of equal or minor note in the various cities where I had resided, and everywhere I had been struck by the predicatore's deep and rich-toned voice, his rapid, yet singularly impressive delivery, the poetical estro, and the daring energy of his conceptions and expressions,-all so highly calculated to work upon the feelings of a people essentially imaginative and impassioned. Nor is this surprising, for as in Italy it is not incumbent on the priesthood to preach, unless they possess the talents and requisites that may enable them to shine in the pulpit, no one attempts it who does not feel that it is his peculiar vocation, or that he is at least adequate to the task.

An Italian predicatore is always, therefore, a picked man, often a poet and a genius by nature,-rarely, if ever, a common-place one.

What then must be the power of a language, all poetry, on the lips of men like these, flashing with the enthusiasm of their country, and with whom, moreover, elocution is a science, studied as profoundly as ever was that of Cicero or Demosthenes, and spontaneous as well as studied?

I remember seeing a bare-footed Franciscan preaching in the Colosseum, whose eloquent declamation and pathetic appeals to the crucifix he held in one hand,-rude and untaught as they were,-were most striking, and seemed to make quite as great an impression on the contadini and confraternità who knelt around him, as the loftiest harangue that ever echoed through the Forum. He would have been an improvisatore had he not been a friar.

The predica lasted another hour, for it was not actually a sermon but rather an istruzione or discourse, otherwise it would not have been so prolonged, though it was too original and characteristic to be tedious, to me at least. But the best was to come. The preacher concluded at last, and it was time, for no lungs, except Italian ones, could have supported the rack and tear that his had undergone during the two preceding hours. He was replaced by another, and now came the crême de la crême of the night.

Pour le coup! I could scarcely believe my ears. The remplaçant began in a long monotonous sort of cantilena; every sentence concluding in a drawling, lingering note, that sank into the lowest baso,—a something between the howling of the wind on a gusty night, and the last tone of the voga, voga, ritournelle of a fisherman's song in the distance. But the song or chaunt of the priest - for literally it could be called by no other name-was far more peculiar and strange than anything I had ever before heard. I was at a loss to decide whether the effect produced was more burlesque than solemn, or vice versa. As the preacher continued, however, I ceased to think of the singularity of the manner, in the still greater curiosity of the subject.

It was neither more nor less than an account of hell,—bonâ fide, hell! - given with all the graphic detail and luxuriating broderie of an eye-witness. Never surely was mortal- always excepting the divine Alighieri so profoundly initiated into the mysteries of Cocito. I doubt that he was half as well acquainted with the ins and outs of that most puzzling of labyrinths, the old city of Naples, so minute were his description of the streets and alleys of the infernal regions.

And it must be confessed that the picture was by no means a flattering After depicting in glowing terms the fiery furnaces in which the anime dannate were to fiz and fry,-ever consuming and never con

one.

sumed, lest the contingency of being broiled should not be sufficiently terrific to the habitués of a Neapolitan sun, he added,

“But, figliuoli miei, do not fancy that you can open a window to cool yourselves, and let in the brezza marina. There are no windows in lo inferno;-there are no ventolini to refresh you ;-there is no sea to jump in and out of all day, and swim about come tanti pesci. No!— there is not even a bicchierino d' acqua fresca to moisten your lips, were they ever so parched. The air is burning as the breath of Vesuvius and the Mongibello. The rivers are all liquid flame. The ground is all paved with red-hot lava that never cools, in which the dannati shall lie, while showers of red-hot pomice shall fall on them incessantly: and do not imagine that they can twist and turn from side to side to scansare the shower, or to repose in a cooler position; as they fall so they must remain, fitti to all eternity,-some with their heads upwards, and some their heels,-chi col capo all' ingiù, e chi ʼn coppa,— some on their backs, and some faccia 'n terra, to all eternity, as the Calabrese brigands do with the viandanti."

At this point of his discourse I was half inclined to interrupt the preacher by a bravo, so just did it seem to me that the birboni should be victimized in kind, though, to my shame be it spoken, the tout ensemble had several times brought to my mind the ignoble comparison of red herrings in a barrel. But it was infinitely more terrific than absurd, to the rest of the auditory.

