with hundreds of cockroaches creeping around the bottom and sides of the dim-lighted cavern. The process of decomposition, aided by quick-lime, which is always thrown in with the dead bodies, goes on rapidly, and by the end of the year nothing remains but skeletons and dust. There is another Campo Santo, in the vicinity of Naples, for the higher classes, beautifully adorned with marble tombs, trees and shrubs; the one we have described is used for the common people, lazzaroni and others; and nothing in all Naples so impresses a stranger with the low tone of morals and religion, which can admit of such a mode of sepulture. But let us leave this unpleasant subject, and return into the city. We are again in the Strada Toledo, with the lively crowd who think nothing of death and the graye. It is a holyday, and thousands of well-dressed people are passing gaily along, on foot or in carriages. Here is a fine opportunity to observe the features of the people. The men look well, but the ladies are amazingly homely. In fact, we have seen more ugly women in Naples than in any other large city we have ever visited. They appear cheerful and vivacious, dress gaily and converse fluently; but except their black, good-natured eyes, they have little in their brown complexions and irregular features, to attract attention. Those who are acquainted with society in Naples say, that the women, even among what may be called the educated classes, though lively, are exceedingly trivial and vain, and by no means distinguished for virtue. They are under the control of the priests, and regard a flaunting carriage and a magnificent dress, as the summum bonum of human life. But enough of this. We abandon our street-rambling for the present, and promise something more profitable in the succeeding chapter. CHAPTER XX. Literature of Naples-Sannazzaro-Costanzo-Marini-" Fading Beauty"— Italian Philosophers-Mirandola-Neapolitan Philosophers-Vico-The "New Science”—Closing paragraph of the "Scienza Novella”-Genovesi-Giannone-Filangieri. WE have visited with closed lips and beating heart the smoking crater of Mount Vesuvius; we have wandered, in the hush of evening, through the silent streets and tombs of Pompeii, and penetrated, by torch-light, into the dim theatres and marble halls of Herculaneum; we have gazed upon the wonders of ancient art in the Museo Borbonico, lingered in the hall of Apollo and the Muses, and feasted our eyes upon the majestic statues of Marcus Balbus and his son, consuls of Rome, the glorious busts of Plato, Cicero, Pompey, Vespasian and Titus. We have also seen the charred and curious manuscripts, dug from the ruins of the buried cities, the ancient and most domestic ornaments of the inhabitants, the frescoes from the walls, and urns from the tombs; and among other rare specimens of Grecian sculpture, the Hercules of Glycon and the Venus Gallipyge, splendid monuments of ancient genius and luxury. At present, however, we pass them by, as the thousand and one descriptions, by connoisseurs and travellers, have made them familiar to our readers. Naples is not undistinguished in literature and philosophy. Here Boccaccio, Sannazzaro and others tuned the lyre; and here Giannoné, Vico and Filangieri speculated and wrote. Other Neapolitans have acquired celebrity in various branches of science and literature; but these names are invested with peculiar lustre. Vico and Filangieri especially deserve to be had in everlasting remembrance, for their wonderful genius and immense labors in the cause of philosophy, history and law. With some errors, they seem to us to rank among the greatest thinkers and benefactors of their age. We have already spoken of Boccaccio, who, though not a native of Naples, long resided here, and caught his first inspiration from his interview with Petrarch at Virgil's tomb. Tasso and Metastasio, too, spent years in this city or its neighborhoodSorrento is yet redolent with the genius of Tasso, and the Neapolitans justly cherish his memory. Naples can boast quite a number of poets, though none of them can take rank with that illustrious Italian triad, Dante, Tasso, and Ariosto. Sannazzaro, one of their earliest, is perhaps their best and truest bard. He was descended from an ancient Italian family, and born in Naples in 1458. On entering the Neapolitan Academy he assumed the name of Actius Syncerus. At the age of eight years he conceived a lively passion for Carmasina Bonifacia, a beautiful girl of the same age, whose praises he subsequently sung under the names of Harmosina and Phillis. He died in 1532, full of years and honors. Sannazzaro was a simplehearted man, of great purity and elevation of character, and of a truly poetical genius. His verses are distinguished for sweetness and tenderness. Many of his poems are written in elegant Latin verse. The most celebrated of these is "De Partu Virginis." His Italian poems are equally beautiful. His lyrics and sonnets are especially admired both by his countrymen and by foreigners. The following Stanza will give a good idea of his style: 86 Oh! pure and blessed soul, Escaped, hast sought and found thy native sphere, And from thy crystal throne Look'st down with smiles alone, On this vain scene of mortal hope and fear! Thy happy feet have trod The starry-spangled road, Celestial flocks by field and fountain gliding; Thou charm'st thy shepherds back, Oh, who shall death withstand- Levels the lowest plant and loftiest pine? Drink in so sweet a strain Our eyes behold so fair a form as thine? Angelo de Costanzo, born at Naples in 1507, deserves honorable mention as a poet and historian. His sonnets were very popular in his day; but he devoted himself especially to the composition of the history of Naples. In the midst of his literary labors he was exiled from his native land for some cause unknown-some say a suspicion of heresy, and probably never returned. He spent more than forty years in the composition of his historical work. Marini, the creator of a school of Italian poets, called the Marinisti, and distinguished for affectation and extravagance, was a Neapolitan. Born in 1569, he died in 1625. He was a man of unquestioned genius, but too ambitious and conceited. His writings are deeply stained not only with extravagances, but what is worse, licentiousness. His "Fading Beauty," however, written apparently in a lucid interval, not only of genius but of feeling, is one of the finest things in any language. The following are few of its stanzas: "Beauty-a beam, nay, flame Of the great lamp of light— But presently makes night, Like winter's short-lived bright, . Or summer's sudden gleams, As much more dear, so much less lasting beams. Winged love away doth fly, And with him time doth bear; And both take suddenly The sweet, the fair, the dear; To shining day and clear Succeeds the darkling night, And sorrow is the heir of sweet delight. A lamp's uncertain splendor A wandering shadow hideth; In fire or sun, the tender Snow into water glideth; Yet not so long abideth Youth's swiftly fading blossom, Which doth at once more joy and frailty too embosom. How swift thou disappearest, Which the blind archer wasteth From a fair countenance's bow not sooner hasteth. How many kingdoms glorious, How many cities over Ruin exults victorious, |