murders in Italy are committed amongst the lower orders.  One man murders another who is as much a beggar as himself.  Whereas, our countrymen walk about the unlighted streets of Rome or Naples, at all hours, in perfect safety.  I never heard of one having been attacked, although the riches of Milor’ Inglese are proverbial.  Amongst the immense number of English who have lately travelled through Italy, though all have been cheated, a few only have been robbed; and of these, not one has either been murdered or hurt.  I am far, however, from thinking that murders are more frequent in England than in Italy.  In England they are held in far more abhorrence; they are punished, not only with the terrors of the law, but the execrations of the people.  Every murder resounds through the land—­it is canvassed in every club, and told by every village fireside; and inquests, trials, and newspapers proclaim the lengthened tale to the world.  But in Italy, it is unpublished, unnamed, and unheeded.  The murderer sometimes escapes wholly unpunished.  Sometimes he compounds for it by paying money, if he has any—­and sometimes he is condemned to the gallies, but he is rarely executed.”

* * * * *

WINDSOR CASTLE.

Windsor Castle loses a great deal of its architectural impression (if I may use that word) by the smooth neatness with which its old towers are now chiselled and mortared.  It looks as if it was washed every morning with soap and water, instead of exhibiting here and there a straggling flower, or creeping weather-stains.  I believe this circumstance strikes every beholder; but most imposing, indeed, is its distant view, when the broad banner floats or sleeps in the sunshine, amidst the intense blue of the summer skies, and its picturesque and ancient architectural vastness harmonizes with the decaying and gnarled oaks, coeval with so many departed monarchs.  The stately, long-extended avenue, and the wild sweep of devious forests, connected with the eventful circumstances of English history, and past regular grandeur, bring back the memory of Edwards and Henries, or the gallant and accomplished Surrey.

On Windsor Castle, written 1825, not by a LAUREATE, but a poet of loyal, old Church-of-England feelings.[8]

  Not that thy name, illustrious dome, recalls
  The pomp of chivalry in banner’d halls;
  The blaze of beauty, and the gorgeous sights
  Of heralds, trophies, steeds, and crested knights;
  Not that young Surrey here beguiled the hour,
  “With eyes upturn’d unto the maiden’s tower;"[9]