On Wednesday morning I walked to Ascona, and thence, along the shores of the lake, to Canobio. The road near the villages is usually between two stone walls, with a trellis supporting the vines overhead. The grapes within reach are whitewashed, apparently to prevent passengers from eating them. In the remoter parts these precautions are omitted, and the rude trellis, which supports the vines, rests on posts of granite or mica slate; but the trees and vines seldom permit an extensive view, though the road is a continued succession of steep ascents and descents. I became rather tired of this, and at Canobio hired a boat to take me down the lake, and to the Borromean islands. The scenery improves as we descend; the mountains divide, and present more variety in themselves, as well as give occasional views of higher and more distant summits. About Intra, Palanza, and Laveno, it is particularly fine: the long continuous range of mountains, forming the eastern shore of the lake, here ceases; and at the last mentioned place, and below it, we have only hills of moderate elevation, covered with trees and cultivation, and terminating in steep banks or little cliffs at the water’s edge. The range on the western side also ceases at Intra; but there is a fine detached hill behind Palanza, and mountains again occur of considerable height, beyond the bay which incloses the Borromean islands. Two rivers fall into the head of this bay: their vallies are separated by a noble crag, and a long perspective of a succession of mountains, exposes the snowy summits of the higher Alps, which form a delightful contrast with the beauties of the nearer scenery. There is one island near Palanza which commands this view better than any other; but it is seldom visited, because there is only a small villa upon it. On the Isola Madre is a larger villa; on another island (Isola Peschiera) is a little village; but the great object of curiosity is the Isola Bella, where we see a magnificent villa of the Borromean family, in sublimely bad taste, both inside and out. There are however, some handsome rooms within; and the profuse and extended scale on which art has exerted itself, joined to a luxuriant vegetation, produces no small effect of grandeur without. The views from it are most beautiful, both up and down the lake, and up the bay. I landed at Stresa, and walked to Belgirate, and thence to Arona. The lower part of the lake is quiet, and without any of the sublime character of the upper, but still very beautiful; and points of cliff occasionally rise from the water. Arona is a very picturesque little place, seated on a point at the foot of one of these cliffs. On a hill above it is the statue of St. Charles Borromeo; 66 feet high, on a pedestal of above 30, so that the whole is about 100 English feet in height. As I walked along the road below, the pedestal was quite lost; and the great priest, walking among the woods, which reach only to his middle, and holding up his fingers in the act of blessing the people, had a very singular effect. It is made partly of cast bronze, and partly of plates of copper on timber framing, and the execution is very good. The views from it are exceedingly fine. From Arona I crossed the lake to Ispra, where the custom-house officers took it into their heads to examine my little bundle, and then asked me for something to drink. From Ispra I walked to Comerio, near the lake Varese. The entire change of scenery had a pleasing effect; instead of rocks and mountains, I was among gently swelling hills, well cultivated with different sorts of grain, and shaded with fine chesnut trees. The maize was nearly ripe: the barren flowers and the upper leaves had just been cut off, that the juices of the plant might all be directed to the seed. In some instances the heads of seeds had likewise been gathered and hung up to dry about the houses. Many of the inhabitants were employed in beating down the chesnuts; which were large and good, like the Spanish chesnut; whereas among the mountains, though great part of the wood is formed of chesnut trees, yet the fruit is small, like what we have in England.[29] From Gavirate to Comerio, the land rises considerably, and there are extensive surfaces of white limestone, containing beds of flint rather than chertz. Before me lay a great extent of country of the same character as that which I had passed; the Lake of Varese lying on the right; to the left is the woody hill on whose slope the road runs; and behind are the distant mountains of Lago Maggiore, and the still more distant snowy mass of Monte Rosa. My eye is so familiarized to white tops, that I can hardly fancy any mountain high without them, and something always seems wanting where they are not.