Furnished with such powers of face, Mr. Lear needed no costly passport of Downing-street; which, as we shall presently see, does not always answer. Welcome everywhere as rent, and admitted behind the curtain, his eye has been quick to mark, and his hand busy to realize strange scenes of nature and society. Thanks to him, we are at home among places and people which, although within a few days' journey of Rome and Naples, were scarcely better known than the country and best resident families near Timbuctoo. An unaffected modesty beams out, whether he draws or writes. There is no attempt at elaborate pictures with the pen; a few pithy expressions suffice to let off his artistic enthusiasm; but on them is the smell of the field, not of Cheapside gas. He will probably think it a doubtful compliment when we say that we have sometimes been inclined to like him even better as an author than as an artist. Prepared by annual experience of the stereotyped stuff of illustrated books, we began by only looking at his engravings; but by and bye, from an accidental glance at a sentence or two, we found ourselves tempted onand so on until we read the entire letter-press-to be well repaid by much new observation, nice marking of manners, genuine relish for nature, and quiet dramatic humour. On the whole we are left with a conviction that, in spite of all Mrs. Fanny's sweeping charges, the domestic affections are in a very healthy state;perhaps, indeed, English people may see cause to blush slightly at some of the incidental traits-of filial and fraternal cordiality and liberality especially. A most delightful octavo for any wellcushioned boudoir or britchka might be extracted from these bulky tomes, were all the extraneous matter cut out, that has cost author and us the most pains, and on which he sets the highest estimation; for, ignorant of the value of his own diamond, he has overlaid its sparkle with husks, historical, topographical, and so forth, quoted from older and outlandish folios, with the best-meant motive of disarming learned critics like ourselves, who are supposed by the unlearned to doat on books of whose dullness wornis die. Two mortal pages are filled with the names and titles only of the Dry-as-dust compilers thus forced on the unthankful.

Deferential to Dunciad authors, Mr. Lear has better appreciated his own attainments as an artist; and we regret that we cannot make any specimens of his pencil speak, like the literary extracts, for themselves. There is no mistake in their originality, or in the lively interest which the impressions of individual mind and local identity must ever convey. With the Abruzzi he makes us feel ourselves as familiar as if we had paced every step with his mule-and here we have no help to his pencil but from his own pen. As to Rome, his eye is fully impregnated with the

emphatic

emphatic points of the city and its environs, where everything is so suggestive-where every field has its Livian battle, every hill its Horatian ode, every fountain its Egeria, into which we heartily wish every Niebuhr thrown. He has treated with clever but conscientious drawing the leading characteristics of the scenery, giving us well-selected specimens of each variety;-but, without disparagement to the artist's letterpress, his fair colleague's poetical descriptions are, on the whole, his best Roman commentary. She revels in the luxuriant theme-and happily do her skill and his combine to set before us the forlorn Grand Campagna, where Melancholy broods, and the Eternal City sits, its queen and centre, moated by the silvery Mediterranean, and guarded by walls of purple mountain-fit frame for such a picture. Mr. Lear has well effected the delineation of far-stretching space and flatness by an infinite series of horizontal lines: in his engravings we behold the Campagna spread out like a tawny sea, and feel its solemn sentiment of antiquity, its uncultivated, uninhabited air, dreamy tranquillity, and Claude-like atmosphere of heat and haze. Cleverly his crayon carries us through ravines choked with vegetation, where creepers festoon crumbling temples whose creeds are extinct, and hide the wrinkles of time with the repairs of tender spring. Now we climb slopes spread with a cloak of flowers, and chequered with lights and shadows, as the sun and clouds play at hide-and-seek; while long-horned cattle drink with patient eye from some fountain that drops its diamonds in the bright day-beam. Anon we wander through gullies and gorges, from whose rocks vines suck nectar, while emerald swards wind like rivers between. On every sunlit hillock its time. coloured tomb or ruined tower cuts the blue sky, a landmark and sentinel, where, like meaner insects in deserted shells, shaggy peasants, of coal-black eye and hair, bask and beg. Turning a leaf, we penetrate through spicy groves of ilex, umbrella-headed pines, and dark solid cypresses,

