the sea; upon high and perpendicular cliffs of tufo; upon Cape Campanella, or the Cape of Minerva, behind which the Parthenopean syren had her abode; upon the rocky and majestic Isle of Capræa, to sojourn in which Tiberius abandoned the imperial city of Rome; upon Cape Misenum, which hath borne, and bears, and ever shall bear, the name of the Trumpeter of Æneas, even as Virgil predicted in his melodious verse, for true poets are prophets, and the names hallowed by genius are no longer subject to decay and transmutation; upon the long, glittering hills of Posilippo, where Lucullus built his palace of palaces, and established his earthly paradise; and upon the grim, dark-brown old castle which the Norman conquerors of the south built upon a rock close in to the Neapolitan shore and the western walls of the city-the castle called dell' Uovo, or Egg-castle, from the shape of the rock on which it stands, and which it entirely covers. This is a rare scene, and overpoweringly rich in associations. There is not a hill, rock, islet, cape, or jutting promontory, but has its name in classical lore or in modern song. Sorrento, which stands on the other side of the bay, almost directly opposite the molo, was the birthplace of Tasso, who first gave immortality to the Rinaldo the old minstrel sings about; it was at Sorrento, among green hills and shady valleys, and glens wooded with the ilex, that the ardent poet passed the happy days of his childhood, which, if his biographers tell the truth, appear to have been almost the only happy days of his stormy existence; and it was to Sorrento, and to the tenderness of a surviving sister, that the poet fled, poor, lonely, and on foot, when sovereign princes, and princes of the Roman church, had forsaken him and persecuted him, and when terror and longsuffering had well nigh made him in reality that maniac which his enemies, long before, had accused him of being, and under the dark imputation of which, he had lain for long years in the dungeon of the ungrateful Esti, at Ferrara.

The canta-storia's version of Tasso's great poem, in the Neapolitan dialect, was far from being so elegant or so close to the original as was the Venetian version which was at one time commonly sung by the gondoliers of the queen of the Adriatic. If much that Tasso wrote was omitted, much, also, was added by the cantastoria, which the poet never wrote or dreamed of. These Neapolitan interpolations and addenda were extravagant to the utmost verge of extravagance, and not unfrequently grotesque, in the eyes of those who knew the original, and had a more cultivated taste than the mariners on the molo. But to these poor fellows nothing could be finer, or grander, or in any sense better, than what they heard sung or chanted in their own expressive dialect, by the wizened old man, or by the handsome and galliard young man. The apassionati, or enthusiasts, would have fought any man that had adventured to dispute the pre-eminence of Rinaldo over all the heroes of Tasso's epic, or rather over all the heroes that figured in the holy wars, or any other wars. This temper was once put to the test. A foreigner, familiar with their language and habits, began one evening to decry their idol-hero. Rinaldo, he said, was a stout and daring man, a very stout and daring man (un' guappo, un guappone), but there had been men as brave as he, or braver, Tancred, to wit, who was also their own countryman; and there had been wiser, and better, and greater men, like the Captain-General Godfrey. The faces of the enthusiasts blackened with rage, and their eyes shot flashes of fire. The stranger, apprehending mischief to himself, prudently dropped his odious comparisons, and said he had but joked. "Va bene lo schierzo," said one of the group, ma, con Rinaldo nuostro non si schierza"-Jokes are very well, but there must be no joking with our Rinaldo. No honest Swiss ever stood up more boldly for the fame of William Tell, or fiery Scot for the glory of William Wallace, or of the Bruce, than that tattered mariner would have done for the fabulous renown of Rinaldo.

The boisterous, gay-hearted people of Naples are almost as much addicted to driving about in any sort of vehicle that can carry them, as they are to eating macaroni. The stranger, on his arrival at their city, can not but be surprised at the immense number of carriages that dash through the town in all directions, nor fail to be puzzled in reconciling the extent of this luxury with the means of a ruined nobility, and a generally-impoverished country.

The fact, however, is, that almost every Neapolitan who pretends to anything like the rank of a gentleman, considers some sort of equipage as an indispensable appendage, to support which he will miserably pinch himself in other points of domestic economy. Added to this, there are no taxes on carriages and horses; the tradespeople and others, who will never walk when they can afford to pay for a ride, par

ticularly on a holyday (and besides the Sundays there is some holyday or saint'sday at least every fortnight, on an average), contribute to the support of an amazing number of hackney-coaches and cabriolets; and the very poorest of the people are as passionately fond of driving as their betters, and do contrive, by clubbing_together, to indulge in that luxury on frequent occasions. It may thus be understood how Naples is more crowded with vehicles than any other of the European capitals.

