The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1892-06-13


every corner and side street and heard
them calling out, five, four, three and
even two and a half as the price, I
thought for taking me to Amalfi, as that
is the most popular drive, from Salerno.
began to think was going to pay the
victoria porter large sum for getting
me taken there, but concluded since he
had badge and was responsible to the
hotel, it would be much better to employ
him than to take any of these fugitive
cabmen who might expect more in fee
than in pay and perhaps finally might set
me down by the roadside as is frequently
the custom in case of my not yielding to
their exorbitant demands.
The Route to Ama1fi.
The highway to Amalf used to be in
tested with banditti land I had felt before
hand apprehensive about the trip. But a
bandit would have quite as good chance
on Fifth Avenue or Broadway so far as
solitude is concerned as on this road,
where carriages of every description from
LIE Cava Vietri, Salermo and several 9th
er starting points finally meet in this
lovely serpentine along the coast, Peo-
pie from every habitable country are
climbing these heights, going down these
crags, circling round these rocks, reap
pearing on these wondrous quays which
lie beneath terraced heights planted with
lemons and oranges groves, some full of
ripe fruit and some just putting forth
buds and almost ready for wedding bios
somings Vineyards are stretched out
on ladders such as Jacob saw, which rest
on steps which scarcely seem to cling to
the ledgy embankment upon which the
soil has been built.
One is never reminded so much of the
great capacity of patient labor as in all
parts of Europe, and especially in Italy,
where by the mere handiwork of men
rocky islands are made to blossom as the
rose, and on the rugged mountain crags
beautiful vineyards spring up, furnishing
the choicest of wines-all by untiring
effort in building up the soil into terra
ces, upon which almost every Southern
production will thrive and grow.
Still higher up are the towns and vii
lagos, and it sometimes seems one above
the other, their steeples almost in the
clouds.
A curious variety of turnouts enter
these towns, going like the wind over
roads which lie close to the edge of
precipices below, which bend in and out
like a tightly tense bow. Famed by the
breeze from the delightful waters be-
You'd, forward and backward they go,
up and down, in and out the little ponies
jogging on, as if they liked the whip
which falls on them and at them at every
moment, they expressing approval of this
kind of attention in most satisfied man
ner.
Meanwhile the beggars keep time to
the whole, running after the carriages,
with hair flying and hands extended, smil-
ing and gestiuclating, apparently as we'll
pleased at refusal as at the reception
of a gratuity. This affection became
everywhere more annoying and was the
only blemish, little later in my stay at
Amalfi, where in a half hours time one
hundred well dressed good looking chill
dren asked for soldi One boy receiv-
ing nothing disappeared, and in a mo
ment came back with pretty baby,
which he had borrowed, and held it up,
extending its chubby hand rounded in
the beggar fashion. This hollow hand,
as seen here in asking for aims is unique;
it is an inheritance from sire to son, it is
nothing learned, but like the poet mas
c5tur non ft."
Amalf.
After two hours spent in this charm
ing drive, which is said to be the finest in
the world, in combined mountainous
scenery and sea views, the little vehicle
still entire and the pony wet with per-
SEPARATION but unfatigued, stopped on one
of those projecting promontories extend
ing out into the sea, at the door of an
old monastery, now the Hotel de Lune,
half way between the villages of Atrani
and Amalfi. This hotel is the good inn
which Samuel johnson describes when
he says: "There has nothing been con-
trived by man by which so much happi-
ness is produced as by good tavern or
inn." Such hotels are dispensations of
Providence, Ravens of rest for the tired
tourist, who must sometimes pause or
die.
These old monasteries used as hotels,
on the hillsides overlooking the sea are
places in which to linger. So far above
the cities they are that the people look
like specks below, and not even the sight
OF sound of any disturbing care can pene-
trate the walls. The rooms are old
cloisters which makes one wish himself
priest OF nun, and into which the clear
sunlight streams from every side, and
from which the most delightful views
can be seen far over the blue sea in one
grand sweep. There are tiny craft scat
tered here and there, and the splash of
the oar is heard, but there are no putting
engines to remind one of time or to
brighten the sea birds from the shore.
This old monastery has a garden for
court filed with flowers and plants, into
which all the chambers open, and there
is larger garden outside extending far
on a hillside above, which contains
lovely promenades and big broad stone
seats hewn into solid rock. These old
queer looking massive seats seem full of
weird suggestions of Hastings and prostrass
lions, mumblings, penances and priestly
prayers. The whole scene echoes with
the spirit of the past
The filmy atmosphere is like nothing
heard or dreamed in the world. No.
where else is there such stretch of
water so blue; in no other place is there
everything so like what heaven might
be, no air is SO sweet, no sky of such a
soft hue, no heat, no cold, no chill, no
damp, nothing too dry, everything SO
still, and all the conditions just suited
to the mood and necessity of all.
What are all the exhumed cities to a