of money-making, as a suitable spot for the conception of a history of the
origin, rise, decline and fall of the great maritime Republic, whose
dominions, still smiling and populous, surround Ravello on all sides?
Gibbon found the first suggestion for his Roman History whilst musing upon
the ruins of the Capitol, and he finished his great work in a Swiss garden
amidst the scent of acacia bloom; might not the annals of the Amalfitan
Republic likewise spring from reflections made upon this terrace, where
the memories of a former greatness still beautiful in its decay must
operate so powerfully? Well, perhaps some future Gibbon--or more probably
some budding Mommsen--may in time present the world with a true impartial
and erudite history of the Costiera d'Amalfi.

We bask lazily in the afternoon sunshine, to the soft, rather soporific
cooing of some caged doves, that live in the back-ground out of sight
behind a screen of lemon trees in huge red jars, such as Morgiana must
have been familiar with. Beyond the terrace wall we note the carefully
tended vines, precious plants, for their grapes produce the delicate
_Episcopio_ wine, perhaps the choicest vintage to be obtained around
Naples, and boasting a flavour and bouquet that are rarely to be
encountered except in the products of the most celebrated vineyards of
France or Germany.

"O quam placens in colore,
O quam fragrans in odore,
O quam sapidum in ore,
Dolce linguae vinculum.

"Felix venter quem intrabis,
Felix guttur quod rigabis,
Felix os quod tu lavabis;
Et beata labia!"

Below the vinery we catch glimpses of the dancing waters of the Bay and of
the little towns of Minori and Majori, seen through a screen of olive and
almond trees that are gently swayed by the south wind. Opposite to us
towers the huge form of the mountain of the Avvocata, upon whose slopes
centuries ago the Madonna herself appeared in a flood of glory to an
ignorant but pious shepherd lad, promising the startled youth to become
his mediator, the _avvocata_ of his simple prayers. The story must be
true, say the peasants, for there on the hillside can still be seen the
ruins of the shrine that the wondering and grateful villagers raised upon
the very site of the apparition in honour of their celestial visitor. But
the whole country-side teems with interesting and often beautiful legends
and traditions, handed down by generations of the simple hardy folk who
toil for their da