on. This ought not to be otherwise,
seeing what a peculiar sympathy with the monastic institution is
required to make these cloisters comprehensible. The atmosphere of
operose indolence, prolonged through centuries and centuries,
stifles; nor can antiquity and influence impose upon a mind which
resents monkery itself as an essential evil. That Monte Cassino
supplied the Church with several potentates is incontestable. That
mediaeval learning and morality would have suffered more without this
brotherhood cannot be doubted. Yet it is difficult to name men of
very eminent genius whom the Cassinesi claim as their alumni; nor,
with Boccaccio's testimony to their carelessness, and with the
evidence of their library before our eyes, can we rate their
services to civilised erudition very highly. I longed to possess the
spirit, for one moment, of Montalembert. I longed for what is called
historical imagination, for the indiscriminate voracity of those men
to whom world-famous sites are in themselves soul-stirring.

_AMALFI, PAESTUM, CAPRI_

The road between Vietri and Amalfi is justly celebrated as one of
the most lovely pieces of coast scenery in Italy. Its only rivals
are the roads from Castellammare to Sorrento, from Genoa to Sestri,
and from Nice to Mentone. Each of these has its own charm; and yet
their similarity is sufficient to invite comparison: under the spell
of each in turn, we are inclined to say, This then, at all events,
is the most beautiful. On first quitting Vietri, Salerno is left low
down upon the sea-shore, nestling into a little corner of the bay
which bears its name, and backed up by gigantic mountains. With each
onward step these mountain-ranges expand in long aerial line,
revealing reaches of fantastic peaks, that stretch away beyond the
plain of Paestum, till they end at last in mist and sunbeams
shimmering on the sea. On the left hand hangs the cliff above the
deep salt water, with here and there a fig-tree spreading fanlike
leaves against the blue beneath. On the right rises the hillside,
clothed with myrtle, lentisk, cistus, and pale yellow coronilla--a
tangle as sweet with scent as it is gay with blossom. Over the
parapet that skirts the precipice lean heavy-foliaged locust-trees,
and the terraces in sunny nooks are set with lemon-orchards. There
are but few olives, and no pines. Meanwhile each turn in the road
brings some change of scene--now a village with its little beach of
grey sand,