k so at the time.

At Leghorn we changed the boat, and, retracing our steps, came now at
last to Naples,--to this priest-ridden, misgoverned, full of dirty,
degraded men and women, yet still most lovely Naples,--of which the
most I can say is that the divine aspect of nature _can_ make you
forget the situation of man in this region, which was surely intended
for him as a princely child, angelic in virtue, genius, and beauty,
and not as a begging, vermin-haunted, image kissing Lazzarone.

LETTER XIV.

ITALY.--MISFORTUNE OF TRAVELLERS.--ENGLISH TRAVELLERS.--
COCKNEYISM.--MACDONALD THE SCULPTOR.--BRITISH ARISTOCRACY.--
TENERANI.--WOLFF'S DIANA AND SEASONS.--GOTT.--CRAWFORD.--OVERBECK
THE PAINTER.--AMERICAN PAINTERS IN ROME.--TERRY.--GRANCH.--HICKS.--
REMAINS OF THE ANTIQUE.--ITALIAN PAINTERS.--DOMENICHIMO AND
TITIAN.--FRESCOS OF RAPHAEL.--MICHEL ANGELO.--THE COLOSSEUM.--HOLY
WEEK.--ST. PETER'S.--PIUS IX. AND HIS MEASURES.--POPULAR
ENTHUSIASM.--PUBLIC DINNER AT THE BATHS OF TITUS.--AUSTRIAN
JEALOUSY.--THE "CONTEMPORANEO."

Rome, May, 1847.

There is very little that I can like to write about Italy. Italy is
beautiful, worthy to be loved and embraced, not talked about. Yet I
remember well that, when afar, I liked to read what was written about
her; now, all thought of it is very tedious.

The traveller passing along the beaten track, vetturinoed from inn
to inn, ciceroned from gallery to gallery, thrown, through indolence,
want of tact, or ignorance of the language, too much into the
society of his compatriots, sees the least possible of the country;
fortunately, it is impossible to avoid seeing a great deal. The great
features of the part pursue and fill the eye.

Yet I find that it is quite out of the question to know Italy; to say
anything of her that is full and sweet, so as to convey any idea of
her spirit, without long residence, and residence in the districts
untouched by the scorch and dust of foreign invasion (the invasion
of the _dilettanti_ I mean), and without an intimacy of feeling, an
abandonment to the spirit of the place, impossible to most Americans.
They retain too much, of their English blood; and the travelling
English, as a class, seem to me the most unseeing of all possible
animals. There are exceptions; for instance, the perceptions and
pictures of Browning seem as delicate and just here on the spot as
they did at a distance; but, take them as a class, they have the
vulgar familiarity