"You see there was no danger," said the giant to his wife that
evening at the supper-table.
"You would have found there was danger, if you had gone," returned
the wife of the giant significantly.
THE MYTH OF THE SIRENS
I like to walk upon the encircling ridge behind Sorrento, which
commands both bays. From there I can look down upon the Isles of the
Sirens. The top is a broad, windy strip of pasture, which falls off
abruptly to the Bay of Salerno on the south: a regular embankment of
earth runs along the side of the precipitous steeps, towards
Sorrento. It appears to be a line of defence for musketry, such as
our armies used to throw up: whether the French, who conducted siege
operations from this promontory on Capri, under Murat, had anything
to do with it, does not appear.
Walking there yesterday, we met a woman shepherdess, cowherd,
or siren--standing guard over three steers while they fed;
a scantily-clad, brown woman, who had a distaff in her hand, and spun
the flax as she watched the straying cattle, an example of double
industry which the men who tend herds never imitate. Very likely her
ancestors so spun and tended cattle on the plains of Thessaly. We gave
the rigid woman good-morning, but she did not heed or reply; we made
some inquiries as to paths, but she ignored us; we bade her good-day,
and she scowled at us: she only spun.
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