Nothing but exclamations of "Gesù ! Gesù !" " Domine!" appeals to San Gennaro and the whole community of saints, mingling with cries of "Madonna mia!" and "O, Maria Santissima, aggiate pieta di noi poveretti," and every other imaginable exclamation of terror and distress, was to be heard around,-certainly not a concert of sweet sounds at all events. But as the padre went on heightening the picture, describing the howling of the demons, and their gambols with pitchforks, prongs, and uncini, in the most approved style of Danteschi horrors; the whole scene became "confusion worse confounded:" sobs were converted into shrieks; where before they had beat their breasts, they now tore their hair; two or three women fainted, or appeared to do so; some of the men roared, and others almost yelled. It was a perfect representation of the "weeping and gnashing of teeth, in the outer darkness;" or rather it was Pandemonium broke loose.

I began to feel a little nervous; though I could not resist smiling at the ludicrous sight of two bronze-hued, weather-beaten lazzari, who had fallen on their knees beside me, and were alternately wiping their eyes with their shirt-sleeves, and blubbering like a couple of over-grown infants.

"You had better come away, there is nothing more to be seen; it will be very soon over, and then you will find it exceedingly disagreeable to be jostled about in such a canaille."

The speaker was Don Raffaele L, who had forced his way through the crowd, in order to assist me out of it. As I had just been thinking of the expediency of a retreat, I gladly accepted his escort; and, thanks to his and the servant's exertions, we at last emerged into the open air.

It was delicious to breathe freely once more, though I regretted ex

ceedingly that I had not been able to see it out; for I had been told that the grand finale was the most curious of all.

At the conclusion of the funzione, the Marchese L had witnessed the priest, suiting the action to the word, dip his fingers into a bowl of phosphorus, scattering its blue flames about in every direction, like the eau bénite from a goupillon, on the people, on the pulpit, where they lighted like ignes fatui, casting such a ghastly hue on the preacher, and every one in his vicinity, as to make them resemble very much the demons he pourtrayed; while a fearful rattling of chains resounded from beneath his feet.

Such at least was the account, word for word, given to me; and which many persons assured me, so far from being either imaginary or exaggerated, was by no means unusual. Nor should I in the least doubt it, even had I heard it on more questionable authority, as I have myself seen many things quite as extraordinary.

the

Nothing could be more refreshing than our walk homewards, along gay and glittering Chiaja. As we threaded our way in and out of the various groups of servants, guarda portoni, facchini, and idlers of every description, who, in this less aristocratic part of the Riviera, were taking the fresco, either seated outside their doors, or lounging, chattering, singing, and laughing amongst themselves, and impeding, if not exactly the trottoir, at least that which ought to be, if anything so plebeian as pedestrians had ever been calculated for on the elegant Riviera di Chiaja, the breeze sultry as it was, seemed quite cool, after the mephitic vapour I had been inhaling for the last three hours.

Yet on the whole, canaille, suffocation and all, I would have undergone that martyrdom again, sooner than not have heard "the missione," which, in singularity and characteristicness, had far surpassed my utmost expectation; for the Marchese S had rather softened than heightened the colouring of the picture.

It was one of the most curious episodes of the manners and nationality of the most original and picturesque people in Europe.

"Well, what did you think of it?" said Don Raffaele at last. "Why, I thought it very amusing."

"And very absurd?"

"Un pochino, I confess."

"Of course, I knew it must be even more choquant to you than to us. Pepino should not have persuaded you to go. It was no place for you, oltre its casting a ridicule on us all. But remember, that in this, as in all things, il faut faire la part du peuple. The discourse you heard tonight was intended for the very dregs of the people; and however much we, and all enlightened Catholics, and you know that il n'en manque pas, either in Naples or in any other part of Italy, may deplore the means used as a check upon them, we are forced to admit their expediency. Nothing but the material terrors inspired by their confessors, and by such prediche as you heard to-night, would have the least influence on their furious passions and brute ignorance; anything of a better order would be unintelligible to them. You will say perhaps that the mob in your country do not require such a curb; but it is absurd to attempt a comparison between English and Italians. You cannot judge us by yourselves. The English are a cold-blooded nation, e noi altri abbiamo zolfo nelle vene."

"I am not afraid of trusting our character in the hands of the signorina," interrupted the Marchese. "She is half Italian herself, and can therefore judge us impartially and correctly. But what arouses my indignation are the libels of the ignorant and insolent tourists, who come upon us every winter like a swarm of locusts; and after spending a few months amongst a people, of whose language they do not understand twenty words, nor speak ten, and that little imperfectly, presume to criticise our manners, morals, and minds; of which they know about as much as they can see-without comprehending-in the street; par extraordinaire, at some ambassador's ball perhaps, or pick up from the laquais de place."

