been dug away, and a number of streets and some hundreds of buildings are opened again to the sun.

The narrow Consular Way, paved with heavy stones, in which deep ruts were worn by ancient wheels, and lined with small shops, built close together, led on before us about fifty yards, and then turned to the left and was lost. The side walks were made of bits of marble, and other stones of all colours, laid in a hard cement, and worn perfectly smooth by the feet of the old inhabitants, but they were very narrow, and every thing about us was on a most diminutive scale. There was not a single window, yet every door was open, which gave an air of hospitality to the town: but when we entered, we found the roofs gone, no furniture to be seen, and nothing but the remains of a fire-place raised two or three feet from the floor, or a few earthen jars.

The Consular Way crosses at right angles the street in which we now were walking: and, turning to the right, and passing down it some distance, you come, to the house of a surgeon, in which more than fifty surgical instruments were found. It consists of three small rooms, which, according to custom, are plastered and ornamented with pictures, in water-colours. The Pompeians were so fond of pictures, that scarce a house is to be found in the city without them. It is well known, that all the valuable ones are removed as fast as they are discovered, by a very ingenious process, by which they are taken down and transported to the king's palace at Portici, without the least injury. In these apartments however they had all been left untouched, and proved much more interesting in their original localities. They were all small, and one occupied the middle of each wall. Two of the rooms, I think, were painted with birds, and the other with groups, relating to the profession of the inhabitant, of which I can recal but one: Adonis, lying on a bank surrounded by Venus and her weeping nymphs, with a bloody bandage staunching his wound. The group was graceful; and the colours, which are all metallic, were as bright as if just painted. In a closet was still remaining a wooden shelf, from which the instruments had been taken to be carried to the palace of studies at Naples.

Returning from this place toward the Public Way, on the opposite side of the Consular Way is the shop of a sculptor, in which were found bits of marble, several busts and statues, with others half formed of rough blocks, and the tools with which they had been wrought. In some of the dwellings were found tickets for the theatres and amphitheatres, in the forms of birds, beasts, &c. with Roman numbers answering to those of the doors and stair-cases; but all these various objects have been removed to Portici.

Proceeding still farther along the street, we passed another oil and wine shop, a public fountain and reservoir, long since dry, two shops where wine was sold by the draught, a soap-manufactory, and the public weighing-office. Here were found weights of lead and marble, two pair of scales, and several steelyards! Near by, is a baker's shop, where was a heap of wheat perfectly black, and converted into charcoal; with a loaf of bread, in the same state, which had been baked in a round, scalloped dish, and was marked with crossing lines on the top, and the brand of the maker. P. 97-106.

The process of exhumation was still going on, in 1821, though on a very contracted scale.

A large building of two stories, lately cleared of earth, contains a statue of Ceres, erected by the bakers of Pompeii. It is much admired, and has

been suffered to remain, with the inscription on the wall behind it. What followed, is a confused impression of much that was surprising and interesting in a high degree, which gave the mind alternately great pleasure and great pain, until we came to where the streets and houses have been uncovered within a year-a month, a week; and saw fine buildings whose names or inhabitants have not yet been conjectured; rich marble columns, variegated pavements, and beautiful paintings, still untouched; and, at last, where two or three labourers were at work, with spade and mattock, in the loose sand hill which still entombs so large a part of the city. These half-clad wretches fell a begging as soon as we approached, though the sound of a voice made us shudder with an involuntary horror: for this house had been dishumed to-day, and the figures on the walls seemed the men of antiquity just waking from the dead, and gazing on the heavens again, after a sleep of seventeen centuries. P. 107.

The villa of Diomedes presents an object, which is too interesting to be omitted in an account of Pompeii:

