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the Guardiano, already assembled in the refectory, a large hall, wainscoted and painted, dimly lighted by a lamp pendent in the centre. A sallad of wild herbs, some eggs fried with cheese, some sweet bread, a little ricotta and a bottle of wine, light, but clear and spirited, furnished our supper. After our frugal meal we repaired with the old Guardiano into the vast gloomy kitchen, where the monks assembled round a large wood fire; they were as romantic a looking group as might be desired; with one or two exceptions, old, solemn, and taciturn. The Superior improv ed on acquaintance, and became very loquacious; among other things, he spoke of two English artists who had resided six weeks or two months in his monastery the preceding year; he had forgotten their names, but if by chance these gentlemen meet with this letter, they may learn with plea sure that the monks of Capaccio retain a grateful remembrance of their kind, amiable manners.

We passed four days very agreeably in this secluded spot; our food, it is true, was not very choice, but the fine mountain air and exercise made it savoury and softened our poor hard beds; the conversation of the monks was ignorant, and limited, but ingenuous and characteristic; the residence was dilapidated and melancholy, but was thus so much the more romantic; and, besides, it was an excellent point for those wild mountain excursions we are so fond of. We can form volumes in our own minds of the numerous little incidents, imaginings, and sentiments, that occurred to us in this short space, but as they would be difficult to express and would have little interest to those who have not shared our situation, we shall with all possible conciseness relate only one or two of them. The monastery, we have said, is dilapidated; it was once a well-built extensive edifice, sufficient for the comfortable residence of thirty or forty monks; but it is now fast hastening to its ruin the stout oak doors are falling from their hinges, most of the windows and lattices are broken, the roof in several places lets in water, and many other symptoms of decay are visible. "You see," said the indignant Guardiano, "what dogs I have fallen among; the buildings

their forefathers-their pious fore fathers erected, they permit to fall to ruins before their eyes! Ah! they are sad wretches, they are all miserabili e carbonari and have no fear of God in them-our cerca produces almost nothing, although we go for miles with the bisaccie di San Francesco Judas and not Jesus has passed this way! I have now been here several years (woe the while! for I came from the flourishing and well supplied monastery of Castellamare) I have done what it has been possi ble to do-the last Guardiano was a ciuccio (i. e. an ass) and neglected the affairs of the community. Would you believe it! when I came here there were only three starved pigs and four fowls, the garden was only fertile in weeds, the cistern was full of dirt, and there was no pulley to the well: now I have increased the number of pigs from three to twelve, and the fowls from four to forty, I have laid by a stock of wine, have improved the garden and the cistern, bought four brass candlesticks for the altar to supply the place of those that had been stolen, and I have done a great many other things which will make future Guardiani and monks mention me with respect. Ah! they will say when I am dead and gone, Padre Onorato was the flower of Guardiani; he put things on a good footing, poor old man!-and yet Signori, would you believe it, all the monks are not satisfied with my administration, but that gives me little concern, as they are idle and ignorant, and I remember that even the Saviour of men could not please all men—that one among his disciples was even found to betray him." Oh love of fame! how general thou art! through what a variety of vistas dost thou entice thy devotees! thou charmest alike the conqueror of a nation, the author of a poem, and the breeder of pigs!

The garden is a large piece of ground exceedingly well cultivated, and solely laboured by the monks. This industry and the good effects it produces is owing to the poverty or want of devotion in the neighbourhood; for the monks find it more agreeable to circulate the bisaccie di San Francesco, than to labour the earth; and in more favoured regions, where there is a little land attached to the monastery, it is always either

let out or cultivated by hired hands. For our parts, we think it would be well if these mendicant orders had every where to struggle with the same difficulties that exist here; the monks would then be obliged to contribute their share to the general stock, and instead of living on the bread extorted from poverty and superstition, might support themselves by their honest, independent labour: tracts of uncultivated land (abundant in this kingdom) might be subjected to the plough and the spade, and more substantial benefits than the chaunting of masses and the mumbling of prayers, might thus be conferred on society.

As we were passing behind the church, in the garden, we stopped to look through a low barred window; it gave us a view of the interior of a vault in which are deposited the remains of the monks who die in the monastery. It is a small square chamber, with recesses or niches projecting from the walls; opposite to the window are four niches; from three of these the bodies that once occupied them have slipped down in the course of decay, and now lie on the floor; but in the other, a monk in his cowl and usual dress, remains in a sitting posture reclining against one side of the recess; his naked legs stick out from his dress and seem of an extraordinary length from their thinness, the flesh being shrivelled up to the bone; on the tawnied face is still a sort of expression-the hands are closed as in prayer. The Guardiano assured us that that dead monk had been "un excellentissimo cuciniere," (a most excellent cook), and that they long lamented his loss. On the top of the niches, which form a sort of shelf, lies another monk; he is stretched out and on his side, and though dead a long time, is so well preserved as to look like one sleeping; the floor is strewed with skulls, bones, fragments of dress and some broken wooden crosses no disagreeable smell announced the slow, but loathsome decomposition going on within. As we were turning away from this "narrow house which the gay, warm light of day streaming through the narrow grating, illumined in a striking manner, an old monk said coolly "Questo ò Signori è la posta nostra;" (this, gentlemen, is our

