The Sun.
London, England, 1841-01-07 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

THE IDLER IN _ITALY. Voi. 111.
Colburn, London, 1840.

A cheerful, accomodating temper, a freedom from
insular prejudices, and a steady determination to bear
with equanimity whatever personal inconveniences he
or she may he subjected to, are among the greatest
requisites that an English traveller can possess ;
and Lady Blessington possesses these enviable
qualities-in high degree, as her " Idler in Italy"
abuodantly testifies. Not a page but gives proof
of her truly Catholic nature, and her disposition to
make the best of those various annoyances which
haunt the steps of the traveller in foreign lands,
with as much pertinacity as his shadow. Sterile,
who knew well the character of most English
tourists, and in one of the truest chapters of his "Sen-
timental Journey," has ridiculed their proneness
to discontent, and utter abhorrence of being, what
is called, " put out of their way," would have re-
cognised in Lady Blessington a kindred spirit, for
if she have not the arch humour and simple pathos
of this eminent author, she has the same unflagging
animal spirits, and the same readiness to be happy,
and to make happy. Though in her present volume
she goes over ground with which the majority
of our readers are, no doubt, already sufficiently
familiar, yet her descriptive sketches—even when
she is descanting on such a hacknied theme as
Venice—never weary us, for we feel that - they
arc drawn from her own fresh and vivid impressions,
and not, second-hand, from the hearsay and recol-
lections of others, as is the case with some modern
writers of travels whom we could mention. Her
Ladyship quitted the neighbourhood of Rome in
the sumtnerof 1828—how is it that she has allowed
her " Idler in Italy" to remain so long in manu-
script ?—and of course did not omit visiting the
celebrated waterfall of Terni, which Byron has so
forcibly described in his fourth canto of " Childe
Harold," and of which we are here told, in prose of
nearly equal force, that " its mighty waters instinct
with life, and fraught with super-human vigour,
seem animated by a spirit of madness, into the
terrible velocity with which they dash from rock to
rock." With Padua—the mention of which
city will at once fecal to the reader's mind
some of the best scenes in the " Merchant of
Venice"—Lady Blessington was much pleased,
observing, " one of the peculiar attractions
of Padua for me, is the number of old-fashioned
houses, surrounded by gardens, which are to be
found within its walls, looking as secluded and as
quaint as if they were many miles from any town,
and that their occupants, during the last century,
had carefully refrained from changing their sober,
but pleasing aspects. This mixture of foliage and
flowers introduced between spires, and domes, and
ancient buildings, have a charming effect, and I lin-
gered at the gates of some of these houses, half
tempted to envy their owners." The picture which
her Ladyship draws of Venice is a very sad one.
This celebrated city, „hose merchant princes, like
those of Tyre and Sidon, were for centuries among
the most renowned and powerful of the earth,
seems now to be in the last stage of hopeless decay.
The busy hum of commerce is no longer heard on
her quays ; the fleets of Europe no longer
anchor in her ports ; her ai istocracv are
shorn of their wealth, her Senate of its political
influence ; the glory of St. Mark's is past and
gone ; the Doge exists but as a name, in his-
tory ; and the Queen of Cities, whom Europe and
Asia held alike in reverence, and who h•Ad so often
struck dismay into the hearts of the Saracens, is
now become a mere useless, unregarded cypher in
the hands of Austria. On reaching Ravenna, of
which we are told, that " of all the Italian cities,
it is that which is least frequented by, or known to,
English travellers," Lady Blessington was of course
reminded of Byron, who here wrote by far the best
and most enduring of his poems. We quote what
she says on the subject, which we do with the
more readiness, because the current of popular
opinion seems of late years to have set strongly in
against the Noble Childe

—The custodc who showed us the apartments was loud
in his praises of Lord Byron, and recounted various
instances of his charity. Ile could not see a parson in
distress without succouring him," said he, " and the
poor of Ravenna and its neighbourhood soon discovered
this benevolent disposition, and 10,eset him every day
when he went to the Pigncla. But it was not money
alone that he gave them, signora, kind words and a
patient hearing of their misfortunes accompanied his
gifts; and, paupers as they were, they valued these
scarcely less. I remember well his meetiag a poor
woman of extreme age, and his telling her to come
here ; when he not only heard her talc of distress, but
gave her gold, and a weekly pension beside." I ques-
tioned the man about the habits of Byron, and he an-
swered that they were moll° bizzario, always reading or
writing, taking little pleasure except in riding in the
Pignthr, or playing with his favourite animals.

