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the very first, called a Guide to Pilgrims through Italy. Miraculous relics, the images of the Virgin, etc., occupied three-fourths of the volume; but columns, antiques, etc., were characterised by Christian names, and chiefly called after the Apostles. About the end of the seventeenth century, the descriptions of Italy properly begin to assume a more independent character. Of these so many have been published in German, that as a branch of literature, they have fallen into disrepute. Among the English, the earliest that is worthy of mention is Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury, who, you know, in 1685, travelled an involuntary exile through France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Religion and politics are the principal theme of his observations, and as you well know, they are those of a zealous Protestant and whig on all such subjects. My favourite author, Addison, in 1705, published his remarks on several parts of Italy, confining himself almost wholly to antiquities, and interlarding his descriptions with numerous poetical extracts. Then follows John Breval and Edward Wright, (1727,) followed by Blainville, naturalised in England, and published in 1742. These authors have been designated classical travellers, as their remarks are chiefly directed to the classical antiquities of Italy. Poor Smollett, whose bones are in the English burying-ground of Leghorn, wrote his travels when in declining health, and they, as

well as Sharpe's, are full of a morbid querulousness, treating chiefly of modern Italy and its inhabitants. Our townsman, Dr. John Moore, who travelled with Douglas, Duke of Hamilton, is still read with interest; and his view of society and manners in Italy is rich in characteristic anecdotes. The German descriptions of Italy are characterised either by a minute collection of facts, without much attention to agreeable arrangement, or that romantic imagination which arrays the whole country in heavenly colours, and would inhale fragrance even from the Pontine marshes. Goethe's fragments on Italy, published the end of last century, belong to this class of works.

LETTER TWENTY-THIRD.

SIENA, October, 18—,

MY DEAR

I had expected, ere now, that my compagnon de voyage would have gone forward to Rome, as he intended to do, having made me promise to accompany him, but he seems so abime by the fascinating charms of the little duchess, that his leaving Florence depends entirely on her movements, and she had not yet fixed the exact period of her departure, and seems rather averse to leave the gay atmosphere of Florence, and return to that more gloomy and familiar of the eternal city. I have, therefore, determined to make a run down to Siena, which he must pass through on his way to Rome, and I shall remain and examine everything worth seeing about this ancient seat of a Republic, when I shall accompany him. I accordingly repaired to the Piazza Grande, where the Vetturini are assembled, and engaged a place in one of their carriages, which was to

leave next morning at four o'clock. They are something like our mail coaches, but smaller-four insideluggage on the top-drawn by four splendid mules, the Vetturino sitting on a bar in front, but walking up all the hills, and often running alongside. They always leave at an early hour, and generally go half the distance in the cool of the morning, when they halt for several hours, performing the rest of the journey in the evening. It seems, indeed, more after the manner of a sea voyage than a land journey; for the Vetturino, at a very small charge, carries you about forty miles a-day, giving you two substantial meals and a bed. These men look more like Spaniards than Italians, wearing a sombrero, with jacket, waistcoat, and inexpressibles, covered with innumerable buttons-sunburnt, brawny, athletic, fine looking fellows, such as you would suppose would easily become brigands, a sort of unwelcome visitors with which some of the Italian roads are infested. At Naples I am told the Vetturini are a most characteristic and extraordinary class, many of them are rather wealthy, and have strong, excellent small carriages, with wheels of a strength never seen in our country, and four superb mules, seventeen hands high, with which they will carry you, on the plan I have mentioned, from Naples to Vienna, from Naples to Madrid, from Naples to Paris, or even from Naples to Calais. A lady and gentleman were in the carriage with me, natives of Saxony, very

agreeable persons for Germans, and we had a great deal of pleasant conversation in French. After going twenty-five miles we rested for four hours, had a splendid dejeuner a la fourchette, always plenty of maccheroni; sauntered about a lovely Italian village for some time, then passed the remainder in a comfortable snooze, after early rising, till the Vetturino was ready to commence the second part of the journey. The mules had had a long rest, and seemed more fresh than they had been in the morning-being, of all animals, the best adapted to a warm climate So we trotted on the other fifteen miles delightfully towards the walls of the ancient city, and entered the gate where, by an inscription over it in large letters, Siena is said, with open arms, to welcome the coming stranger. I was, of course, conducted with my German companions to the principal hotel of the cityif hotel it could be called-and we were ushered through a gloomy hall and broad staircase into a large saloon, much darker. We were still under the auspices of the Vetturino, and of course the substantial supper now laid down was included in his charge. It consisted of some excellent soup, with vermicelli, a piece of manzo or stewed grown veal, in a mass of maccheroni, a roast fowl stuffed with garlic, and fagioli-a sort of small kidney bean-in accompaniment, succeeded by some sweet pasticcio, and fruit in abundance. To each plate

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