Which pierce with graceful spire the limpid air,'

into leafy retreats of the cool Algidus, where Dian's sandals might shine and her quiver rustle, where water supplants fire, and volcanic craters furnish lakes, clear and deep-set as Albano maiden's eye, baths and looking-glasses for Naiads. High above, on peaks and pinnacles, are bandit-looking hamlets, which nestle and crouch about feudal castles, whose frowning Poussinesque masses contrast with the light and colour around. Gaze on, but enter not these sketcher-charming abodes of sloth and pauperism. Into what bosoms of beauty does not the pure love of nature entice an enthusiast like this!-what pearls are revealed to the educated eye, which, passed over and thrown away upon the

herd,

herd, the power of drawing enables him to seize and fix for ever! But descriptions of pictures are almost as unsatisfactory as the catalogues of auctioneers or Royal Academicians. Only one word more on parting with Mr. Lear's charming portfolio. We could wish that he were more resolute in colour, and less afraid of light. His effects are sometimes too flat and dun for the skies of Italy-fitter for children of the mist than those of the sun; his lights, scanty as they are, seem frequently spotty, and his touch timid, wanting in masculine force and daring-we might say too gentleman-like.

It is impossible to close his volumes without being struck with the close parallel presented by life and manners in the Abruzzi and in Spain, whose dominion this Italian Eden enjoyed or endured during many centuries, and whose moral impression, stamped on a country cognate in latitude and religion, is deep and lasting. We confess to having been constantly transported from the Apennines to the Alpujarras; in perusing his journal of methodless, roadless rambles, we retravelled the dehesas y despoblados, the unpeopled wastes of Estremadura and Andalucia. Heaven and earth, man, his ways and works are alike; the same lapis lazuli curtain' hangs over warm fertile valleys, hemmed in by cold barren sierras where the goat is way-warden, and bridgeless watercourses, which, when torrents, stop all traffic-when dry, are the makeshifts for roads. The same mechanical and agricultural antediluvianism-the same wretched, scratching, childish cultivation, confined to the vicinity of musty villages, into which the peasants, far from what they call their labour, herd for mutual protection; the same leagues of fat lands abandoned to aromatic underwood, the home of wild birds and beasts— at best the appanage of wandering sheep-a system fatal to good husbandry. Every high place has its saint, image, miracle, pilgrimage. No less analogous are the hamlets and cities; their common character is silence, the worst sign a town can have. Bore unspeakable reigns the genius loci; there is the same look of being in Chancery-the same ghost of departed disproportionate magnificence in church and palace mocking present poverty. Pass the threshold of the hovel, and every sense becomes an inlet of pain-everything is wanting to elevate man above the condition of his porchi. Sad enough it is to witness, in a land where Nature would fain be so lavish of her kindness, such a wilderness of weeds, the rank growth of nothing but bad government. But climate is great in the chapter of compensation; the blessed sun gilds misery, and, where people live out of doors, furnishes fire, raiment, and lodging, stimulates the system and banishes blue-devils. Enter the vasty mansions of the

great

great-we find the same dull, weary impress of a cumbrous, obsolete existence, amid faded tapestries, flapping portraits, and dry-rot; the same lack of life, business, and employment-the same utter absence of books and all other signs and symptoms of intellectual occupation. Nor is the analogy of the all-plundering, all-destroying, invading Gaul wanting; that European pest has in both fair lands left the mark of the beast on temple and tower-everywhere, from shattered roofless tenements, the bright light gleams through empty windows, as through sockets of ghastly skulls. Mix with the inmates in both countries-they are all dons or donnas-formal, punctilious, ceremonious-joying in pompous titles and puny decorations-local in loves and hatreds -leading a life of routine made up of mass and siesta, sauntering and twaddle-a dozing immemorial vegetation-the worship excepted of the great goddess of the south, Dolce far niente -the much-calumniated Idleness of work-loving Britons. As one wanders through these kindred realms, and sees about the most magnificent regions of the globe abandoned to such helpless indolence, it requires some little effort to realize the fact that we tread on what have been the scenes of exalted heroism, energetic administration, refined civilization, and successful industry.

