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loftier position of Camaldoli, dwindled into insignificance-only the volcano looked high, and Sant' Angelo burying its head in clouds. Capri, severed from the main land, forms a natural break-water, defending the Bay of Naples against the furious gales from the southward, of which we had now an excellent example. But although we enjoyed the sublimity of the storm, and, I believe, said something about "the breezy call of incensebreathing morn," yet we looked with rather grim anticipation at the huge curling waves that rolled in long ridges between us and the opposite cape. We agreed, that although three weeks might be agreeably spent in this island by those who had come di proposito, yet to become detenus by the gods of the winds and waves for that period, (no uncommon occurrence,) would be a

25th. We were mounted on our donkeys, and following the winding path that leads to the eastern cliff, before the sun was up. Capri, at this end, grows narrow, while, mounting gradually from the centre, it shoots up into a tall rocky headland. On the barren sloping sides of this ridge, the soil has been arrested on its way downward by numberless terraces, forming little slips of land, frequently not two yards wide, but all cultivated with the most thrifty industry. These little plantations were now quite brilliant with the emerald hue of the "canapa" and the young wheat, which contrasted beautifully with the grey ash-coloured olive, and the orange groves of darkest green, which filled the valley, and the sheltered hollows on the sides of the long ascent. We passed the bold ruin of an octagonal tower called the Pharos, and next came to the Palace" bore,"-and, besides, prevent fifty of Tiberius. Of this edifice, three spacious halls, and some very extensive substructions, all showing the admirable masonry of that period, remain.

This worthy recluse is said to have built twelve villas upon his favourite island, and the ruins of an amphitheatre, and other tokens of imperial residence, are shown. Some of those precious articles, too, which are screened from the public gaze in the "camera degli oggetti riservati" of the Museum of Naples, were found here. However, forgetting this, we were called upon to admire the commanding situation of the building, so often remarked of antique residences. Climbing to the top of the hermitage, which stands within the precincts of the palace, and upon the verge of the highest cliff, we found ourselves apparently 500 feet above the sea, which rolled beneath. The rival bays of Naples and Sorento lay extended before us; the high promontory which separates them, crossed by the rugged ridge of Sant' Angelo, taking its root in both gulfs, stretches out to within three miles of Capri. The morning broke over the site of Pestum, and painted, in gorgeous colours, the heavy clouds which the south wind had raised during the night. We could trace the continued range of buildings in the other bay, by a broad white line, extending, for several miles, from the extremity of Posilipo, to the foot of Vesuvius. But, at this distance, objects were very much diminished. St Elmo, and even the

other rambles which we had on hand. And then we thought of St Helena and its late residents, the association being natural; for Capri was, in Murat's time, commanded by Sir Hudson Lowe, and was a station for a British squadron, until lost, non so come, to an assailing party from the shore. After paying the old grey-headed Capucin, who is dignified with the title of Hermit, for tossing some stones down the cliff to satisfy us of its height and perpendicular elevation, we returned to our inn

and, after breakfast, proceeded to the western end of the island. Riding along the valley, we came to a range of rocks fronting to the centre of the place, and completely dividing it into an upper and a lower table of land, while it forms an inaccessible boundary between them. A flight of 530 steps, the only ascent, leads to a smooth and fertile plain, sloping from these high cliffs to the sea. In the midst of this plain, and embosomed in gardens, stands Ano Capri, a happy little town, enjoying a delightful climate from its elevation-and, from its secluded position, having a peculiar air of serenity and stillness. We climbed to the Fortezza di Barbarossa, a ruined Gothic tower perched upon the loftiest range of precipices; and then, bidding farewell to this upper world, we dipped below its rim, and sought again the beach, having resolved to make an effort to cross over to Massa. As soon as our boat shot past the towering rock which is crowned by the imperial ruin,

she began to feel the dire tossing of the frothy waves; and our boatmen, though some of the stoutest of the sinewy islanders, strained as they leaned at full length over their oars. In these seas, the oarsman always stands to row, and pushes, instead of pulling towards him the oar, affirming that more power is gained in this way. Be this as it may, we had a very difficult task of it, and got so confoundedly sick, that we resolved to abjure all island excursions for the future, and wished that Tiberius had taken his cursed rocks with him, when he made his exit, instead of leaving them "in the wide wide sea," as a trap to the curious. These angry feelings, however, were dissipated when we glided into the sheltered haven of Massa, where all was sunny, and warm, and still; and when we heard the noontide chirrupping of the CIGALA, and the lazy song of the fishermen, as they sat mending their nets. We lingered here to let the detestable feelings of the "mal-di-mare" go off, comforting ourselves with rosolio, and basking in the sun until we were restored; then we piled our baggage upon the back of a galant'uomo," or peasant, and began our march to Sorento. The road leads through a most beautiful, populous country, facing the setting sun, and therefore very forward. The plain of Sorento is a semicircle of two or three miles long, bordered by high cliffs towards the sea, and girt in by an amphitheatre of lofty, picturesque hills. Three principal towns, and innumerable white buildings of different kinds, are dispersed about, not groves, but forests of orange, and blossoming almond and peach trees, mingled with vines, pomegranates, myrtles, and unnumbered aromatic and flowering shrubs. It is, in short, a sort of paradise, famous for calves, and donkeys as big and as obstinate as mules, and the fattest woman upon earth, who keeps the dirtiest Locanda nobile that ever went by that title. Donna Rosa (certainly a full-blown one) welcomed us to her pig-sty, and promised to provide sumptuously for our entertainment, while, to give her time, we walked to the home of Tasso.

