vineyard at the foot of the mountain, half hid in Indian corn, and with festoons of grapes falling all round it; a painting of the black Madonna is in the centre recess; she is represented wearing a crown, and a white veil, and covered with necklaces and numerous ornaments.

As I walked down the mountain I could not help picturing to myself this place in the olden time, and the various scenes that must have passed on the very pathway on which I trod. I could imagine the wounded warrior returning from the crusades, with his worn-out followers,

Streaming the ensign of the christian cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens,
And toiled with works of war,

and brought to this holy shrine to breathe his last.

To give his body to this pleasant country's earth,

And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,

Under whose colours he hath fought so long.

I imagined that I saw the torn and dimmed banners of the cross, as they moved slowly

along with the litter of the dying man, who hopes to reach this sacred shrine alive, and there to receive that absolution from his sins which his high deeds and knightly fame achieved in defence of the holy sepulchre made him hope for.

Or I could imagine the procession of pilgrims with staff in hand, in the suite of some pious prelate, stopping to say a paternoster at the now ruined crosses; a bright glowing sun shining on the rich plains below, covered with vineyards, and spotted with churches and villages, a clear bright heaven above striped with vivid tints of orange hue, and purple clouds gradually blending into that celestial azure, only seen in the south of Europe, and the bells of the neighbouring convents and of the churches in the plain sounding Ave-Maria,

Squilla di Contano,

Che paja il giorno pianger che' si muore ;

DANTE.

and the procession of pilgrims prostrating themselves in silent prayer, until darkness closes

round, when they proceed on their weary way to the illuminated monastery above, with its idols sparkling with silver and gold and jewels. What a religion was this for enthusiasts, and for uninstructed men! a religion that to think of only, acquires a power over the imagination, from which the reasoning powers can alone protect it.

Returning through the town of Avellino, we took the road made by Murat, across the country, to Salerno, a road magnificent in breadth and beauty; the descent from Avellino is into an immense plain surrounded by mountains, by a zigzag road, as are most of the descents from the Apennines; and here the gens d'armes insisted on accompanying us to protect us, as they declared, from the Ladri who infested that part of the country. In the plain is the ruined church and town of Sanseverino. In the church are some curious old tombs of the ancient family of that name, formerly princes of Salerno. On one of these tombs is carved the figure

of a prince of Sanseverino, in the dress of those days-a dress half courtierlike, half warlike. He carries a spear; the robe is short, the ruff is Spanish, and the head uncovered. Ferrante Sanseverino, prince of Salerno, was the last of this noble family; he was the friend and patron of Bernardo Tasso the Poet; and of his son, Torquato Tasso, the still greater Poet. The prince of Salerno's adventures are curious and romantic, having accompanied the Emperor Charles the Fifth, in his expedition to Tunis, and dying in exile in France, after having led a life full of strife and toil.

The hills around Sanseverino have remains of castles, the former residences of petty princes, who lived habitually in a state of warfare with each other; Gulerno and Tarrento, and many of these petty states being often attached to the territory of the crown, or given to some great family, from whom they were taken away, as it became expedient. There is not any scenery in Italy more beautiful than that seen from this mountain

road. It is, literally speaking, surrounded by a land of corn, wine, and oil. The road is covered with olives and chestnuts that drop from the trees, and heavy festoons of grapes sweep the ground with their weight. The country has an appearance of great comfort and of high civilisation. Many of the large farmhouses were originally convents, or belonged to the nobles of the land. The large court-yards have wells in the centre, surrounded by heavy balustrades, with armorial bearings upon them carved in stone; and having orange trees and cypresses near. The effect of these ancient wells is most picturesque.

The people in the villages look healthy and industrious, and invited us with great kindness to enter their gardens and partake of their grapes. Here and there a large oak is seen, but the trees in general are chestnut, olive, cherry, or stone pine. The remains of Norman and Saracenic architecture are surrounded by the superb Indian fig and aloes, which