained. The Catholics have brought down to us the antiphonal mode of singing in the Temple, where two or more choirs responded to each other. For the first time I heard this at St. Peter's. Handel was aware of the sublime effect produced by this disposition of the voices, and wrote what are called his double choruses. For instance, there is one in the Messiah, never yet properly performed. At one end of the chapel the phalanx of voices cried outWho is the King of Glory?' which is answered from the other end of the chapel -The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of

Glory.' I stood midway between the orchestras, and found myself involuntarily turning my head to the quarter whence the responses came. The effect was dramatic and sublime. The service was a selection from different authors-Haydn, Mozart, and others. The unmeaning roulades of the organist between the pieces destroyed the noble sensations which the music had produced. The whole concluded with a double fugue à la Palestrina, finely illustrated by the two choirs, when both joined in some final clashes like Beethoven. In the evening, a similar performance took place, at which the whole of the cardinals were present. The effect of the two choirs was still more striking than in the morning performance, especially in a quartetto in the key of G, sung by the principals. On its closing note the opposing choir threw in the chord of the dominant 7th; and, as the F natural was in fortissimo, the discord, upon which they stood a while, magnificently turned the harmony into the key of C, in which both choirs joined in a grand chorus. The attention of the audience was instantly diverted from the gallery on the right, and every head was turned to the opposite end of the church. The crash of harmony was electrical; I heard the echoes rolling along the reverberating roof of St. Peter's, and I retired into the

grand edifice to listen to these striking effects. I seated myself at a distance so remote that I could but just hear the softest music, or discern the twinkling lights and prostrate devotees. The floods of harmony poured forth from both organs and choirs filled the vast expanse of the edifice with rolling surges of sound that awoke me from a reverie into which I had fallen," &c.

P. 148. We now turn to one of the sister Muses-She inhabits a very elegant residence in the Palazzo Albani, where we have day after day courted her smiles and enjoyed her favouring presence. Mr. Gardiner succeeded us, and was as well received.

"The Villa Albani: This villa is on the eastern side of Rome, and about an hour's walk from it. It lies on a lovely bank, from which you look over the Campagna to the Apennine mountains, at the foot of which you see the villas of Frascati and Tivoli, memorable as having been the residence of many whose names are illustrious in Roman history. The villa Albani is unique in its architecture, marbles, and furniture. It is built upon the limited scale The of a casino, as a summer retreat.

noble arcades, on which the upper story

stands, gives it all the lightness and coolness of a bower. The breeze from the mountains fills the saloons with the perfume of the wild thyme, jessamine, and orange flower. After mounting the marble stairs, and passing the polished halls and galleries of this delightful place, you feel it is too exquisite for domestic life. It was built in the last century by Cardinal Albani, who lived sparingly to lavish upon it all the riches it contains. The French carried away nearly 300 pieces of sculpture, luckily missing the famous Antinous. Most of them were returned after the peace in 1815. Winckelmann speaks of the statues, which were chiefly brought from Adrian's Villa at Tivoli, as the finest collection in Italy, next to the Capitol and the Vatican. I must confess that I saw no collection that gratified me so much as that in the studio at Naples. If I err, it must be ascribed to the force of a first impression. The gardens are full of fountains, flowers, and ornamental trees; the cypress, myrtle, and orange; among which are scattered baths, pavilions, and temples, forming a lovely Paradise. The present possessor is the Count Castelbarco, of Milan, a great amateur and patron of the fine arts," &c.

room for extracts; if we had (for we We have, unfortunately, no further have abundance of choice before us),

we should refer to the account of the Capitol, p. 161. The chapter on lodging and living is not only entertaining, but useful, especially to those who intend to spend next winter eating porcupines, and skinned kids (no bigger than cats), and other such delicacies. We should refer also to the visits to the studios of the different sculptors, native and foreign, as well as the paint

ers.

Hurlstone, explained to the author One of these gentlemen, Mr. the principles of the daguerreotype:

"It is generally supposed that this is the only mode by which you can obtain a fac-simile of the human countenance; but the truth is that, owing to the nature of the camera lens, it inevitably must be in some parts incorrect. Those parts of the object that are the most prominent will be the most magnified; for instance, the nose will be too large for the eyes. This defect is more obvious in a person sitting in a chair with the hand placed on the knee, which becomes enlarged nearly to the size of a leg of mutton."

...

Mr. Gardiner, by his being absent from home at the proper time, missed