There remains one more villa to be seen: that of Marcus Arrius Diomedes, one of Cicero's friends. It stands among a few other ruins, which formed the village known by the name of Pagus Augustus Felix, and is much more spacious than those we had visited in the city. It enclosed a large court, which we overlooked in passing along an old gallery on the second story. The cellar is built of stone and mortar, arched overhead, and dimly lighted by narrow slips or loop holes, extending round the three other sides of the court. Here we saw many amphorœ, or jugs and jars of different forms, and some of them large enough to contain a barrel or two, some of which were lined with a crust-the remains of the oil and wine which they formerly contained. Whole rows of similar vessels have been removed, as well as certain other objects of a more melancholy description, such as the skeletons of seventeen persons, who had probably sought refuge here during the fatal eruption of the mountain. It is to be supposed that they had been detained in the neighbourhood by saving their property, or searching for lost friends, until they were afraid to attempt an escape, over a region covered with cinders and ashes from the mountain, which had overspread the whole surface, with such drifts as we saw on our journey to the crater, and had already crushed in the roofs of their own or their neighbours' dwellings. The substantial walls of this cellar, and its arched roof, were admirably calculated to withstand such a dangerous pressure; but they were overtaken by another calamity, which was as inevitable as unexpected. The mountain poured down a river of hot water, which, although it did not enter the walls of Pompeii, flowed through this little village, and drowned the forlorn and terrified persons who had fled to it for safety. The neighbourhood was consequently covered with a hard cement, like that at Herculaneum; and the bones, which were principally found heaped together in a corner, were thus imbedded, and protected from decay. At a little distance from them was the skeleton of a man, probably Diomedes himself, with necklaces and coins in his hand, and a bunch of keys, once fastened to his girdle, now to his bones; and behind him that of a servant, with several vases of silver and bronze. Among these gloomy reliques, were the bones and jewels of a woman, supposed to be the mistress of this once magnificent edifice; and the surrounding mass of indurated ashes retained the impressions it had received, from the arms and the breast of the corpse, although the flesh had long ago mouldered away. P. 117.

From the Italians of the age of the Caesars, of whom we are reminded at every step we take in these cities, we turn to the Neapolitans of 1821, who, at the time of the writer's visit, were daily expecting an incursion from the Austrians, already on their march through upper Italy, for the purpose of reestablishing the ancient régime. The event is well known: scarce a shadow of resistance was made by these degenerate sons of heroes, and the hopes of Italian freedom were extinguished in a short campaign. The occasional views afforded by this work, of the character, and views of the government and people, and of their preparations for this emergency, would not have justified the slightest hope of a different result. We cannot refrain from remarking, as a matter of surprise, that the writer of this journal, who was on the spot at the critical period of the late Neapolitan revolution, should have taken so little pains to collect and embody something like information on a subject in which so deep an interest has been felt, and which will probably for a long time possess an influence in that country.

Beyond, the road lay among rough mountains, uninhabited and uncultivated. Little sentry-boxes grew more frequent; and in some places were seen marks of former terraces and breast-works, on which cannon had once been planted. The road was still very fine, and followed the course of a torrent, though so high above as to be out of its reach at all seasons of the year. Many advantageous positions for artillery might be pointed out, even by one the most ignorant of military affairs; and it was surprising that no attention was yet paid to them, as this is one of the great passes by which alone the country is accessible to an army, and the Austrians are now said to have nearly reached Rome. In one place there were two men occupied with their shovels, about a long-neglected battery of two pieces of artillery, which, from that situation, might sweep the road, that declined before them for the distance of a mile-a mere burlesque on the subject. But perhaps it was intended, when the danger approached nearer, to throw more important obstacles in the way of their enemies. The road had been built up in many places over ravines, and might in a few. hours be destroyed: cannon might be mounted here and there on commanding points, to annoy the ememy while they should be occupied in repairing it, and then, retiring a litle and repeating the same operations, an army might be ruined before the mountains were passed. P. 194.

At Rome, an improvisatore, or extempore poet, undertook, among other subjects, to treat of America, and its history; but he made miserable work of it. After he had exerted his talent successfully on various topics, says our tourist,

The next subject proposed was "the discovery of America, and its consequences;" but here we were chagrined to find that he was childishly ignorant of our history, and formed the blindest jumble imaginable of North and South America, calling us both the children of freedom and the sons of Spain. He had read something of Cortes and Pizzaro, but had never heard I presume of the landing at Plymouth, which is of prime importance to us. After taking us on a boisterous voyage across the At

lantic with Columbus, and making several unsuccessful attempts to induce the goddess of Liberty to remain in a country of which he had no idea; and after a meagre tribute of praise to Washington, under the familiar appellation of "Il Giorgio” [George,] he was obliged to renounce the undertaking; and ended with an ingenious apology to the Americans present, for his ignorance of that country in which the genius of Old Rome had found a refuge, also expressing a wish that poets might arise more worthy to sing its praises. P. 264.

Canova, who was then living, naturally became an object of curiosity.