These vehicles are in almost every possible fashion and state of preservation. The richer or more tasteful classes drive carriages which would bear comparison with those of New York, and are, generally, superior to any display of the sort made at Paris. The Neapolitans, indeed, with the exception of the Milanese, surpass all the Italians in coach-building and taste in a "turn-out;" and though you certainly see some of the worst, you also see some of the best equipages in Italy at Naples. But what produces an amusing effect is, that you constantly see the extremes of good and bad at the same instant. Most of the stylish, and all the more common part of this complicated machinery of communication, proceed along the streets at a violent pace; and as these streets are all paved with large pieces of lava, not always well joined together, and as the inferior and infinitely more numerous portion of the equipages rattle fearfully as they go, the clamor produced might be thought almost the perfection of noise, were it not so frequently drowned by the shouts of the motley drivers, and the bawling of the fares, and of the foot-passengers.

It would be doing an injustice to the Neapolitans, not to mention that, though they set about it in a slovenly way, and generally use harness that would reduce our best "whips" to despair, they drive both fearlessly and well, and are very rarely the cause of any accident, even in the crowded, confused, narrow streets of the capital. In former times there used to be grand displays of driving at the end of carnival and beginning of Lent; and many of the great families had numerous and excellent studs, and bred horses of great spirit and beauty. Though these establishments for horses are entirely broken up, the common breed of the kingdom is generally far from bad; while many parts of Calabria, and some districts of Apulia and Abruzzi, still furnish excellent animals. The Neapolitan horse is small, but very compact and strong; his neck is short and bull-shaped, and his head rather large; he is, in short, the prototype of the horse of the ancient basso-relievoes and other Roman sculptures found in the country. He can live on hard fare, and is capable of an immense deal of work; he is frequently headstrong and vicious, but these defects are mainly attributable to harsh treatment, as, with proper, gentle usage, though very spirited, he is generally found to be docile and good-natured. The Neapolitan cavalry, composed almost entirely of these small horses, bred under the burning sun of the south of Italy, withstood the rigors of winter in the memorable Russian campaign, better than almost all the others; and it is a curious fact, that during part of his retreat from Moscow, Napoleon owed his preservation to a body of three hundred Neapolitan horse, who were still mounted, and in a state to escort him.

Without paying attention to numerous minor varieties, the hack-vehicles of the Neapolitans may be divided into four great classes :

1st. The Carozza d'Affitto, or Canestra, or Carettella.-This answers to our hackney-coach, but is generally a much more decent carriage, and not close, but open, with a head which can be raised or lowered. It is always drawn by two horses. The decent class of citizens are its greatest customers; but on holydays it is frequently found crammed full of washerwomen and porters.

2d. The Corribolo.-This answers to our hack-cab, but is a much lighter and more elegant machine. A light body, capable of holding two passengers, is suspended on springs; one tough little horse runs in the shafts, and the driver sits on the shafts just before his passengers. The body and wheels of the corribolo are always painted and varnished, as are also those of the canestra; the horse of the one, and the horses of the other, are, moreover, generally put to with leather harness. This little gig is invariably driven with great rapidity, and is a pleasant enough, but somewhat perilous conveyance. The corribolo is in great request with the men of the middling classes, and on holydays with both men and women of the poorer class. It is also a very great favorite with English midshipmen and sailors, who like to go fast. The number of this species of vehicle is truly extraordinary, as is also the manner in which they dart about; and it was to the corriboli that Alfieri more particularly referred

(for the other kinds of chaises are not near so abundant), when, in describing Naples, he spoke of

"All the gay gigs that flash like lightning there."

3d. The Flower-Pot Calesso.-This is truly a Neapolitan machine, which can be compared to nothing we possess. The body, like a section of a large flower-pot, or inverted cone cut perpendicularly in two, and hollowed out, is fastened to the wooden axle-tree, which has no iron, but terminates in two wooden arms on which the wheels revolve. The horse is very loosely harnessed between the shafts; one or, by hard squeezing, two passengers occupy the seat, whose entire weight rests on the axle, and only the weight of the shafts on the horse; then the driver leaps upon a narrow footboard behind his passengers, and grasping his reins, and flourishing his whip over their heads, sets off at speed, his weight acting as on a lever, of which the axle tree is the fulcrum, bringing down the hinder part of the vehicle, and making the shafts ascend at a very ambitious angle, their extreme points being often higher than the horse's head. Sometimes a second passenger will jump up behind, but care must be taken not to overload the driver's end of the lever without placing a counterbalance before, for, in that case, the belly-band, on which is all the pressure, would act unpleasantly on the horse, or even lift him off his feet. If, as frequently happens, a second horse is tied by the side of the other, outside the shafts, this flower-pot will travel at a tremendous rate, for the machine itself, made entirely of wood, is very light, and the weight of the passengers and driver, if properly disposed, acts very slightly on the shaft-horse, who, like the comrade by his side, has only to pull.

