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Tuscan and Ionian seas are clearly to be distinguished, and that Sicily may be seen when the horizon is unclouded.

As the day advanced I pitied the poor boatmen, who had to labour at the oar with the sun beating directly on their bodies. I could not help smiling at the poor captain, who lay moaning at the bottom of the boat, and who often vowed that he would never venture to sea again, if he were fortunate enough to return home. He promised many a taper to the shrine of the Madonna, and muttered many a pater noster, in hopes that a favourable breeze would be sent; but it was all without avail. The Italians have no power of enduring petty annoyances, generally bemoaning their fate in a way that we consider unmanly. In troubles of a more heartrending kind, I have seen them beat their breasts and tear their hair. It was, however, on an occasion when, if such an exhibition was ever allowable, it might be fairly forgiven. It was in the island of Ischia, near Naples, where I had arrived about half an hour after a shock of an earthquake had destroyed the village Casillichio, and buried many of its inhabitants in its ruins. The village was situated in a hollow, and the surviving inhabitants had collected on the heights around. Mothers, wives, husbands, fathers, were each bewailing the loss of some favourite being. Their frantic exhibitions of grief, and piteous sounds of woe, still ring in my ear. I had myself, with several of my friends, a providential escape, as the unpunctuality of some of our party alone prevented us from being in the village at as early an hour as we intended. We were on our way to visit some baths and hot springs for which it was celebrated, and had we left Naples at the hour we had appointed, we should have, in all probability, been buried in the ruins, and this tour, of which I am giving you an account, would, alas! been lost to the world.

Our progress now became very slow, and, as mid-day approached, it was thought advisable that the boatmen should have some respite from their labours. Having got behind a rock, which we thought would conceal us from the prying eyes of the custom-house officers, we landed, and there was just sufficient of shade on one side to protect us from the sun. I never realised before so fully Isaiah's (xxxii. 2) beautiful expression, "The shadow of a great rock in a weary land." The captain felt no inclination to avail himself of the provisions with which his loving spouse had loaded the boat, distributing them among his men. Bread, fish, cheese, and a small flask of wine I found to be not unpalatable; and having inquired whether they thought more wine could be procured, I found that they were willing to face all the guarda costas of his majesty's dominions in search of such a commodity. One of them started, and soon returned with a large leathern bottle of wine, with which they seemed all well pleased. They then threw themselves down to rest, and in a short time nearly the whole party was asleep under the broiling rays of the sun, which seemed to be no inconvenience to them. It was a group which an artist would have loved to paint. Beside me lay the captain, with his countenance the very picture of good humour, soundly asleep, after a good deal of sea-sickness, his head resting on his coat, which he had bundled up into the form of a pillow. On the sand, in various picturesque postures, lay the boatmen, with their long coal-black hair flowing negligently over their shoulders, a custom which they have inherited from their Bruttian ancestors. In the back sat a wild Calabrian peasant from the

eye,

lofty mountains of the Sila, the servant of the judge's son-in-law, who was returning to his home. His jacket was of sheepskin, on which the wool still hung, and which, he told me, was turned inwards during the severity of the winter; the lower part of his dress was of goat-skins; his feet were protected by a kind of sandal, which was strapped by a cord made of goat's hair. I do not think that he was a good specimen of the wild Calabrese peasant, as he had none of the boldness and independence of gait which I had expected to find. There was a low cunning in his which augured that he was ready for any mean act of treachery; but for a valorous deed of lawless violence little dependence could be placed on him. In the distance the artist would have sketched the lofty and serried ridge of the Apennines, and in the foreground he would have had the rock, under which we were partly sheltered, covered with the wild vine and the perfumed myrtle. On its top sprung a fine specimen of the Caprificus (wild fig), whose powerful roots were rending the rock as completely as it did when it suggested the idea to Juvenal (x. 145):

Ad quæ

Discutienda valet sterilis mala robora ficus.

"To tear asunder such tombs the mischievous strength of the barren figtree has power enough."

I believe that it is usual in England to sneer at the idea of caprification; but I find it to be very generally believed in various parts of Italy, and, where they have constant experience, they are surely best able to judge as to its real effects. You are aware that the cultivated fig-tree bears, for the most part, female flowers only, and therefore it is necessary for the full fruition that an artificial mode of fertilising them should be resorted to. Aristotle mentions this artificial impregnation, as he had been observant enough to be aware that a certain insect, a species of cinyps, was generated in the flowers of the wild fig, which, becoming a fly, entered the unripe fruit of the domestic fig and caused it to set. Now what they do here, I find, is this: about midsummer they place branches of the wild fig among the cultivated trees, and they maintain that the fertilising pollen of the wild plant is conveyed by the legs and wings of these insects into the interior of the receptacle.

