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back of the Gulf of Messenia, are the wide plains of the
valley of Pamisos, once the most fertile country in Greece,
with Makaria, the ancient “Land of the Blessed.” On the
north-east loom threatening mountain bulwarks—the Taygetus
range, which bounds the inland plain by Sparta, and whose
loftiest peak, rising 2,400 metres above sea-level, nearly
equals Galhöpiggen, the highest mountain in Norway. We
rounded Cape Matapan, with a lighthouse on a shelving
promontory running far out into the sea, which reminds one
not a little of Lindesnes (the Naze). On a peaceful evening,
with a full moon, we steamed across the Gulf of Laconia and
inside Kythera, where the Phœnicians long ago fished for
the purple snail, which was found in large quantities along
the coast of Aphrodite’s sacred island, where she first stepped
ashore from the sea in all her seductive loveliness to drive
mankind to despair. And so round the wind-swept and
much-feared Cape Malea, after which we headed northward
across the Ægean.
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