The Marchese's accusations were only too just. Can anything be more ludicrous than the descriptions of travellers, like the late one, who talks of the "instruments striking up the moment the Pope entered the Sistina chapel?"—a thing against all rule and precedent, no instrument being ever permitted in it, the "human voice divine" performing all the music! Equally good are this gentleman's observations on seeing! the busts of "celebrated men" in the Pantheon, whence they have been removed these last fifty years to the Pinacoteca of the Capitol, where he might have seen them on any day!

Nor are such gross errors as these by any means uncommon. What can we think, for example, of the fair writer, who, in one of her late novels, actually transports to Rome, by a stroke of her pen, the Toledo! from Naples, and the Palazzo Strozzi from Florence? displays her knowledge of Italian by christening the "maggior domo," "maggior d'uomo!" through three volumes? and has the cruelty, or the courage, to lodge an English ducal family in the Via Tordenona-the street in question being the narrowest, dirtiest, and darkest of Roman thoroughfares; and one of the few, moreover, which has not a single palazzo in its whole length, and scarcely even a house that is not inhabited by the very lowest orders, as every one knows who has ever traversed it on his way to St. Peter's. So much for the lady's savoir of the language and topography of the "eternal city."

""Tis a pity when charming women

Talk of things which they don't understand."

Of what value then must be the observations or critiques of such "voyageurs autour de ma chambre," when they print such inconceivable blunders, as the most ignorant laquais de place, or the most trifling of guide-books, might have taught them to avoid?

LIONI.

WOMAN'S LOVELINESS.

She was too lovely far for earth,

A flower too fragile to be planted here,
Too beautiful for one of mortal birth,

She seemed a creature of a brighter sphere!
Angelic sweetness beam'd in ev'ry smile,

Smiles that we view in dreamings of the blest,
An angel's form and look was her's, the while
A woman's heart of love beat in her breast!

University College, Durham.

305

A PEEP AT SOCIETY

TAKEN BY ALFRED CROWQUILL.

SOCIETY, according to Johnson, means fraternity; refer to the letter F for fraternity, and you will find that it means society; so that strictly speaking society means nothing more nor less than that best of all compacts, a brotherly one. Look for society in the world, and you soon discover that it means anything but fraternity, and that poor human nature has chosen an inappropriate word to designate its mixings and political minglings with the everyday world.

Good society, in fashionable parlance, does not strictly mean a moral and instructive companionship with the highly gifted or good, but a clique surrounded by a barrier of titles or riches, deeply learned in escutcheons and the "Court Guide," and very particular about knowing only particular people; for none, according to the existing codes of good society, can by any possibility be admitted into the charmed circle, without having the hall-mark of the fashionable few. This rule is rarely departed from except in the case of a Lion; here the creature, either from fear or love, although plebeian, is admitted for a season to be stared at or stare, that he may lay a soft paw on his flatterers if he be literary, or autograph and sketch in the avalanche of albums if he be a painter.

Good or fashionable society admits of very little fraternity, as the word is understood by lexicographers, for the youth even of this society are never permitted to what is termed "come out," before they have by the aid of experienced tutors been fully instructed in the manners and habits of their seniors as to how to salute, smile, &c., in fact, come out little ready-made men and women; this freezing up of all the channels to the heart is called etiquette, which also teaches them to look upon the world as a show-room, through which they have to walk and talk according to the prescribed rules of their order, and above all never to allow this highly-polished mask to be disarranged before the multitude.

The lady of ton (ton means a certain number of people where there is no society) goes through with charming nonchalance the warmths of her friendship, which calls for a very little exertion of those vulgar things called feelings; a scented billet invites her to some dear friend's soirée; her amanuensis answers in acceptation, and she goes as late as she can on the appointed evening, when she crawls up a crowded staircase into a mobbed saloon, where she smiles most bewitchingly on her dear friend the hostess, who returns another equally charming smile as she receives her, quite delighted to see her so crushed and crowded, as it adds to the éclat of her party. New arrivals thrust them asunder, and the lady guest departs with the determination to outshine her friend at her own approaching party by the number of her invitations, in hopes that they may not be able to get into her house, though they are sure all to get into the "Morning Post," where she would really rather see them than in her house, the fact being that they are only in the one that they