ng an Eastern aspect to
the scenery, though the sharp tinklings of the goat bells among the
thickets of white heath and dark myrtle scrub on the hill-sides and the
continual murmur of the waves breaking on the rocks below, serve to remind
us we are upon the Neapolitan Riviera. Our destination at length is
reached, the roadway crossing the deep valley of the Gurgitello with its
sulphur baths, which once had a wide reputation and are still much
frequented in the summer months by the people of Naples. Although the
sources of the springs were certainly damaged by the earthquake of 1883,
new bathing establishments have been built, and a fair number of patients
are once more availing themselves of these beneficent waters, which of
course are warranted to heal every bodily evil under the sun. A course of
the Ischian waters therefore applied externally and internally (so the
local doctors inform us)

"Muove i paralitici,
Spedisce gli apopletici,
Gli asmatici, gli asfitici,
Gl' isterici, i diabetici
Guarisce timpanitidi,
E scrofule e rachitidi."

Formerly the most populous and prosperous township of the whole island,
Casamicciola consists to-day principally of a mass of shapeless ruins,
together with a number of dismal corrugated iron huts grouped round an
ugly modern church, nor can its exquisite views and luxuriant gardens make
amends for the settled air of melancholy which continues to brood over
this unlucky spot. Every reader will doubtless remember the story of the
terrible earthquake of July 28th 1883, when almost without warning the
whole town, then crowded with its usual influx of summer visitors, was
overthrown and engulfed in the space of a few seconds of time. Hotels,
villas, churches, cottages, all suffered equally, and though the exact
number of those who perished of all classes will never be known, the most
moderate accounts put the figure as high as 3000 souls. Several English
people lost their lives in that brief but terrible upheaval, and as many
of the bodies as were recovered from the wreckage were laid to rest in the
little cemetery outside the town, a plot of ground overhanging the sea,
and shaded by cypress and eucalyptus trees. Many and impressive are the
stories still to be heard from the lips of the present inhabitants, who
are wont to date all events from that fearful night of darkness and
destruction, and who all have piteous tales to tell of relations killed
and houses shattered. The