and dependent chiefly on his own resources, he made such astonishing progress in knowledge, and discovered a genius of such originality and power, that he was permitted to follow his bent. His learning and eloquence soon made him distinguished, and he rose to the highest offices in the gift of the Neapolitan government. His work on the Science of Legislation, in two volumes, was published at Naples, when he was only twenty-eight years of age, and met with prodigious success not only in Italy but in all Europe. Subsequently he published two more volumes on Criminal Jurisprudence, which met with equal success. He attacked the abuses of the dark ages and the evils of the feudal system, not sparing the Church or the State, but cutting a clear path of reform in the whole subject of criminal legislation. This excited the fears of the Catholic clergy, who hired one Grippa to attack him, and procured the condemnation of his work by an ecclesiastical decree. But he paid no attention to them, went on with his work, and rose superior to all opposition. He died in 1778, in the midst of the most extensive plans and the noblest aspirations for the welfare of man. These noble studies have exerted an immense influence upon the Italian mind, and have done much to remodel and elevate the whole spirit of their national literature. But alas! Naples yet lags in the race of improvement. The people are superstitious and priest ridden; and although every now and then a great philosophical mind may arise to give them a noble impulse; yet with a despotic government and enslaved church, they must pass through many painful changes before attaining a solid and lasting freedom. But the whole system of feudalism, despotism and superstition is tottering to its base, and the time will come when it must fall forever. CHAPTER XXI. A Sail on the Bay-Views-Island of Ischia-Vittoria Colonna-Her Life and Poetry-Naples by Moonlight-Hope for the Future. WHAT say you, this fine morning, to a sail on the bay? Nothing could be more agreeable. Come, then, let us engage a boat and be off. But wait a few moments, till we get a little basket of provant to take with us. Some bread and cheese, and a little fruit, will relish admirably, three or four hours hence, amid the refreshing breezes from the sea. It is all arranged. Come, Pietro, Thomaso-don't linger there, disputing with those foolish lazzaroni. Man the boat, and let us blue waves of the bay. start. Now we are launched upon the How beautifully glides our little craft over the scarcely ruffled surface! Is not this delightful? Away from the dust and turmoil of the hot city, we are again with Nature, and feel her benign and soothing influence. Let us get out into the centre of the bay, so as to enjoy the glorious scenery all around us. How splendid the appearance of the city, softened and beautified by distance! What a rich, undulating shore, from Posilipo to Baia! What glorious mountain ranges from Vesuvius, stretching far inland, and finally lost in the dim horizon! Yonder, in all the pomp of verdure and trees, the majestic promontories which guard the entrance of the bay, and beyond them the rolling waves of the Mediterranean, and the rocky shore of Amalfi. How sweetly looks Capræ, as in the days of old, bathed in sunlight; and what more charming than the low-lying islands of Nisida and Lazaretto, reposing on the waters, and covered with a hazy radiance, such as one sees only in the sunny clime of Italy! What life and motion are imparted to the scene by the white skiffs and other craft, flitting to and fro over the waves, now turning their flashing sails to the sun, or disappearing from the sight in the far distance! Those ships of war, sleeping on the eastern side of the bay, present images of grim but beautiful repose, while they remind us of tempest and war, and thus vary the scenery as well as associations of the place. But let us return towards the shore. As we approach it, how lovely it seems, with its green foliage and scattered villas! "This region surely is not of the earth. Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine, To muse on as the bark is gliding by."-Rogers. Turn the prow, Thomaso, in the direction of Baiæ. The breeze, which blows with the softness of a zephyr, will carry us along the coast of Posilipo. Laying ourselves back in our boat, we gaze with increasing delight upon the fair landscape, blending earth sea and sky in forms of ever-varying beauty. The air comes loaded from the shore with the fragrance of vines and flowers, which adorn the green slopes above us, suffusing the mind with a soft enchantment, a sort of pure poetic haze, through which the memories of the past and the hopes of the future discover themselves with more than earthly beauty. We yield to the dreamy influence in spite of ourselves, in spite of all the sin and sorrow which infest our mortal life. Nature speaks to our hearts. Strange melodies come to us as it were from afar; shapes of beauty and glory from the world of spirits, reminding us of God and home and heaven. We pass the rocky promontory of Pozzuoli, with its strange old-world look, appearing as if but little changed since the times of the Cæsars or of the apostle Paul. Aided by the breeze, blowing more freshly from the land, we reach the shores of Baiæ, and glide southward, meditating on the days of old, when the Emperors and warriors of Rome disported amid their palaces, which studded this whole line of coast. "The Cumean towers There did they rise sun-gilt; and here thy groves, Built in the sea; and now the boatman steers Nothing now heard ashore, so great the change, Winding around, after a few hours' sailing, we pass Capræ, and are floating under Miseno, anciently Misenum, once the residence of the younger Pliny, and the retreat of himself and mother when they fled from the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum; we double the Cape, and before us, at a short distance, are the islands of Procida and Ischia. Let us approach the latter, and make a landing; for it is time to eat our bread and cheese, and rest from our long sail. Here we are then, under the shadow of the old volcanic moun tain of San Nicola, and in sight of a thousand objects of interest and beauty. Vineyards, gardens, groves and villages, alternating in the most agreeable and picturesque variety, cover the whole surface of the island. Seated upon a gentle acclivity, under the shadow of fig-trees and vines, the latter hanging in festoons from lofty elms, we refresh ourselves from our provision basket, and regale our eyes upon the majestic scene spread out before us. "In all its length far winding lay, And mountains that like giants stand, Wandering about, we come to the place where tradition says lived, for many years, the noble and gifted Vittoria Colonna, the greatest of all the female poets of Italy. Here, amid scenes of enchantment, she nursed her gentle grief, sung her lays of love and heaven, and prepared her lofty spirit for its upward flight to the better world. Descended from one of the noblest families in the kingdom of Naples, she was born in the year 1490, in Marino, a fief of her family. Her rare beauty and accomplishments even in early life attracted universal admiration. Sovereign princes sought her hand in marriage, but she declined them all in favor of the Marquis of Pescara, to whom she was betrothed when a mere child, and to whom she had consecrated her best affections. Their union was eminently happy. The noble character and bearing of the Marquis; the simplicity, beauty and rare accomplishments of Vittoria; their ample fortune and entire congeniality of feeling, made of life one bright and golden dream. But the chances of war withdrew her husband from her side, |