post) the Guardiano ordered a lay brother to tear up the weeds, that had grown thickly in front of the window, in order that the monks as they passed, might kneel down, and see the interior and say a prayer, which he warmly recommended them to do, "The thread of life is of a mingled yarn." We had scarcely left this spot, which, in us at least, had elicited serious and melancholy musings, than we met with a scene ludicrous in the extreme. One of the monks had skulked into the garden after dinner, and just as we turned a corner he was consoling himself with the rare luxury of a few early figs. The Guardiano no sooner descried this marauder than he cried out with a voice, stronger than we should have thought his lungs capable of furnishing, to know what he meant; the poor monk was unhappily deaf, and so could not profit by his Superior's warning; nay, though two young sturdy lay-brothers bawled out in concert, all their vocal efforts were thrown away, the poor offender could hardly have heard thunder, and having his back towards us, he was quite unconscious of being overlooked, and continued eating and pocketting in the greatest tranquillity. At this spectacle the rage of the Guardiano vented itself in a shower of reproachful terms-mariuolo, birbone, ladro, assassino, &c. One of the lay brothers began to throw stones at the delinquent, but being too far to reach him, he ran towards him throwing stones and hallooing all the way; even this was in vain, and the fig-eater never stopped until the young man caught hold of his arm as he was in the act of plucking the precious fruit, and cried out "Nè questo stai facendo-stai rubando i fichi? (ah! this is what you're about-you are stealing the figs). The poor sinner, taken by surprise, was too much confused to concert a reasonable excuse, and took refuge in a downright denial, answering as boldly as he could "che dicite! chi ha la toccato! (what do you say? who has touched them?) and though there were so many witnesses against him, and though the figs were found in his sleeve, he barefaced it out, that he had not picked any, but that he had just found one or two on the ground, and that when we saw him, he was

only taking away the worms from the tree.

One of our walks from Capaccio was to Capo d'Acqua, the source of the water, which, by means of an aqueduct supplied the ancient Paestum; it is about two miles from the monastery, higher up the mountains and under the elevated little town of Trentinara. The water, which is exceedingly good, rises from three copious springs near each other; the cuniculus is in some parts covered with a coat of soil, but is always near the surface; it is very strongly built with hard stones and cement still harder; the channel for the water is about two feet wide and three deep, it straggled down the mountain, and ran across the plain to Paestum (a distance of six miles) and entered the walls of that city by the side of the Siren gate, where, as we have beforementioned, it is still traced for some distance. The aqueduct has been broken in its course, and the water now escapes and runs to waste in numerous directions; a very inconsiderable expence of labour would restore it; and, scanty as the population of Paestum and its neighbourhood now is, if those men had any spirit they would do the work, for all the water in the plain is disagreeably brackish and unwholesome. It was near the close of day when we were at the "rising of the waters," the mild, lovely close of a glorious day! we sat there on the broken aqueduct, deeply enjoying our solitary situation for some time; the last rays of the sun, that seems more brilliant and more warm when about to leave us, that

Vivida Soave

Luce d' amore

beamed up the hollow of the mountains through the thick woods before us; nothing was seen but a solitary wood-man hastening through the glades, nothing heard but the twitter of a few birds, the sheep bells, the calls of a distant shepherd, or the notes of a lonely zampogna far up the hills.

We had heard of a little work on the Paestan antiquities, written by a certain Canonico Bamonte, a Canon of Capaccio, and the day before we left the monastery, we sent to purchase it of the author. We received, with the book, an invitation from the reverend man of letters. When we waited upon him, we found him to be a pompous pedantic creature, with a right foot of monstrous dimensions; he was extremely civil, gave us some bad coffee, and some indifferent information interlarded continually with "questo poi ritroverete luminosamente esposto nella mia opera' "questo anche ho riportato nella mia opera"-" pure questo ho indicato." He showed us a large collection of ancient coins, medals, and other objects discovered at and near Paestum; part, or the whole of which, he would gladly sell to any collector. We must in courtesy give a word of recommendation to his book-we promised as much, and indeed, silly as the greatest part of it is, it is worth the traveller's 6 carlini, as it contains sundry little notices of discoveries, visits, &c. &c. not to be found in the usual guides or authors who have written on Paestum, besides a tolerable topographic plan.

We left the Franciscans early one fine morning to prosecute our journey to Acropoli and Leucosia.


BEAUTY and Virtue crown'd thee!
Death in thy youth hath found thee!
Thou'rt gone to thy grave

By the soft willow-wave,

And the flowrets are weeping around thee! ·

The sun salutes thee early,

The stars be-gem thee rarely,

Then why should we weep
When we see thee asleep

'Mid a world that loves thee so dearly?


Modernized from the Poems of Alexander Montgomery, Author of the Cherrie and the Slae.

O NATURE lavish'd on my love
Each charm and winning grace,

It is a glad thing to sad eyes
To look upon her face;

She's sweeter than the sunny air
In which the lily springs,

While she looks through her clustering hair

That o'er her temples hings

I'd stand and look on my true love

Like one grown to the ground;
There's none like her in loveliness,
Search all the world around.

