urning our backs on the island with its memories of Portia the Perfect
and of Queen Joanna the Improper, we pursue our course along the sea-shore
with rocks of ancient lava above us to the right, now heavily overgrown
with brushwood and plants, amongst which we notice tufts of the pretty
wild asparagus, that the observant Pliny centuries ago found flourishing
in this district. As an early herb, coming into season long before its
cultivated cousin is fit for cutting, this succulent vegetable is highly
prized in the South, and its flavour though somewhat bitter is most
palatable, so that an omelette _aux pointes d'asperges sauvages_ is a dish
not to be despised by those who get the opportunity of testing this local
delicacy. Before us lies our goal, Pozzuoli, with its ancient citadel
jutting into the placid waters and backed by the classic headland of
Misenum, above which in turn towers the crest of distant Epomeo.

Pozzuoli in recent years has been much neglected by strangers, so much so
that no inn worthy to be called an hotel now exists, and such _trattorie_
as the place offers are all equally extortionate and detestable. Some time
ago there was a comfortable _pension_ at the edge of the town on the road
to the Amphitheatre, but its English landlady has long since migrated
elsewhere, and the comfortable "Hotel Grande Bretagne" is no more; whilst
nowadays there are to be found no visitors hardy enough to endure a
prolonged sojourn in the wretched hostelries of the town itself. The
electric tram and the rail-road have in fact killed Pozzuoli as a winter
resort, more's the pity, for it is not only a spot of singular interest in
itself but its climate is certainly superior to that of Naples, for the
great headland which shuts off the city from the Phlegrean Fields serves
also to act as a buffer against the icy _tramontana_ that sweeps along the
Chiaja in winter and early spring. Invalids used at one time to inhabit
Pozzuoli on account of its mild atmosphere, and even to visit the
Solfatara daily on mule-back, in order to inhale its sulphureous fumes,
which were then believed to be good for weak chests. But medical fashions
vary like all others, and consumptive patients now seek other places than
Pozzuoli for their cure.

Many are the walks outside the town, and none are without beauty or
interest, for, the neighbourhood of Syracuse excepted, we can think of no
place in Italy wherein one is brought so closely into touch with