-24th. We slept at Portici last night, not being able to get accommodation at Resina; and after visiting Naples in the morning, returned to Pompeii to pranzo; and have since been at work in some sheltered rooms drawing ornaments, of which we are every day finding specimens more and more beautiful. In our madness at the outrage, we were glad to find no English names scratched on the paintings; barbarian Italians, and others their continental neighbours, have thus actually defaced some of these beautiful evidences of the taste and genius of the ancient inhabitants of this disgraced and degraded country.

-25th. One of the finest days imaginable for drawing out of doors, dry and temperate, too cloudy for the sun to be oppressive, and a wind too northerly to be sultry: on the strength of it we have made a considerable addition to our stock of tracings and sketches.

The Pompeian temples are generally prostyle, some are tetrastyle, and others hexastyle. The Temple of Isis is unique and droll with its uniquity; it bears more resemblance to some of the modern Roman churches in its elevation than to any thing else. That of Esculapius is a mere nothing either in size or consideration, presenting at present but its bare walls, a few feet high. The Basilica must have had an imposing effect from its comparative magnitude :its Corinthian capitals for the columns of the aisles are the best in Pompeii, and much in the style of those of the Temple at Tivoli ; but the Ionic capitals of the large columns of the nave are decidedly barbarous. The shafts are all of brick, stuccoed and fluted; the walls are stuccoed, rusticated, and painted flat. Stucco appears to have been greatly in vogue with the Pompeians, for they have frequently plastered over stone, even when it had been perfectly wrought. Within the peribolus of the Temple of Venus there are Doric columns and fragments of their entablature, which have the stucco in some places chipped off, leaving the original contour of the cornice, and the frieze with triglyphs complete, wrought in stone; but all had been stuccoed and painted! I repeat, whatever their taste in painting and sculpture may have been, they certainly had a most vitiated gusto in architecture.

The streets of the city are paved with lava, and have footways to them, generally so narrow that two persons cannot pass; and it is the same with the carriage-roads,-two carriages could not pass on most of them; indeed the wheel-ruts in the pavement are in the middle of the streets, and prove that the vehicles could not have passed each other. The streets vary from about eight feet to twenty in width, though they generally run about twelve or fifteen the street leading to the gate towards Herculaneum is at the widest twenty-three feet six inches, with two footways, each five feet wide included. The wails of the buildings remain from seven to twelve and fourteen feet in height, and are built of brick and rubble work; but the walls of the city are in most places much higher, and are built of large blocks of hewn stone, here and there made good with brick and rubble; the watch-towers along the walls are in some parts very perfect. The circumference of the city by the walls is nearly two English miles.

—26th. At noon, we turned our backs on Pompeii. On the road to Náples, we met numbers of horse and bullock carts covered with awnings, and

were going to a town not far off, which is famous for fun on its saint's day, and that will be to-morrow. At Resina, I quitted the calash, to visit Herculaneum. A flight of modern steps conducts to the subterranean city through a well, sunk for the purpose at the place where the well was by which it was discovered in 1669. Herculaneum was destroyed by the same eruption that destroyed Pompeii and Stabia in the year 79,† but it has since been

Reasoning analogically, many, I think, will be of opinion with me, that the churchwardens were a plasterer and a painter when the Temple was last "repaired and beautified."

+ The classical scholar will hardly need to be referred to the letter of Pliny the

showered on seven times by the fiery mountain, as may be seen by the different strata of lava in descending. All that remains open at present of the city below, are some parts of the theatre, and a few narrow passages on the outside by three of its doors. The excavations were continued to a considerable extent, and many valuable relics taken out; but as the towns of Resina and Portici, with the royal palaces, which are built over Herculaneum, would have been endangered, had they been carried further, piers were built and the rubbish left to prevent accident. Enough, however, was done to prove that this was a city of much greater consequence than Pompeii; its streets were broad and straight, paved with lava, and had footways on each side,—its theatre is much larger, and every article found spoke of more luxurious refinement. The custode led me through the passages, and showed various fragments of columns, painted walls, burned timber, and the like; of course, it is all seen by torch-light. It is supposed that with the ashes which destroyed Herculaneum, a vast quantity of water was thrown out by Vesuvius, which, mingling with the ashes, flowed throughout and hardened into tufo, as the city is filled with it. The material was certainly much heated, as the doors and timbers of the houses are found reduced to a species of charcoal: in those places where it did not penetrate, every thing combustible was charred by the violent heat, such as the rolls of papyrus, wheat, barley, beans, nuts, almonds, bread, and many other articles of domestic use. The inhabitants had time to escape and to carry with them their valuables, for there were not found more than a dozen skeletons altogether, and a very small quantity of either gold or silver, or, indeed, any thing valuable that was not too bulky to be carried with ease.

