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there are countless little images of San Gennaro, with his
Canute's hand stretched out, to check the fury of the Burn-
ing Mountain, we are carried pleasantly, by a railroad on
the beautiful Sea Beach, past the town of Torre del Greco,
built upon the ashes of the former town destroyed by an
eruption of Vesuvius, within a hundred years; and past the
flat-roofed houses, granaries, and maccaroni manufactories;
to Castel-a-Mare, with its ruined castle, now inhabited by
fishermen, standing in the sea upon a heap of rocks. Here,
the railroad terminates; but, hence we may ride on, by an
unbroken succession of enchanting bays, and beautiful
scenery, sloping from the highest summit of Saint Angelo,
the highest neighbouring mountain, down to the water's
edge - among vineyards, olive trees, gardens of oranges
and lemons, orchards, heaped-up rocks, green gorges in
the hills - and by the bases of snow-covered heights, and
through small towns with handsome, dark-haired women at
the doors - and past delicious summer villas - to Sorrento,
where the Poet Tasso drew his inspiration from the beauty
surrounding him. Returning, we may climb the heights
above Castel-a-Mare, and looking down among the boughs
and leaves, see the crisp water glistening in tke sun; and
dusters of white houses in distant Naples, dwindling, in the
great extent of prospect, down to dice. The coming back to
the city, by the beach again, at sunset: with the glowing sea
on one side, and the darkening mountain, with its smoke
and flame, upon the other: is a sublime conclusion to the
glory of the day.

That church by the Porta Capuana - near the old

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