When new, this particular vehicle is frequently very smart, and even gaudy, the wooden body being painted with flowers and coarsely gilt, the shafts and wheels as dazzling as bright red, yellow, or green, can make them, and even parts of the shaft horse's harness covered with gilding, very much like what is put on our gingerbread nuts. Unfortunately, however, as the Neapolitans choose gaudy rather than lasting tints, and as their colors are badly laid on, and the gilding most inartificially applied, their calessi soon look very shabby.

4th. Il Calesso. We are now come to the vehicle represented by the engraving opposite. This is decidedly the popular machine, the carriage of the people. Though not so stylish, or so fast, it has a great advantage over the "flower-pot," and the "corribolo," for it can carry many more passengers. With some ingenuity and sacrifice of comfort, a corribolo may be made to carry four and the driver, and so indeed may a flower-pot; but the calesso has the capacity, on a pinch, of accommodating a round dozen.

So far from being a rare, it is a common thing, to see a rickety machine of the sort thus heavily laden: three men and women on the seat, and two or three more on their laps, or at their feet at the bottom of the chaise, with some of their legs dangling out in front of the wheels; three more hanging on behind, a boy or sturdy lazzarone seated on the shafts, and a couple of little children bestowed in a net fastened to the axle-tree, and dangling between the nether part of the calesso and the ground-these constitute the loading of the calesso. To all of these must be added the driver. He either stands up erect with the passengers behind the vehicle, holding the reins and flourishing his whip over the heads of those who are seated within it, or shortening the reins, places himself on the shafts close to the horse's croup, and there drives away, with his legs dependent from the shafts. The very oddest of all the odd circumstances attaching to the calesso are certainly the exhibition of so many legs dangling from it, and the net with the young ones beneath. Accidents, of course, occur now and then. The writer of this was going one morning on horseback from Castellamare to Pompeii, when he was stopped near a catina, or winehouse, by the roadside, by hearing the most dreadful shrieks. As he approached the spot, he saw a calesso turn and drive back at speed, and, on getting still nearer, saw a female peasant dressed in her gala clothes, who was tearing her hair and beating her bosom in a fearful manner. What was the matter? The calesso, crowded as usual on such occasions, was going to a festa or fair at the town of Nocera de' Pagani, and on stopping at that winehouse to refresh, it was discovered that the net below with a little boy in it was missing. The rope that held it had given way, and as the festive party were probably (as is usual with them when exhilarated by riding) all singing at the tops of their voices, the cries of the child were never heard. The afflicted mother was sure the guaglionciello (Neapolitan for the Italian “ ragazzino,” English “little

boy") was killed; but presently a joyful shout was heard along the road, and the calesso, returning in company with another vehicle of the same character, and similarly loaded, brought back the little urchin, covered, indeed, and almost choked with dust, but otherwise safe and sound.

This calesso is generally drawn by two horses, one between the shafts and the other outside of them. These are harnessed in the rudest manner with ropes and string, scarcely an inch of leather being visible. The great inconvenience attending travelling in it is, that the driver is apt to be obliged to stop and get down every quarter of an hour to splice a rope, or to make all right with a bit of twine. The capacious body of this calesso is all made of wood. It is generally furnished with a hood of untanned hide, which can be brought over the heads of "the insides;" but it has no springs beneath, being merely slung on braces that are sometimes made of leather. The driver of a vehicle of this sort is almost invariably a fellow of loquacity and humor, and the best of all sources to go to for notions of the popular habits and feelings of the country. This mainly arises from his considering it part of his duty to amuse his passengers.

The true time to see these popular vehicles in all their glory is, of course, on some grand festival in the city of Naples. In the simple marriage contracts of the female peasantry, there are positive clauses inserted that their husbands shall take them to such and such feste in the course of the year. Consequently, when Naples is the scene of the festival, in they come flocking from all parts, every family or set of friends that can afford it driving away in a calesso. These vehicles, when they have been any time in use, are still shabbier than the tarnished "flower-pots;" but ornamented as they are on some of the holydays with branches and boughs of trees, with flowers, or with clustering nuts, and in all with the gay-colored dresses of their occupants, they look sufficiently gay and pleasing.

It has been mentioned that the Neapolitans like to drive very fast, and to sing very loudly while they ride. It is, indeed, too much for the nerves of a sensitive person to see on these occasions how canestre, corriboli, flower-pots, and calessi, gallop along over the hard, slippery pavement of the streets, racing with each other, and to hear how their passengers contend in making the greatest noise in bawling, and singing, and beating tambourines, while their respective drivers at the same time crack their rude rope whips in concert.

Naples, which has produced some of the finest composers in the world, has been called "the land of song;" and such it is, if the good taste and exquisite feeling for music of all classes above the very lowest be alone taken into account. But the popular taste is execrable. The very worst street-ballad that was ever sung by a beggar, or ground on an organ, is a delicious melody, compared to the roaring, shrieking, and, at the same time, droning, whining notes of the lazzarone, or paesano (peasant, or countryman), whose favorite songs, executed in their favorite manner, would frighten a war-horse.