From Resina I came on to the Museum in the royal palace of Portici to see the paintings there from Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabia. The greatest number are from Pompeii, but from all three places they are much in the same style; though I could not help remarking that those from Stabia have generally better drawing than the same proportion from either of the other two. Of course the merit of the pictures throughout is various; for they were taken indiscriminately out of shops, private houses, and temples. The colours on some are wonderfully fresh and brilliant, while on others they are much faded; one female head I noticed, apparently a portrait, was as fresh, as brilliant, and as clear as an oil-painting just finished. There are some beautiful architectural ornaments, that I should much like to make drawings of, if time would permit; yet some of the best are prohibited me, as not yet published. A painting of two quails pecking at an ear of corn is one of the most animated representations of nature I ever saw. A fine set of heads are charactered as the days of the week: Saturn as an old man, Apollo with a bright light in rays about him; Diana, with a fainter light bounded by a circular line; Mars, with a helmet on; and the others, Mercury, Jupiter, and Venus, as those divinities are usually represented. The most prominent pictures are: Hercules strangling the serpents, the size of life; a Judgment of Paris, half-lengths; a Hercules and Telephus, heroic size; an Orestes and Pylades in the Temple of Diana, while Iphigenia discovers her brother; a Theseus having slain the Minotaur, with the Athenian children kissing his hands and arms; a Dido abandoned; an Ariadne abandoned; a Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne; a Chiron instructing Achilles; a beautiful little picture of Roman charity. But what appeared to me the most singular, was a picture of Cleopatra with the Asp, as it must have been painted within a (comparatively) few years after the incident occurred. That that is the subject does not admit of a doubt, as lo is a principal figure, with a personification of the Nile determined by a crocodile, which lies in the foreground; and

younger to the historian Tacitus, for a description of this eruption, of which he was an eye-witness, and in which his uncle perished.

there are several hieroglyphic characters in various parts of the picture.* Among mere curiosities in this Museum, the most interesting are the skull and the ashy moulds of the breasts and other parts of the body, and some of the drapery of a female, whose remains were found in the house of Arrius Diomede, and supposed to be those of his wife, as there was a gold ring on a finger of the skeleton.

I have said nothing of either the Favorita Palace at Resina, or of this of Portici; for neither of them pleases me. There are several Casini along the road-side all the way from Torre dell' Annunziata to Naples, and some of them are rather handsome than otherwise.

In the cool of the evening I walked from Portici to my lodgings in Naples, and on the road met some of the Napolitani taking an evening ride, and must confess that they are not all ugly; I am only sorry to see fine specimens of the most beautiful of God's works thrown away on such a despicable set as the Neapolitans generally are. I say generally, for there are among the Neapolitans men who would do honour to any age or nation.

THE VICTORY OF TOURS.

THE clarion rings through the ranks of war;
The chiefs of the North have come from afar;
And the Moor must halt in his red career,
For before him the Northern, couching his spear,
Stands firm in his own proud will:
The turban'd band he arrests for fight,

Like the eagle stayed in his mid-day flight,
Where its dark array on the Loire's green plain
Waves far and dense, as the autumn grain
That must soon the garners fill.

The husbandman Death hath his harvest there,
His sickle shall lay Earth's bosom bare,
His harvest is blood, and his garner's store
Is heap'd from a thousand fields of yore,

All hoarded in darkness deep:

But no field he hath cut on his harvest day,
Look'd ripe as the African's rich array;
And his sickle already is lifted high-
A hovering storm from the northern sky
To strike with a fearful sweep.

The towers of Tours flout the distant skies,
They mark where the northern barriers rise;
Thus far shall the green flag of Mahomet wave-
Thus far shall it triumph, and there be the grave
Of its conquests and renown:

It was not enough on my return from the contemplation of the chaste and elegant costumes of the ancients, and of the picturesque and frequently beautiful draperies, painted on the female figure by the great masters of the fifteenth century, that I should be disgusted in Paris by the vile disfigurations practised by the gaunt beauties of Gaul, but that I must find my own lovely countrywomen too, wearing bonnets or hats, or whatever they are called, that would have satisfied Circe to make the companions of Ulysses wear, instead of transforming them as she did. Crested with an ass's head reversed and brimmed with cabbage leaves, the long ears tucked up and fastened over the nose, as if to prevent the dead beast from braying!

