lighted in the house for several days, their friends furnish them with food. In the room of the deceased a lamp is kept burning; and if the disease was consumption, the law compels them to destroy everything touched by the deceased, and to fumigate the house. An unmarried girl is crowned with flowers at burial. After the death of a relative the men do not shave their beards for a month. If a stranger dies, women are hired to attend his funeral and wail over the dead.

On our return from the monastery we met a woman of Guardia decked out in her gala dress; a red petticoat appeared beneath a blue gown, which was bordered with crimson. The sleeves of black velvet were attached to the body of the dress by means of laces, which allowed undergarments to be seen between the elbow and shoulder; her head was tastefully adorned with a white handkerchief. I find, on more minute examination, that these French Protestants had settled here at an earlier period than I had imagined; it is said towards the middle of the sixteenth century. I found an old volume on Calabria (Della Calabria illustrata Opera varia Istorica del R. P. Giovanni Fiore, predicatore Capuccino da Cropani, 1691) in my host's library, and it is there stated that the inhabitants are “oltramontani,” and as having introduced the new opinions of Luther, spreading the infection to several villages around. Attempts were made to convince them of their errors, but as they continued obdurate, the viceroy of the kingdom of Naples, il Duca d'Alcala, sent, in 1561, troops to bring them to their senses. They maintained their opinions to the death, as the old writer says, very graphically: Cadendi de' nemici un gran numero, non già mesti d’animo; magiulivi ingannevolmente persuasi (come ad alte voci dicevano, animandosi ed alla pugna et alla morte), che cosi morendo salivano al Cielo, per godersi con gli Angioli—“A great number of the enemy falling, not in the least sad, but joyous, being mistakenly persuaded (as they declared with loud voice, while animating each other to battle and death) that thus dying they were ascending to heaven, to dwell there with the angels.” It was only by stratagem that they were at last overcome, and then no mercy was shown: ostinati furono dati alle fiamme—“the impenitents were given over to the flames.” By rigorous catechising, continual preaching, forbidding intermarriages, ripullulê l'antica lor fede Cattolica Romana, oggi giorno vivono moltiplicati per numero, e purissimi per Cattolichesimo—“the ancient Roman Catholic faith sprung up anew. At the present moment (A.D. 1691), they have increased in numbers, and are most pure in Catholicism.”

When I tell you that this extermination took place under a viceroy sent by that gloomy bigot Philip II. of Spain, husband of our Mary, Queen of England, you will not be surprised at the cruelties that were perpetrated. The language seems to have been forgotten, as this peasant woman of Guardia spoke nothing but Italian. Don Giovanni Antonio Anania da Taverna, who had first “subodorato” smelt the heresy, and brought it under the notice of the inquisitor-general, Cardinal Alessandrino, afterwards Pope Pius VI, wrote a long Latin poem on the success that attended the crusade against these poor Protestants, but Fiore says that it never saw the light.*

* Dr. M'Crie, in his “History of the Reformation of Italy,” states that the Protestants “were all shut up in one house. The executioner went, and bringing The 1st of May, La Majuma, is celebrated with much ceremony in this part of Italy. Their doors and windows are ornamented with green boughs (arboscelli di Maggio) and garlands (banderuolle) of flowers, while the streets are traversed by youthful musicians. Lovers have then an opportunity of showing their devotion to their mistresses, by the way in which they decorate the entrance to their houses. At Christmas, I find that there is the same exchange of presents as with us, and that they have a large cake, to which they have given the name of San Martino, because they implore the aid of this saint when they pray for abundance. The civic guard go about singing, and demand a strena—a present. They also make paste fritte in oil and honey, as the Romans used to offer to Janus. At Easter, servants present eggs to their masters, which they call coluri; eggs made up in round balls of paste are called San Martino. On the festival of St. Luke, the 18th of October, they have at table a dish called coccia, composed of wheat or maize, boiled and mixed with chestnuts, then eaten with milk. It is curious that they should have some superstitious notions which prevail with us; they are in terror if they sit down thirteen at table, if they spill the salt, if the candle falls, or if the light is extinguished. One of their proverbs is Allegrezza di venerdi, pianto di domenica—“Joy on Friday, weeping on Sunday.” This will, no doubt, remind you of the lines in the “Plaideurs” (i. 1) of Racine: Ma foil sur l'avenir bien fou qui se fiera. Tel qui rit vendredi, dimanche pleurera.