It is a curious circumstance that the same mode of fecundation used to be followed by the Babylonians in respect to the date-palm. It was called palmification. Herodotus (i. 193) states that they used to suspend male clusters from wild dates over the female, in the very same way as was done with figs; but he seems to have thought it was the small insects that were the direct cause of the fertility of the females.

I tried to sleep like my companions, but thoughts of home and of the dangers I must yet encounter followed each other too rapidly to allow of sleep visiting my eyes. A slight breeze sprung up, when I roused the whole party, and within a few seconds we were all on board, the sails set, and the boat scudding at a considerable rate through the water. It was a change as sudden and as complete as in any artificial phantasmagoria you have ever seen. The breeze, however, was only sent to show with what ease Nature could propel us, compared with the slow and tedious rate at which we must move by the unaided arm of man. A dead calm again succeeded, and the oar was again had recourse to. We saw a number

of small villages on the heights, generally at a distance of three or four miles from the coast, so placed to guard against the piratical incursions of the Turks, from whose attacks they have only become safe within the last thirty years. One of the villages was called Albanese, from a colony of Albanians who settled here in the time of the famous Scanderbeg, about A.D. 1460; and I understand that there are many villages of this people scattered throughout the kingdom of Naples, retaining the language and customs of their ancestors. I hope that I may be able to visit some of these people; I regret, however, that I shall not have the opportunity of examining Guardia, said to be a colony of French Protestants from Provence. They are no longer, indeed, members of the Reformed Church, though they are said still to speak the language of the Troubadours. I believe, if we knew the history of these poor Protestants, we should hear a sad tale. They resisted all attempts to change their faith, till superior numbers overwhelmed them; and after the massacre of all those who were able to bear arms, the survivors were compelled to conform to the Papal authority. As the day approached to its close, the possibility of reaching Paola before sunset became a matter of deep interest, as we should otherwise have to spend another night in the open boat. There are certain custom-house regulations which prevent the examination of a boat's papers after that hour. Every exertion was made to push on, but I gave up all hopes that we should be able to succeed. What was still more tantalising was, that we should be within half an hour of gaining our point. At last a change of operations was determined on, and one grand effort was to be made. I was appointed steersman, and the whole party landed to pull the boat along by means of a rope, and it was astonishing with what rapidity I was hurried forward. I can assure you that I was highly complimented for the ability I displayed in my new employment. An important sect of philosophers in ancient times used to assert that the wise men knew without being taught. every sort of profession-shoemaking, tailoring, and of course steering. I shall now begin to suspect that I have some right to be considered a wise. man of this kind, for I had never attempted to steer a boat before. This change was successful, and, exactly as the sun began to descend behind the horizon, we entered the small harbour of Paola with flying colours, or, to speak more humbly, streamers. It was soon noised abroad that an Englishman had arrived, when I was surprised to be addressed in broken English by one of the custom-house officers, who had served on board our fleet when we occupied Sicily. I entreated his assistance to enable me to avoid all difficulty with the police, and I at once got clear by the kindness of the sotto-intendente, to whom my guide conducted me. Among my packet of letters was one for Don Francesco Ziccari, a gentleman of Paola, who has received me with the utmost kindness.

XI.

My host pressed me so kindly to remain a day with him to recover from my fatigues, that I yielded without much hesitation, more particularly as I understood that I should the following morning have the protection of a body of soldiers in passing a mountain ridge, which might otherwise