On, on to their doom, for the coming night
Shall conceal but a living few from sight,
Of those that encased in their colours and gold,
For the pageant of glory their standards unfold,
In pride of their lordly frown.

Mass close after mass follows silently on

There are things that their boldest must think upon,
In the silence which wraps the short interval now,
Ere corslet to corslet and brow to brow

The struggle of death shall prove!—
Granada's white towers, the Nevada's fair height,
Genil that sleeps silver'd with pale moonlight,
And the dark-eyed maidens now wandering there,
With voices of music that float on the air,
Like a dream of departed love.

They have met-they are shouting-the combat is rife,
And thousands are yielding the spirit of life;
The proud steed is dashing his fetlock in blood,
And the thirsty earth drinking it up in a flood,
Mid the clashing shock, and cry,

And the groan of despair, and the conqueror's cheer,
And the gleam of the sabre and thrust of the spear,
And the breach of the lines that the living fill,
As they stride o'er the dead or those lingering still
In the writhe of their agony!

But vain is the struggle, the Southerns are pale,
Their glory goes down with the evening gale,
The hand of the North is an iron power,
Less strong is the hand bred in southern bower,
Where luxury and love are dear,
Than the rigid nerve of the colder zone,
That has ever a southern foe overthrown-
And the Moor sees his bravest thickly lie,
As locusts fallen scorch'd by the lightning's eye
For the wolves of Loire to tear.

Shout, shout for the Christian! the Crescent is low,
To the green hills of Spain flies the routed foe,
The remnant of men from a thousand fields,
Where Victory had sat on their blazon'd shields,
As a mother o'er her child—

Shout, shout for Martel! and the northern sword-
The North shall be ever the world's great lord
With his arm of steel, and his iron frame,

His sword shall flash like his polar flame,
All terrible, free, and wild!

BOSWELL REDIVIVUS. NO. II.

WHEN I called, I found N― painting a portrait of himself. Another stood on an easel. He asked me, which I thought most like? I said, the one he was about was the best, but not good enough. It looks like a physician or a member of parliament, but it ought to look like something more-a cardinal or a Spanish inquisitor! I do not think you ought to proceed in painting your own face as you do with some others—that is, by trying to improve upon it: you have only to make it like for the more like it is, the better it will be as a picture. "Oh! he tried to make it like." I found I had got upon a wrong scent. Mr. N, as an artist, was not bound to have a fine head, but he was bound to paint one. I am always a very bad courtier; and think of what strikes me, and not of the effect upon others. So I once tried to compliment a very handsome brunette, telling her how much I admired dark beauties. "Oh!" said N-, "you should have told her she was fair. She did not like black, though you did!" After all, there is a kind of selfishness in this plain-speaking. In the present case, it set us wrong the whole morning, and I had to stay longer than usual to recover the old track. I was continually in danger of oversetting a stand with a small looking-glass, which N particularly cautioned me not to touch; and every now and then he was prying into the glass like a monkey, to see if the portrait was like. He had on a green velvet-cap, and looked very like Titian.

N-- then turning round, said, "I wanted to ask you about a speech you made the other day: you said you thought you could have made something of portrait, but that you never could have painted history. What did you mean by that?"-"Oh! all I meant was, that sometimes when I see a fine Titian or Rembrandt, I feel as if I could have done something of the same kind with the proper pains, but I never have the same feeling with respect to Raphael. My admiration is there utterly unmixed with emulation or regret. In fact, I see what is before me, but I have no invention."

N-"You do not know till you try. There is not so much difference as you imagine. Portrait often runs into history, and history into portrait, without our knowing it. Expression is common to both, and that is the great difficulty. The greatest history-painters have always been able portrait-painters. How should a man paint a thing in motion, if he cannot paint it still? But the great point is to catch the prevailing look and character: if you are master of this, you can make almost what use of it you please. If a portrait has force, it will do for history and if history is well painted, it will do for portrait. This is what gave dignity to Sir Joshua: his portraits had always that determined air and character, you knew what to think of them as if you had seen them engaged in the most decided action. So Fuseli said of Titian's picture of Paul III. and his two nephews, That is true history!' Many of the groups in the Vatican, by Raphael, are only collections of fine portraits. That is why West, Barry, and others pretended to despise portrait, because they could not do it, and it would only expose their want of truth and nature. No! if you can give the look, you need not fear painting history. Yet how difficult that is, and on what slight causes it depends! It is not merely to be