" Though profuse to the poor," continued the custodc,
" he indulged in no luxuries himself, signora ; and there
was not a servitor in this Palazzo, that would not have
thought himself aggrieved, had his repasts been so
scanty, and of so ordinary a quality as those of the Lord
Byron. He was not, like the generality of the tra-
vellers we hear of (for here we see hut few), pampered,
and never satisfied with the fare set before them. He
was greatly beloved at Ravenna, and we all grieved
when he left us."

On showing us the suite of apartments formerly oc-
cupied by the Contessa Guiccioli, he pointed to a very
ill-executed portrait representing her playing on the
pianoforte ; and assured us that it by no means rendered
her justice, she being fairer, he averred, than even the
dames of northern lands, and with golden hair. " We
were all proud and glad, .signora, when the Count
Guiccioli brought home his beautiful young bride.
oi/ire, we thought not that either would have cause to
regret the nuptials. The Count belongs to one of the
most ancient families in Italy, and the lady descends
from a long line of illustrious ancestors. Her grand-
mother, a celebrated beauty in her time, was daughter
to the Marquis di Bagno of Muntua ; and her mother,
who (lied in childbirth only a year or so after the young
Countess' marriage, was a very handsome lady, and
daughter of the Contessa Macherelli ; one of whose
sisters married the Count Cobentzel of Vienna, and by
another sister the family became allied to the noble
houses of Erdeddi, Nadasty, and Esterhazy." The
old servitor seemed to have so much pleasure in re-
capitulating the grandeur of the family connexions of
the Countess that I listened patiently to his statement,
which appeared to delight him not a little. " She was
a kind and gentle lady, with a smiling face and an open
hand," said the custodc. " She loved this stranger
Lord, and for the matter of that, so did all who ap-
proached him. Poor lady ! how his death must have
afflicted her." "In this room, Signora," said he, as we
entered another chamber, " Lord Byron slept. Often
has the light been seen burning in it till long after day
had appeared ; and we used to marvel that one who
was rich, and able to command all the luxuries of life,
could prefer so abstemious a mode of existence, and
such incessant toil. I have seen these chambers so
littered with books that there was scarcely room to
move about in them."

A SAILOR'S REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.--
Death is Rt all times solemn, but never so much so as at
sea. A man dies on shore—his body remains with his
friends, and the " mourners go about the streets ;" but
when a man falls overboard at sea, and is lost, there is a
suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realising it,
which give to it an air of awful mystery. A man dies on
shore—you follow his body to the grave, and a stone marks
the spot. You are often prepared for the event. There is
always something which helps you to realise it when it
happens, and to recal it when it has passed, A man is
shot down by your side in battle, and the mangled body re-
mains an object and a real evidence ; but at sea the man is
near you, at your side—you hear his voice, and in an in.
stant he is gone, and nothing but a vacancy shows his loss.
Then, too, at SC4-to use a homely but expressive phrase
—you miss a man so much. A dozen men are shut up to-
gether in a little bark, upon the wide, wide sea, and for
months and months see no forms and hear no voices but
their own, and one is taken suddenly from among them,
and they miss him at every turn. It is like losing a limb.
There arc no new faces or new scenes to fill up the gap.
There is always an empty berth in the forecastle, and one
man wanting a hen the small night watch is mustered.
There is one less to take the wheel, and one less to lay out
ith you upon the yard. You miss his form and the sound
of his voice, for habit had made them almost nevesgary to
you, and each cf your senses feels the loss. Ail these
things make such a death peculiarly solemn, and the effect
of it remains upon the crew for some time. There is more
kindness shown by the officers to the crew, and by the
crew to role another. There is more quietness and serious-
ness. The oath arid the loud laugh arc gone. The officers
are more watchful, and the crew go more carefully aloft.__
Two Years before the Nast.

SINGULAR AND FATAL lACClDENT.—Yes-
terdav an inquest was held before Mr. Wakley, M. P., in
the b,mrd-room of the Middlesex Hospital, on the body
f Nlahony, a fine voting man, aged 28, a plasterer. On
Thursday Afternoon last deceased was standing opposite
the Wheatsheaf, Edgeware-road, in conversation with a
friend, when one of the horses in a Paddington omnibus
fen down, through the slippery state of the road. De-
ceased immediately on witnessing the occurrence hastened
forward to assist in getting it on its legs, when the ani-
mal suddenly throwing up its head, deceased was struck
on the temple by a brass ornament affixed to the bridle,
and felled to the ground. On being picked up he was
found to be insensible, in which state he was conveyed to
the above hospital, where he died on Monday last in con-
sequence of injuries inflicted un the brain. Verdict,
" Accidental death."