prove dangerous from the numerous banditti that are known to frequent it. The money collected at the custom-house of Paola is to be forwarded to Cosenza, the capital of the province, and I consider myself lucky in being able to take advantage of the convoy. I have no doubt, from everything that I hear, that I am approaching a dangerous part of the country; travelling, however, in the quiet unassuming way I am doing, I think there are a good many chances in my favour, and, if I am robbed, I have taken care that they shall not be great gainers. The danger of which I am in most dread is, lest finding me to be an Englishman, and having exaggerated notions of the riches of that nation, they should demand a ransom, which might prove a serious inconvenience. Still you know that there is no great good to be gained without incurring some danger, and, as I am of a hopeful disposition and not easily turned aside from any plan which I have formed, I shall not be deterred from proceeding forward unless I am fully satisfied that I have no chance of escaping. The ridge of the Apennines has now again approached close to the shore, as I found along the coast at Maratea, and rises about five thousand feet, with a very precipitous declivity. At the foot of it lies Paola, which has the appearance of a thriving city, and I believe that this arises from a new road which connects it with the fertile valley of Cosenza, for the produce of which it serves as an outlet. It is chiefly, however, celebrated as the birthplace of a saint, Francis di Paola, who founded the order of the monks called Minimi, 1474, and of whom the inhabitants are naturally proud. The monastery, erected 1626, about a mile from the city, is in a picturesque situation, at the mouth of a beautiful glena position which reminded me forcibly of Drumlanrig Castle, the princely seat of the Duke of Buccleuch, in Dumfries-shire. Beneath flows a small stream called Patyco, which is evidently derived from that of the ancient city Patycus, believed to have been placed in this vicinity, though it was of little note, being mentioned by only one Greek geographer. This monastery rivals in size that of La Cava, without having any pretensions to architectural beauty, pillars in front being of the Corinthian order, with Ionic capitals sadly defective in their proportions. The French confiscated its revenues, and when the present family was restored, the monastery was re-established with diminished splendour. The monks, twenty-six in number, speak with great horror of the French, and I was amused to hear them give as an instance of their sacrilege the destruction of some pigeons, which are considered sacred to St. Francis. I inquired if the breed had become extinct, but they told me that no sooner had they again taken possession of their monastery than the pigeons made their appearance in their old haunts, aware, it would seem, that their friends had returned. They had contrived to conceal the silver statue of St. Francis from the marauding hands of the French, and it is now exhibited in a small shrine, where I found a priest performing mass to one solitary woman, the exhibitions of whose grief were truly painful, and strongly contrasted with the unmoved countenance of the priest. I had never witnessed in church such a melancholy exhibition, but my companion seemed to be nowise surprised, and remarked that it was a poor woman expressing sorrow for some of her iniquities. My thoughts at once reverted to Dante's (Purgatorio, xii. 113) striking description of the difference between heavenly and infernal sounds:

Ahi! quanto son diversi quelle foci
Dall' infernali! che quivi per canti
S'entra e laggiù per lamenti feroci.

"Ah! how different are those cries from the infernal! Here are heard melodious airs, and there fierce lamentations from each blaspheming tongue."

I was glad to hurry away, and get beyond the reach of her piteous shrieks. In the portico of the monastery are many rude representations of the numerous miracles which had been performed by St. Francis. Among others, they point out a fountain, which, like Moses, he had caused to spring forth from the rock, and whose waters are considered by the peasants as a remedy for every sort of disease. There is the following inscription over it:

Devoti Passagieri, qui ammiri dove
Nuovi portenti si rendette chiaro
Nel mille sette cento trenta nove
A dodici del meso di gennaro.

"Devout passers-by here look with wonder where new miracles were performed in one thousand seven hundred and thirty-nine, on the twelfth of the month of January."

And there are other four lines which are illegible. I was assured that the fountain always keeps the same level, never increasing nor decreasing.

St. Francis is regarded with great veneration throughout the kingdom, and at the present moment a new church is erecting at Naples, in consequence of a royal vow, in front of the palace. Perhaps the most remarkable event in his life is, that he was summoned to France by Louis XI. in the hope that, through his intercession, the life of that unrelenting and cruel hypocrite might be prolonged.

My companion I found to be highly intelligent, and, among other things, I collected from him the peculiar customs observed on the death of an individual. It is first announced by the screams of the women, and in former times by the strange custom of opening and shutting their windows with great violence, so much so that the shutters were usually torn from their hinges. The body is then placed with due solemnity with the feet towards the door, while the men sit in silence, the women beating their breasts and throwing handfuls of hair over the body. The priests are then admitted to sing psalms and to offer up prayers for the deceased while the bells of the church are tolled. In Naples the body is attended to the grave or vault by the secular clergy and a deputation of five different confraternities, who follow with tapers in their hands. These confraternities consist of men who have made vows to attend funerals, and who imagine that they may in this way procure forgiveness of their sins. A white linen robe conceals them entirely from the knowledge of their fellow-citizens, as there is no part seen except their eyes peering through two small holes. On reaching the church the body is placed in the middle, with a brazier near it, on which incense is burnt, The Requiem is then sung, and the body is left in the hands of the priests. During three days the friends continue to receive visits of condolence, and custom compels them to be seated on the bare floor, and as no fire is

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