velvet-covered coffin containing the ashes of
the Divine Vittoria and her "Bel Sole," and surmounted by the sword,
banner and portrait of Fernando d'Avalos, is still pointed out to the
stranger, resting on a shelf in the sacristy of the church. We cannot but
regret that Vittoria's body did not find a final resting-place in her
_superbo scoglio_, where all her happiest years were spent and where her
memory still survives so fresh.

Sadly deserted appear to-day the historic buildings, which are fast
falling into hopeless decay; even the large domed church of the Castle has
been desecrated and turned into a stable.

"Tocsins from yon bleak turrets never ring;
No knight or pages pace those galleries,
So sombre and so silent: ever cling
To that cold church and palace draperies
Of glaucous fume-weed; sea-birds ever sing
The vanished glories with low mournful cries."

Ischia itself is a quaint, dirty, straggling town, possessing a small
cathedral of ancient foundation, but modernised within and without, its
sole object of interest being a curious font resting on marble lions. The
charm of the city lies chiefly in the busy scenes to be witnessed daily on
its sandy beach and on the stone causeway that leads to the Castle, where
a large part of the population seems to spend most of its time in mending
the deep brown fishing nets or in attending to the gaudily painted boats.

Almost adjoining the outskirts of the little capital of the island is
Porto d'Ischia, with a deep circular harbour that was once the crater of
an extinct volcano, wherein every variety of Mediterranean fishing craft
is to be seen at anchor. Close to the port, embowered among groves of
orange and lemon trees that in winter time are laden with bright or pale
yellow fruit, stands a fine old villa of the Bourbon kings of Naples, once
a favourite summer retreat of his Majesty King Bomba. Royalty has long
abandoned Ischia, and the villa has now been converted into a bath house.
Beyond its neglected park stretches an extensive pine forest, carpeted in
spring time with daisies, marigolds and anemones, and even in February gay
with yellow oxalis and redolent with the scent of hidden violets.

The road from Ischia to Casamicciola, a distance of four miles, leads
along the base of Monte Epomeo through olive groves and vineyards, the
whitewashed walls of the domed cottages, the flat roofs and cisterns, and
the frequent clumps of aloe or prickly pear givi