This stands upon the edge of the cliff, that is to say, such part of it as did not tumble down into the sea, some time back, and which happens to be the only part not actually inhabited

by the poet. With this omen of disappointment on our minds, we returned to satisfy our appetite, (now considerably revived from its temporary extinction by the "moving accidents by sea,") with the dishes which the odious ingenuity of our hostess had prepared. We were assisted in our search after something eatable, among the farrago of messes set before us, by two comely daughters of the "house, who, with that familiarity which pervades the manners of all classes in this free and easy land, were lolling upon the table, mingling in the conversation, and puffing off their dishes."Ma, come Signore! non lei piace quest' umido ?"-" Caro lei e buonissimo, eccellente cosa stupenda!”— "Oibo! quanto sono curiosi questi Inglesi!" After coffee, the old lady proposed that we should hear some music; and, at our request, one of the "ragazze"-Signora Manuela-stood up with a young brother to dance the Tarantella; while a lad who was there played the guitar, and the "signora madre" beat the tambourine, and sang a sort of monotonous ditty, shaking her fat sides with the greatest expression of delight. This national dance is very lively, and resembles a Spanish bolero; the performers snapping their fingers in imitation of castanets, while they advance and retire, and chase each other about in a variety of evolutions. Donna Rosa regretted much that her unwieldy proportions prevented her from exhibiting in the Tarantella-but displayed her musical talents by singing over all the popular airs of the place, until, exhausted with her efforts, she called off her "bambine," as she styled them, and left us to repose.

26th. We rode to-day through the same rich country to Vico; and then, by a most abominable road, along the precipitous base of Monte S. Angelo, to Castellamare; where, finding the rainy weather, which had just set in, likely to be of some days' continuance, we took a carriage home to Naples. And here we were again fortunate; for, after three days of incessant rain, from a sudden change in the wind, Vesuvius was seen white with snow, and the sour aspect of winter kept all ramblers within doors.

S.

SIR,

M. GODEFROY.

TO THE EDITOR OF BLACK WOOD'S MAGAZINE.

IN the article on America, contained in your 95th Number, are some well-earned compliments to a gentleman of splendid talents, the architect of some of the most important buildings in the United States, M. Godefroy, who, as your correspondent observes with great truth, was starved out in America." There is, however, one point in which he is mistaken, and I am sure you will allow me a corner to set the matter in its proper light.

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The writer of the article in question has represented part of the design of one of the churches-erected under his superintendence, to be " a plagiarism from the St Stephen's of Sir Christopher Wren." The plan may be in some respects the same, but the merit of the design, as of its completion, belongs to M. Godefroy, who never saw any elevation of St Stephen's, till he saw the church itself on his arrival in England for the first time, in 1818, many years after his own was entirely finished.

While on this subject I feel an irresistible desire to rescue this heroic and truly noble character from the obscurity in which he is now living in the neighbourhood of the metropolis. He indeed deserves a better fate. In the war of La Vendee, he was one of the most distinguished leaders. At his own expense he raised and equipped a regiment for the King, fought, bled, and, after being left for dead on the field, was imprisoned, and ultimately exiled for his unexampled exertions for the Royal cause; but the brightest part of his character remains to be told. After undergoing the horrors of solitary confinement in a fortress in the Pyrenees, M. Godefroy (properly Count St Mard) effected his escape, but being a nobleman of high rank, and determined bravery, his escape was soon discovered, and he was hunted by gens d'armes, and even by bloodhounds, in the mountains, a price

set upon his head, and with no sustenance but acorns for 27 days. Provi dence, however, favoured his exertions, and he found himself in a foreign country safe from his enemies. In the meantime, the commandant of the fortress had been cited by Fouché to answer for the escape of his prisoner. This reached the ear of the Count, who did not hesitate on the line of conduct he ought to adopt. He hastened back to his prison, and saved the life of his gaoler, at the sacrifice of his own liberty, and (as he had every reason to suppose) of his life.

That such a man should be in a state of destitution, with the talents he possesses, and the trials he has undergone, is a melancholy reflection. He deserves to be better known-his high sense of honour, his unimpeachable integrity, his splendid acquirements in the arts and sciences, and in literature, combined with his high rank and former station in society, proclaim him an ornament to his own or any other country. I offer this tribute of justice to his character without his knowledge or consent, and without any communication with him (direct or indirect) on the subject. My object is not to solicit pecuniary assistance-such a measure would hurt his feelings, and, if known to him, call forth from him an immediate disclaimer. There is, however, a mode by which he may be essentially served. His military education led him to the study of fortification, and thence of architecture, in which, if his abilities were once called into action, he would soon acquire the means of procuring ease and comfort at a period of life, when, with a body shattered by wounds, and a mind broken by misfortunes, his sufferings must need alleviation.