“My faith ! very foolish is he who trusts to the future; he who laughs on Friday will weep on Sunday.” This proverb is found in an ancient tale of the thirteenth century, in the following verse: “Tel rit au main (matin) que le soir pleura.” The higher classes of women amuse themselves with embroidery, while the lower spin with a hand-spindle, twisting it with great dexterity as they walk along. Others of them are employed in working pezzuole, a kind of network or lace to ornament the fronts of shirts. They work very diligently, and make a good deal in this way. It is worked on a frame filled with feathers, which they call piumaccio. The articles are called pezzili, frisi, or puntani. Paola and Lecce are famed for this kind of manufacture. The peasant receives for a day's work one carlino (fourpence of our money) and a meal. The father of my host had been a man of some literary attainments, and had written a work on the antiquities of Paola, which had never been given to the world. , I spent some hours very pleasantly in looking over it; its information, however, was of too minute and local a nature to interest any one except his fellow-citizens. He had investigated one point, which is of some importance to those interested in the ancient geography of Italy. The city of Temesa, or Tempsa, mentioned by Homer (Odyss. i. 184), was placed by him about twenty miles south of Paola, near a promontory called Mesa, which he considered an abbreviation of the name of the ancient city. There some ruins are still seen, and near it he says that there appears to have been some mines. Ovid (Met. xv. 706) refers to them:

out one of them, covered his face with a napkin, led him out to a field near the house, and, causing him to kneel down, cut his throat with a knife. Then taking the bloody napkin, he went and brought out another, whom he put to death after the same manner. In this way the whole number, eighty-eight, were butchered.” He says that they were Waldenses, but this does not agree with the tradition which I heard at Paola.

Evincitoue fretum, Siculique angusta Pelori,
Hippotadaque domos regis Temesesque metalla.

“He passes the sea and narrow strait of the Sicilian Pelorus, and the palace of the royal AEolus, and the mines of Temesa.” And again (Fast. v. 441):

Temesaeague concrepat apra.

“And he beats the bronze gongs of Temesa.” I spent a delightful evening with my host, who had assembled a large number of his friends to meet me. Many of them were intelligent, and showed a knowledge of England and its institutions which surprised me. We had an interesting conversation on the eventful history of Italy. This, indeed, is a strange land; few countries have been subject to more invasions, or suffered more vicissitudes. Saracens, Spaniards, French, Germans, have each in their turn tried to maintain possession of it, and have left deep traces of their character and manners on the physiognomy of the people. Even, as I looked around, I thought that I could distinguish the flippancy of the French from the grave and sedate German. Only throw your eyes over the more immediate neighbourhood of Naples, and consider how many races during the last fifteen hundred years have left their mark upon it. At Pozzuoli, where an Arab colony existed, and at Nocera dei Pagani, where the Saracenic mercenaries of the kings of Naples were stationed, I am told that you may still distinguish the intonations and even words of Arabic origin. At Salerno, Norman words are not uncommon, and many of the sonorous exclamations of the lazzaroni betray their Spanish origin. It is curious that the French have left few traces of their occupation, though they have frequently overrun the country. It is said to be in the remote villages of Sicily, where the Sicilian vespers had not overtaken them, that you may still find remnants of the old French language. The Neapolitans speak contemptuously of the French, and say that swine speak French : ‘Il porco parla Francese,” alluding to the “oui, oui”—“yes, yes"—so frequently in their mouths. The grunt of the pig has some resemblanee to this word. They pronounce the word “gui, gui,” and they call a contemptible fellow “guitto,” and the women whom they call “guitta" I do not choose to characterise in English. Then, again, among other people who were at one time numerous in Calabria, would you believe it that the Jews formed a considerable colony, and added, as they did everywhere, to the riches of the country? They came, as I found stated in the manuscript of my host's father, about A.D. i200, and settled in Corigliano, which is still a principal seat of commerce in Calabria, and thence they spread to Cosenza, Tropea, Cotrone, Reggio, and Catanzaro, in such numbers, that the places belonging to them were called Giudeche, a name which they still retain. When the Turks, at the suggestion, as it was believed, of the Jews of Asia, had seized on the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, Pope Martin V. proclaimed a crusade, and induced Joanna II., in 1429, to lay a tax on the Jews of Calabria, which produced a sufficient sum to defray the expenses incurred by the Pope; and when the Jews were driven from Spain in 1492, four thousand families emigrated to Calabria, where they were received hospitably by their compatriots; but, unfortunately for them, the Neapolitan dominions came into the possession of the bigoted kings of Spain, and the entire population of the Jews was driven from a country where they had lived peaceably and unmolested for three hundred years. Now, with the exception of Rothschild in Naples, I do not know that there is another Jew in this part of Italy. The inhabitants of this country have not much of religion, such as we understand by that word, but they are far more devout than we are. They have been brought up in the school of slavery, and yet talk to them of liberty, and if they feel they are safe in showing their real sentiments, they spring up in the greatest ecstasy. They are like their own Vesuvius, which, after appearing to have slumbered for many years, bursts forth suddenly, more terrible than ever, and causes the whole land to tremble. I can see that there is a reign of terror everywhere—I do not allude to brigands, but to the repression exercised by government against intellect and against all who show a desire to improve their minds. The ecclesiastical authorities rule supreme, and the Jesuits, as I found in Naples, have got hold of the education of the people. The high nobility, more particularly, favour their pretensions. I got acquainted with their professors at Naples, and found them men of great learning, distinguished for erudition, and first-rate teachers, as far as I could judge from the pupils they turned out. Yet we know that their system is retrograde, strictly scholastic, and incapable of elevating the moral level of humanity, and, wherever they have been allowed to use their influence, they have repressed the energies of the mind of man. Like to those phosphorescent fireflies which appeared the other evening as we whiled away our time at Welia, their teaching is brilliant and reflects light, but there is no heat. In speaking of them to my intelligent friends among the Neapolitans, they have generally concluded with a feeling of disgust, in the words of their great poet (Inf, iii. 46):