Among the endless coincidences-mendicancy not the leastwhich space prevents our detailing, a fear and suspicion of foreigners marks the official mind. The odious French machinery of passports, permits, and gendarmerie, is all in full vigour. The petty despotisms of the two cognate peninsulas alike tremble at the fear of change, and see in every curious stranger a spy, an apostle of reform and revolution; and the Dogberries rarely deviate into common sense. Mr. Lear recounts an adventure from which the melodious title of our nuper idoneus Foreign Secretary appears to be synonymous even in the wild Apennines with protocols of hot water-battle, murder, and sudden death. The anecdote may be quoted as a companion-picture to the effect produced by the magic name of Balmerson, when exhibited by Mr. Borrow to the ragged and liberal National Guard of Estremadura :

'Nothing particular happened in the walk, except being wet through by storms of rain; but at Civita Ducale a three-parts drunken carabiniere prevented my entering, insisting on knowing my name, which I not only told him, but politely showed him my passport, which was one from the Foreign-Office, with VISCOUNT PALMERSTON printed thereon in large letters, Lear being small and written. Niente vero (a complete lie), said the man of war, who seemed happy to be able to cavil. Voi non siete Lear, siete Palmerstoni! (You are not Lear, you are Palmerstoni.) No, I am not, said I; my name is Lear. But the irascible official was not to be so easil hecked; though, knowing the power of these worthies, I took care "fy his anger as much as might be.

he. Quel ch' e scritto, scritto e-dunque ecco qua scritto Palmerstoni-dunque siete Palmerstoni voi!-(What is written is written; here Palmerstoni is written, and therefore Palmerstoni you are.) You great fool, I thought; but I made two bows, and said placidly, Take me to the Sott'intendente, my dear Sir, as he knows me very well. Peggio!-said the angry man, tu! incommodare l'eccellente Signor Solt' intendente!—vien, vien, subito ti tiro in carcere!—(Worse still!— thou, forsooth!-worry the excellent Lord Under-governor for thee!-come, come; I shall instantly take thee to prison.) Some have greatness thrust upon them; in spite of all expostulation, Viscount Palmerston it was settled I should be. There was nothing to be done: so I was trotted ignominiously all down the High-street, the carabiniere shouting out to everybody at door and window, Ho preso Palmerstoni !—(I have bagged Palmerstoni.) Luckily the Sub-governor was taking a walk, and met us; whereupon followed a scene of apologies to me, and snubbing for the military, who retreated discomfited. So I reached Rieti by dark, instead of going to prison.'-Lear, vol. i. p. 127.

Arch-Spanish this; but in spite of ventas and garlic, passports and Palmerstoni, there is bird-lime in these racy regions, which are quitted with regret and recollected with delight. Touching is Mr. Lear's farewell to scenes made for the painter, and peopled after all by the kind and hospitable; nor less graceful are the adieus of his pleasing but difficult-to-please colleague. The day before Mrs. Fanny departed, December 7th, was dark and gloomy -the rain incessant ;—yet she knelt at the fountain of Trevi, and drank of its sweet waters-for those who so drink return, she had been told, to Rome-and she would carry that hope with her. May it be gratified—when the mind is more at ease, and the fascinating lady's temper less mutinous.

ART. VI.-1. Narrative of the Surveying Voyage of H.M.S. Fly,' commanded by Capt. F. P. Blackwood, R.N., in Torres Strait, New Guinea, and other Islands of the Eastern Archipelago, during the Years 1842-1846, together with an Excursion into the Interior of the Eastern part of Java. By J. Beeta Jukes, M.A., F.G.S., Naturalist to the Expedition. 2 vols.

8vo. 1847.

2. Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs, being the first part of the Geology of the Voyage of the Beagle,' under the command of Capt. Fitzroy, during the Years 1832-1836. By Charles Darwin, M.A., F.R.S., F.G.S. London, 1842.

THE volumes we have placed at the head of this article form the narrative of one of those expeditions of maritime survey in a distant region of the globe, by which the credit and interests of England, as the great maritime and colonial power of the world,