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clivities on either hand. In the walls of the buildings, along the narrow, dirty, beggarly streets, specimens of substantial masonry are seen, said to be older than the foundations of Rome itself. Our coach was here so beset with swarms of mendicants, that it was absolutely necessary to close the windows, to avoid their importunate cries, which could not have been hushed without exhausting our purses. Such is the distress of a population in a country apparently teeming with plenty. The hills are crowned with olives, and the vales produce corn and wine in abundance. But between the oppressions of the government and the indolence of the subject, the peasantry are more degraded and wretched than even the inhabitants of the papal dominions.

Just before sunset we paused opposite an old tower on the right of the road, and three labourers, at work in a field near the base, informed us that it was the Mausoleum of Cicero. Such an object was not to be passed unnoticed. One of the peasants led the way, and kindly lent us a helping hand in climbing up the exterior of its crumbling walls. It is two stories high, of a rude construction, the basement being composed of blocks of Travertine, and the upper story of brick and mortar, intermingled with stone. The interior is hollow, with niches for statues, and a column rising in the centre, apparently to support the shattered roof, which is tottering to its fall, and richly mantled with shrubs and wild flowers. It is supposed to stand upon the very spot where the great Roman orator was overtaken and assassinated by Herennius, an emissary of Antony, while the former was endeavouring to escape in a litter, from his Formian Villa to the sea shore, at the distance of a mile.

From the Mausoleum of Cicero, a most magnificent sunset view opened upon us towards the south, embracing a range of mountains extending along the shore of the Mediterranean to the bay of Naples, with the top of Vesuvius in the distance the blue expanse of the sea washing a long line of coast-and the lofty promontory of Gaeta, projecting out several miles at the western extremity of the bay. This bold headland immortalized in both Greek and Roman song, exceeds in picturesque beauty any thing I have seen even in Italy, the land of enchantment as it regards distant views. An artist of the finest fancy could not select and group objects to more advantage, than they have been fortuitously combined by the hand of nature and art, in the midst of a

population destitute of taste, who have not wittingly contributed an iota to the embellishment of their landscapes. From the extreme point of Gaeta, the shore sweeps with a bold and graceful curve to Mola, a distance of four or five miles to the east. The old town extends from the end of the cape half way round the bay, the white buildings rising from the edge of the water up the declivity. On the summit of the promontory are seen the antique castle of colossal dimensions, and the mausoleum of Lucius Plancus, the friend of Horace and the founder of Lyons. To the north the woody tops of mountains form a wild and rural back-ground. Such are a few of the elements of a picture, which, brightened by skies and waters rivelling each other in the splendour of their hues, and embellished by the fresh luxuriance of spring, wholly baffles the powers of description. It seemed so much like enchantment, and formed such a fine image to be preserved unbroken in the mind, that we did not in this instance give chase to the rainbow, till its tints vanished amidst beggars and their dirty habitations.

In our ride of a mile or two from the Mausoleum of Cicero to the little town of Mola di Gaeta, situated upon the very margin of the sea, the ruins of the ancient town of Formiæ were seen strewed along the road. We took lodgings for the night at a large and comfortable hotel, called La Villa di Cicerone, said to occupy the site of Cicero's house, though the tradition does not appear to be very well grounded. At any rate, its location is enchanting. The declivity between the court-yard and the sea is covered with magnificent groves of the citron and orange. Most of the trees were laden with golden fruit, while the blossoms of others filled the air with fragrance. The landlord unlocked the gates of this garden of the Hesperides, and bade us welcome to any portion of its contents. We however did not avail ourselves of his liberality, but permitted the bending branches and rich clusters to hang unmolested, too beautiful to the eye to be profaned by the grosser senses.

Below the terrace of the garden, the ruins of the ancient Villa are scattered along the rocks on the beach, and even extending for some distance into the bay, a few feet beneath the surface of the water. Descending from the wall by a ladder, we examined by twilight, (with the aid of a young moon hanging her silver horn above Mount Cæcubus,) the remains of baths, porches, and subterranean arches, still in a

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state of tolerable preservation. The solitude of the shore is unbroken, save only by the murmurs of the sea, which here seems to feel all the indolence of the climate, and rolls in its sluggish billows upon the wreck of Roman luxury. In a retreat so absolutely enchanting, with high hills rising on one hand, and the hollow port described in the Odyssey, spreading on the other-amidst scenery enriched by the prodigality of nature, and hallowed by the muse of Homer and Virgil and Horace, as well as associated with the name of Tully-my readers must indulge me in a little romance of feeling. Prompted by the pages of the ancient poets, fancy recalled the images of other ages, when old Ulysses, mooring his fleet in the bay, went on shore perhaps with his crew, to frolic with the peasant girls of Læstrygonia; or when at a subsequent period, the Orator of Rome, retiring to the classic shades of Formiæ, gave his attic nights to the pursuits of eloquence and philosophy. His vigils were scarcely protracted to a later hour than my own. The citron groves, peeping through the windows of my apartment, were the last to bid me good night, and the first to greet me on the morrow.

LETTER LXII.