Non ragioniam di lor; ma guarda e passa.

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“Let us not talk of them, but look and pass on ; pressive of their sentiments.

It was far into the night before we parted, and I could have continued the meeting with pleasure, but I knew that I had another day of labour before me.

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Next morning at daybreak I left Paola, and placed myself at the foot of the mountain to wait for the party of soldiers who were proceeding to Cosenza. I had taken the precaution of hiring a mule, as I understood that the fatigue of ascending the mountain would be excessive, though a good road with many windings has been constructed along the face of it. I did not wait long before I saw two mules and a party of about thirt soldiers approaching. I directed my muleteer to proceed forward, while I lingered behind to admire the beauty of the scenery. The soldiers did not anticipate any danger, and were allowed to clamber up the face of the mountain in any direction that seemed to afford the easiest and shortest path to the top. The more active soon distanced the less strong, and as the sun glanced from their bright arms, the effect was striking. The morning was still cool, the air was redolent of perfumed herbs, while the chorus of birds, so seldom heard in the part of Italy to which I have been accustomed, re-echoed along the sides of the mountain as I climbed slowly up on my bobtailed mule. The lark rose high in the air, and warbled her notes as she ascended.

Qual lodoletta che'n aere si spazia
Prima cantando, e poi tace contenta
Dell’ ultima dolcezza che la Sazia.
DANTE, Paradiso, xx. 73.

“Like to the lark that, warbling in the air, expatiates long, then trilling out her last sweet note, drops satiate with the sweetness.” As we approached the top, nature assumed a wilder appearance; trees and plants of a colder climate began to show themselves. The beech and oak were growing most luxuriantly, and had acquired a large size, but there was one spot where a tremendous storm had cleared the face of the mountain of every tree which had once covered it. Some were torn up by the roots, others were broken across, showing the enormous force which nature had here employed. It was not merely a few trees, but the devastation extended for upwards of a mile, till a curve in the direction of the hill had broken the force of the tempest. I had never seen such a wonderful exhibition of the force of nature. As we approached the top, I pushed rapidly forward, that I might have time to look around. On reaching it, I was startled to see a party of armed men under the trees, and expected to be at once in the midst of a bloody mêlée. One of the soldiers, however, relieved my alarm by stating that it was a body of men sent to meet us at the most dangerous point. It was a spot well adapted for the purpose of attack, as the soldiers would reach it worn out by the fatigue of the ascent. There was scarcely any level ground on the top; the descent became now much more gradual, and the . wandered across a broad valley to the lofty and dark mountains of the

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