We next directed our course to the work shop of Canova, which is accessible at any hour of the day, although the artist is very rarely to be seen there, as he has a more secluded retreat where he can meditate, and design, and form his models without fear of interruption. These models, which are of plaster, are copied mechanically in marble by his workmen; and it is not until they have been reduced very nearly to the intended surface, that the master spirit assumes the chisel: for then alone is an opportunity for the display of genius. Canova is considered the greatest sculptor of modern times, and the restorer of the pure taste of the ancients; and has even received from some, the high title of the rival of Phidias and Praxiteles. P. 317.

We saw a fine model of a horse, of such a size that we could walk under it without stooping. It is for an equestrian statue of the king of Naples. Canova spoke of his statue of Washington in such a manner as to prove that he was proud of it, and I thought his eyes sparkled at the recollection of a new world beyond the Atlantic, now coveting his works and offering him its fame. P. 333.

Florence presents an art of imitation in wax, which is worthy of notice:

The Museum of Florence contains fine cabinets of all the branches of Natural History, far too large and splendid to be described with any degree of justice even in a large volume. The specimens in the Cabinet of Anatomy are all of wax, moulded and coloured with the utmost perfection, furnishing students with subjects nearly as just as natural ones, and far more convenient and agreeable. They are not confined to the human frame, but embrace the anatomy of various inferior animals. Preparations of this sort are now to be found in various parts of the world, but Florence is the place where the art began, under a monk of a gloomy character, and whence other countries have been supplied. Some specimens have lately been sent to America, particularly to Cambridge College, to facilitate the study of anatomy. The largest and most complete statues cost seven hundred and fifty zecchini, or dollars, and are packed in such a manner as to be transported in perfect safety.

But the mind of the inventor of this singular art did not allow him to rest here. As if he had acquired a love for what is revolting to human nature, by a familiarity with anatomical horrors, he next turned his attention into a still more gloomy channel, viz. to represent in all its stages the progress of the plague, which in the year 1632 ravaged the city of Florence, and destroyed so large a portion of its inhabitants. "The Chamber of the Plague" appeared to me as I entered it much like what my childish imagination used to represent the fatal apartment of Blue Beard, in which

he placed the corpses of his murdered wives. The walls were hung with cases containing small waxen figures, only a few inches high, intended to represent the marks of the disease in its various stages; and the work was performed in so masterly a manner as to produce very nearly the same effect on the mind, as if they had been real. Here the object was not, as in the anatomical cabinet, to facilitate the study of an useful science; but principally, as it would seem, to shock the feelings. One of the groups presents the affecting sight of an affectionate family just entered by the plague; and a beautiful daughter is turning pale and languid under the influence of the incipient disease, while the countenances of her friends show the dread with which they receive the unwelcome visitant. Like the other specimens, the composition, the colouring, the postures, and the whole arrangement of the groups, would have done credit to a painter or a sculptor; and display an acquaintance with the secret of effect, which would have been more welcome in more agreeable subjects. Yet notwithstanding the shocking nature of the scenes, the attention is almost irresistibly attracted to them, and the distinctness with which their memory is preserved will prove the interest which they excite in the feelings.

This is the second book concerning Italy which American travellers have produced. The first, entitled "Rambles in Italy, in the years 1816-17, by an American," was published anonymously, a short time after the writer's return. He has since gone to that "bourne from which no traveller returns;" and it may now be stated that that work was by Mr. James Sloan, of Baltimore, who was taken from this scene of care, just at the moment when his unfolding faculties gave promise of a rich reward for the liberal manner in which his youth had been trained. Mild and amiable in his manners, upright in principle, well versed in ancient, and familiar with modern, literature, he was by far the most accomplished scholar which Baltimore has produced in our day; and his early loss was well fitted to leave upon the minds of his associates a solemn and affecting impression. After surveying, with a critical eye, all the glories of this delightful region, he reverted with fond remembrance to his native country, and thus eloquently expatiates upon its advantages:-" Independently of the sacred attachment which must indissolubly bind the heart of every American to the moral and political institutions of his own country, it possesses attractions which cannot be diminished by the longest residence in the most favoured climes of Europe. His moral principles severe and pure, his taste unvitiated by artificial refinements, yet delicately alive to the nobler and finer impulses of the soul, the young American, under the bright skies of Italy, and encompassed by the dazzling achievements of art, often sickens at the depravity and misery of man, and languishes for his native home. His imagination presents to him, its untrodden wilds,-its waste fertility, as an image of man unsophisticated by artificial society. He contrasts the youthful governments of America, which have grown up unfashioned by the hand of hoary prejudice, with those of Italy, fabricated by despotism and superJULY, 1824.-No. 267

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