Her looks are like the May-day dawn,
When light comes on the streams;

Her eyes are like the star of love,
With bright and amorous beams;

She walks-the blushing brook-rose seems
Unworthy of her foot;

She sings-the lark that hearkens her

Will evermore be mute;

For from her eyes there streams such light,

And from her lips such sound

There's none like her in loveliness,

Search all the world around.

Her vestal breast of ivorie,
Aneath the snowy lawn,

Shows with its twin born swelling wreaths
Too pure to look upon.

While through her skin her sapphire veins
Seem violets dropt în milk,

And tremble with her honey breath

Like threads of finest silk.

Her arms are long, her shoulders broad,
Her middle small and round,

The mould was lost that made my love,
And never more was found.



AMONGST the great and the good who have lately been called from this world of care and anxiety, we regret to have to record the name of Lauchlan Macquarie, Esquire, of Jarvisfield, in the Island of Mull, a Major-general in the army, and late Governor and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's colony of New South Wales and its dependencies. Few have died more regretted by a large circle of Ост. 1824.

friends and acquaintances, and none more beloved or respected. Gen. Macquarie was born in the island of Mull on the 31st of December, 1762,-was lineally descended from the ancient family of Macquarie, of Macquarie, and nearly allied to the chief of that warlike and loyal clan. His mother was the sister of the late Murdoch Maclaine, of Lochbuy, than whose a more ancient or distinguished fa2 E

mily does not exist in the Highlands of Scotland. At the early age of fifteen (9th April, 1777) he was appointed an ensign in the late 84th, or Royal Highland Emigrant regiment, raised in America by his relation, Sir Allan Maclean, and young as he was, he joined the corps immediately on his appointment, and served with it in Nova Scotia, under the command of Generals Lord Clarina, Francis Maclean, and John Campbell, till 1781, when he got his lieutenancy in the late 71st regiment. This regiment he joined in South Carolina, where he served under the orders of the late General, the Hon. Alexander Leslie, till 1782, when the 71st, with other regiments, being sent to Jamaica, he remained there till the conclusion of the American war. At the peace of 1783, the 71st regiment was ordered home from the West Indies, and finally disbanded at Perth in 1784.

Lieutenant Macquarie remained on half-pay till December 1787, when he was appointed to the present 77th regiment, then raising, and of which, from his standing in the service, he became the senior lieutenant. He accompanied his regiment to India in the spring of 1788, and arrived at Bombay in the month of August of that year, where he was appointed Captain-Lieutenant in December; and for seventeen years he continued to serve in the Presidency of Bombay, and in different parts of Hindostan, under the respective commands of Marquis Cornwallis, Sir William Meadows, Sir Alured Clarke, Lord Harris, Sir Robert Abercromby, Lord Lake, James Balfour, James Stuart, and Oliver Nicolls. Having purchased his company in the 77th, he received the brevet rank of Major in May 1796, and the effective Majority of the 86th regiment in March 1801, with the brevet rank of Lieutenant-Colonel on the 9th of November of that year. In the year 1805 he got the Lieutenant-Colonelcy of the 73d, then a Highland regiment. In 1810 the rank of Colonel in the army, and in 1813 was made a Major-General. He was present at the first siege of Seringapatam in 1792, and at its capture in 1799. He was also distinguished at the captures of Carra

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nou in 1790, Cochin in 1795, and Columbo in the island of Ceylon in 1796. In 1801 he accompanied Sir David Baird and the Indian army to Egypt with the distinguished rank of Deputy Adjutant-General — was present at the capture of Alexandria, and final expulsion of the French army from Egypt. In 1803 he obtained leave of absence and came to England, where he was immediately appointed to the home staff, and served as Assistant AdjutantGeneral to Lord Harrington, who commanded the London district. In 1805 he returned once more to India, where he continued for two years, and then came home overland. He arrived in October 1807, and joined the 73d regiment, then quartered at Perth, in 1808.

In 1809, when his regiment was ordered to New South Wales, Col. Macquarie stood so high in the estimation of his King and of the Ministers, that he received the appointment of Governor in Chief in and over that colony. He held this high office for a period of twelve years; and, whatever may be said by those who envy what they cannot imitate, and are at all times anxious to detract from the merits of their cotemporaries, posterity will form a different estimate of his character, and be able to appreciate the soundness of those measures to which the colony owes its present prosperity, and upon which will depend its future greatness. Indefatigable in business, and well qualified, from his intimate knowledge of mankind, to judge of the character of those with whom he came in contact: he conducted the affairs of his government with a prudence and steadiness which few, however gifted, will ever equal, and none, we venture to affirm, can ever surpass. One of the maxims which he appears to have had constantly in his view was, to raise to something like respectability in the scale of society those who had expiated their crimes and follies by a life of good conduct and regularity in that country to which they had been transported, and thus, by the countenance and support which the wellbehaved were sure to meet with, he stimulated others to follow their good example; a conduct much more likely to prove beneficial, than if the

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