ding mountains, appears to us a second Amalfi, with its crowded beach
and brightly coloured boats, with its paper and maccaroni mills, huddled
into the narrow ravine of the Senna, which cuts the town in half ere it
empties itself into the Bay. Overhead the huge ruined castle of San
Niccolo looms distinct against the rose-flushed evening sky, crouching
like some decrepit old giant above the little city which he so oppressed
in the bad old days when Sanseverini and Colonna carried on a perpetual
selfish strife that allowed their humble neighbours no repose. Beautiful
as is Majori, it is no lovelier than many another spot upon this exquisite
coast; it is but as one pearl in a well-matched necklace, for the country
that lies between Amalfi and Salerno is fully as rich in historical
interest and natural charm as is the western portion that we have just
traversed. Behind Majori we behold Monte Falerio, with its rocky summit
tipped with the glow of evening and its base in purple shadow, descending
abruptly into the darkening waters of the Bay. Slanting down to the
surf-fringed beach, the great mountain seem to bar our further progress,
but with a guttural imprecation and a loud cracking of the whip, our
coachman deftly guides his half-starved but cunning little horses round
the sharp corner of the mountain spur known as the Capo del' Orso, and in
a trice Amalfi, whither we have been straining our eyes, is snatched from
our vision; a few minutes later, and we have rounded the Capo del Tumulo,
with its memories of the great Genoese admiral, Filippino Doria, who in
the treacherous currents that circle round this Cape, destroyed the
Spanish fleet of the Emperor Charles V. Already the sun has dipped below
the horizon, and the calm expanse of the Tyrrhene has lost the last
reflected ray; forward our driver urges his horses in the fast-fading
light. The Angelus rings out from half a score of belfries beside the
seashore and on the hillside, breaking the stillness of the gloaming with
musical reverberations. Sunset and evening star, twilight and evening
bell; how exquisite is the fall of night upon the shores of the Bay of
Salerno! We pass the fishing village of Cetara, and in so doing we pass by
the willing strength of imagination out of the dominion of the ancient
Republic of Amalfi into the Principality of Salerno. Onward we press, and
it is not long before a shrill familiar sound bursts upon our ears, a
sound that quickly tears the g