I have the honour to be,
Sir,

Your very obedient servant,
A. B.

London, February 19, 1825.

APRIL NONSENSE.

A Fragment.

I.

THIS being the first of April, we intend

To launch out on our theme without a fetter; And, All-Fools-Day to foolery being friend, Really, the more absurd we are the better: The Muse upon a Hunt-the-Gowk we'll send,

To roam the world at large; in short, we'll let her Tread where she lists the pastures of the season, Smirk in her sleeve, and crack her thumbs at Reason.

II.

Look through thy telescope-what dost thou 'spy? Nay, jade, behave thyself, and smooth thy cheeks; Lo! Bentham weaving systems for the sky;

Jack Bowring growing purse-proud on the Greeks; Westminster Mill down-pommelling Jeffrey's fry; And Place up both to articles and breeks;

The word is vulgar in these nicest times,
However, we can't help it—for it rhymes.

III.

Behold Francisculus-behold how great

Is Blue and Yellow on the Writer Tam, Ope but the board, you meet him at the gate Before Brougham's bungle, or MacCulloch's bam; Oh, yes! the world hath nothing seen of late So powerful as Theodric, flim and flam, Butter and splutter; oh, we can assure a Feast in the Ritter Ban, and Reullura.

IV.

Really, since first we learn'd the A, B, C,
We ne'er clapp'd eyes upon a cleverer thing;
The bantam Frankie, with a crow so free,

To speckled Gertrude sidles with spruce wing;
As fond of love as Cockneys of Bohea;

And jaunty as a crocus in green Spring; Sweet, pretty creature! pity ye're so little, Running some small risk of Derision's spittle.

V.

What have we next? Beneath a Lion's skin,
Behold an Ass!-How splendidly he kicks!
Heavens! was not that a most majestic grin !
Diable Boiteux! the Devil on Two Sticks!
Look how he rears!-well, ne'er our life within
Had we such fun; in melody how mix
The growl and bray,-again! he never wearies,
Still scraughtier, and still funnier, a New Series!

VI.

Lo! how they waltz-quadrille-and reel-and jig—
Lambs with long horns, and Donkies with long ears,
Wicompte with French coat, driveller with white wig,
Cockneys with teapots, Taylors with their shears;
Sleek-headed dunderpates, with paunches big,
Phrenologers to sense in long arrears,
Astronomers pursuing falling stars,

And poets blundering hymns to Dianars!

VII.

Well, that is purty;-lo! a fresh battalion-
There, with a wishing-cap upon his pate,
Liunto reigns; beside him sighs Pygmalion→→

He weeps for Sally, and his pimpled state!
While proud Prince Johnny, on a spavin'd stallion,
Canters to Hampstead with a breech elate;
Note ye his jacket-know ye not his hurry?
He's off with Tims to 'unt the 'ares in Surrey.

NORTH.

Stop, stop, ODoherty. Make a halt in time, or I could swear you will grow personal.

ODOHERTY.

Phoo, phoo-you are turning devilish nice. (Crumples the MS. together, and lights his cigar with it in a huff.)

PROMENADE DE TIVOLI.

Air, the Sprig of Shillelah, &c.

1.

O, France is the region of caricature,

And a regular Frenchman's a gig to be sure,

With his apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat;
We visit his country to guttle and scoff,

He sips his eau-sucre, feels ne'er the worse off;

We laugh at his bowing and jerking address ;

He laughs at our strut and our swagger no less

With his apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat.

2.

On the day that poor Blanchard's balloon was o'erset,
A Briton and Frenchman together I met,

Tight stays, arm in arm with the plum-colour'd coat:
"Don't ask me," says Bull, " I have witness'd the whole,
I'd have risk'd my own neck to have saved the poor soul."
"Mon Dieu!" said the Gaul, with a shrug and a stare,
"C'est affreux ! je fremis!-mais, ce n'est mon affaire"
-Curse his apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat.

3.

Just then, the bluff Briton ran foul in his haste,
Of a quiet old man with a Croix de Malte graced,

In apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat;
My countryman cried-" D-n your eyes, who are you?"
The Frenchman said, calmly, "Mille pardons, Monsieur."
Thought I, a brave man should be civil and mild,

I blush'd for old England, and felt reconciled

To the apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat.

4.

Next the famous Montagnes à la Russe we espied,

And our friend, the young Frenchman, must needs have a ride,
With his apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat.
"How childish," quoth Bull, " in a go-cart to fly !"—

"I crave to dissent, as a sportsman," quoth I,

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I like flying leaps, though I oft risk a limb,

And flying down hill may be pleasant to him,

With his apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat."

5.

Here's a health to good fellows who serve their king well,
Ne'er mind if in France or in England they dwell,

Wear swallow-tail'd jerkin or plum-colour'd coat:
We have proved to the world that both parties can fight,
Let us live on good terms, and shun cowardly spite;
Exchange our good points, and our bad ones amend,
And swallow-tail'd jerkin shake hands as a friend,

With apple-green breeches and plum-colour'd coat,

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