ROUTE FROM GAETA TO NAPLES-MINTURNE--RIVER LIRISCAPUA-AVERSA-ARRIVAL AT NAPLES ASPECT OF THE CITY-PRINCIPAL STREETS-SKETCH OF THE BAY, ISLANDS, SHORES, HARBOUR, AND OTHER OUTLINES-ROYAL GARDEN -TOMBS OF VIRGIL AND SANNAZARO.

May, 1826.-At 5 o'clock on the morning of the 10th, we resumed our journey towards Naples, passing through the large modern town of Mola di Gaeta, the filth and poverty of which present a perfect contrast to the rural charms of the Villa just left with regret. The country onward preserves its picturesque character, though in a less degree than the scenery already described. A ride of an hour brought us to the ruins of old Minturnæ, scattered over a green plain on the right bank of the Liris. In a field on the left of the road, are seen the remains of a Roman aqueduct, which extended from the brow of an neighbouring hill to the town, and supplied it with water.

The walls of the amphitheatre, similar

in construction to others of the same age, are yet tolerably perfect. Minturnæ is associated with one of the most interesting events in the life of Caius Marius, who secreted himself in a neighbouring fen, till he was dragged from his lurking place by the partisans of Sylla. Here was the scene of his imprisonment and condemnation to death, when the sternness of his countenance disarmed the executioner, and he was permitted to escape hence to the shores of Africa, to muse upon the decline of his own fortunes amidst the ruins of Carthage.

The Liris, the liquid Liris, in name as smooth as its own unruffled current, has now assumed the semi-barbarous appellation of the Garigliano-a modern Shibboleth, which none but the Italians can "frame to pronounce ;" and if exactness of orthoepy were made the criterion, few strangers would be permitted to pass the bridge of boats, which links together by a most fragile chain the ancient kingdoms of Latium and Campania. The river itself is one of the largest and finest we have found in Italy. It is nearly as broad as the Tiber, within the walls of Rome, but differs entirely in character, having none of the turbulence and impetuosity of the latter. The banks are shaded with poplars and elms, and bordered by a broad, fertile, flowery plain, which the road traverses between Garigliano, and St. Agatha. An insulated, shattered tower, overhanging the stream, and half concealed by the foliage, forms a most picturesque object in the landscape. In crossing this delicious vale, we met a regiment of Austrian cavalry, riding full tilt, and raising a glorious dust. They were on their way to Terracina, to meet Leopold the brother of the king of Naples, and to escort him to town, on his return from the north of Europe. When the corps was first descried at a distance, with nodding plumes and armour glittering in the sun, the spectacle was quite martial, leaving the mind free to fancy it a squadron of Numidian horse, from the Camp of Hannibal at Capua!

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The environs of St. Agatha are beautiful, but the village is mean and miserable. A stately bridge connects it with Sessa, (the ancient Suessa,) a handsome town on the opposite side of the river. Here the traveller again meets the Appian Way, which he had deserted at Minturnæ. Passing a finely wooded country, tolerably well cultivated, rural in its aspect, covered with vineyards, fields of corn, and pastures, we crossed the bridge of Volturno, and entered Capua at 11

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o'clock. The river, which is nearly as large as the Tiber, and quite as turbid, winds with a good deal of majesty under the very walls of the town. A large fortress was observed on the right bank, garrisoned by a solitary soldier, who was standing sentinel upon the parapet. This circumstance is the more remarkable, as the city is now as full of Austrian troops as it ever was with the legions of Hannibal. Every other person you meet wears a military dress, and the rest, as a consequence, are beggars.

While our horses were resting at the hotel, we walked to the cathedral and one or two other churches, for the purpose of examining some Roman antiquities, unworthy of notice; but the streets were so thronged with mendicants, that a retreat was effected as soon possible. Some of the miserable beings who beset us with their importunities were deformed, and others diseased; and by way of enforcing their claims to charity, they have a fashion of thrusting their withered limbs into the traveller's face, compelling him to witness objects that sicken and disgust. Such occurrences are so frequent as to form a serious drawback upon the comforts of a person of any feeling. Capua seems to be the head quarters of paupers, who are far more numerous in the Neapolitan dominions, than in any other part of Italy; and of all the towns I have ever visited, this is the most wretched. The population is reduced to seven thousand, and seems to be wasting away by absolute starvation. We went through the form of taking breakfast at the hotel; but if Hannibal and his army had found as hard fare as crowned our table, they would never have been corrupted by the luxuries of the ancient capital of Campania !

The road between Capua and Naples, a distance of fifteen miles, is uniform and presents few objects to interest the traveller. It leads in nearly a direct line over an extensive plain, possessing a light soil, covered with poplars, and shaded with vines hanging in festoons from tree to tree, like the vineyards in the vale of the Arno. The intermediate spaces are appropriated to the culture of grain, flax, hemp, lupins, and a variety of vegetables. There are no houses scattered over the landscape, and nothing to give it life and animation. Midway is the large and populous town of Aversa, which is another Capua in the character of its idle, half-naked, and starving inhabitants--actually starving in the midst of a country on which nature has lavished her bounties! The yells of beggars, frunning the horses, compelled us again to close the win

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