inny hens. On a low wall we noted some shallow earthenware pans filled
with carnation plants, whose red and yellow heads were clearly silhouetted
against the blue sky over head. Perhaps Angela's life, we thought, is
after all happier thus spent in the tending of her parents, her poultry
and her garden, than if joined to that of some swarthy rascal of the beach
below or dull peasant of the hillside. Long may the old people survive to
keep their guardian Angel from the mingled sorrows and joys of matrimony!

"Tenete l'uocchie de miricula nere;
Che ffa la vostra matre che n'n de' marite?
La vostra matre n'a de' marito' apposte
Pe' ne' lleva' son fior, a la fenestre."

("Your eyes are marvellously black and bright!
How is it that your mother does not wed you?
She will not wed you, not to lose her light--
Not to remove the flower that decks her window!")

The well-known hotel kept by Madame Palumbo, who is thoroughly conversant
with English ways and requirements, occupies a delightful position in the
old aristocratic quarter of Ravello known as "Il Toro," the name of which
is still retained in the interesting little church of San Giovanni del
Toro close by. This comfortable hostelry has been constructed out of the
_Vescovado_, the ancient episcopal residence, and it still retains many
curious and attractive features of the original building, notably the
quaint little stair-way that descends from the bishop's private chamber
into the chapel, which is now the _salon_ of the hotel. With its
magnificent views, its interesting buildings and its pure exhilarating
air, Ravello would seem to be an ideal spot wherein to linger, and it
affords a most agreeable change in the later Spring months from the close
atmosphere and enervating heat of Amalfi or the coast towns. Perched on
this breezy hill-top, from the terrace of the hotel can be observed the
whole circuit of the Bay of Salerno, whilst behind to the north and east
the ring of enclosing mountains rises sharp and distinct against the sky.
From this point we are presented with a complete view of the territories
of the ancient Republic, spread out like a map beneath our feet and
stretching from the Punta della Campanella to the heights above Vietri,
and backed by the arid grey mountain peaks. If the garden of the Hotel
Palumbo seems a fitting place wherein to idle or to dream, might not it
also appeal to some historian, not tied to time nor to the hard necessity