e beach known as Lo Scaricotojo, whence in the days
previous to the construction of this splendid highway all visitors were
wont to embark for Amalfi;--that is, unless they attempted the expedition
by way of the mountain roads leading thither from Castellamare or La Cava.
It raises a smile in these days of swift and luxurious travelling to learn
from an early Victorian guide-book that "the most elegible mode of going
from Sorrento to Amalfi is either to ride or to be carried in a _chaise a
porteurs_ to that part of the Colli where begins a rapid descent, and
thence descending on foot to the Marinella of the Scaricotojo on the Gulf
of Salerno.... The ride occupies about an hour and a quarter, and the
descent which, though steep, is not dangerous, occupies about an hour."
_Nous avons change tout ca_; yet there are still living amongst us those
who lament the passing away of the old-fashioned days of Italian travel,
when inns were bad but picturesque, and expeditions to such remote places
as Amalfi were not only difficult but even dangerous; since in
compensation for slow progress and risk of brigands every town owned a
primitive charm which is now rapidly disappearing before the modern
irruption of locust-like swarms of tourists with their motor cars, their
luncheon baskets, and their kodaks. Well, to the majority of travellers
the value of natural scenery is not a little enhanced by the sense of
comfort, and here on the Costiera d'Amalfi the most particular can have no
cause to complain, since it is one of the few lovely spots of Southern
Europe that has not yet been invaded by the dividend-paying railway. No,
the old Republic retains to a great extent its ancient atmosphere of
unspoiled beauty and remoteness from the bustling world. It is still a
stretch of glorious and historic country wherein one can obtain a pleasant
and valued respite for a time from the overpowering improvements of an
industrial age.

As we look southward across the breadth of the Bay, our eye is at once
caught by the group of the Isles of the Sirens, which, though in reality
fully a mile distant from the nearest point of the coast, seem in this
clear atmosphere as though they were lying within a stone's throw of the
beach. Around these bare bluffs of rock, seemingly flung by the hand of
Nature in a sportive mood into the blue waves, lingers one of the most
insidious of all the old Greek legends, for it was past these lonely
cliffs that the cunning