From the top of the hill of the Via Crucis at Duomo d’Ossola, there is a fine view of the flat circular valley, at the edge of which stands the town. A considerable portion of this plain is covered by the enormous beds of gravel and sand brought down by the mountain torrents. In other places it appears rich and fertile, and the meadows are as green as in England.
The churches in this part of Italy have very high slender towers, covered with a depressed pyramidal roof of red tiles, or sometimes with a little cupola; they are almost always white, and form a very striking and characteristic feature in the landscape.
I dined at Duomo d’Ossola in company with a young Englishman, who seemed to have been all over the world; and afterwards, as we were talking together in the balcony, he exclaimed, “Do you keep a pet scorpion?” I followed the direction of his eyes, and saw one of the largest size, crawling on my right breast. I soon got rid of him, but I dare say I looked fifty times at my waistcoat during the evening to see if any other had taken its place: I have no conception how it came there. The room we were in had been newly plastered, but we found another on the wall: they seem to be dull, sluggish animals.
On Monday, 30th of September, I left Duomo d’Ossola, and crossing the valley, great part of the way on beds of gravel covered with _Hippophæ rhamnoides_, mounted by a pleasant rocky defile to Val Vigezza. These Italian vals are for the most part surrounded on three sides by mountains, and on the fourth connected with the plain country by a deep ravine, through which the waters are discharged. I should perhaps rather say separated than connected, as it is only by a narrow track on the slope of the mountain, that the communication is preserved; and it has in some cases been found easier to make the road across the mountain, than to carry it through the defile. Val Vigezza occupies the highest part of the hollow, and discharges its water both ways; partly by the defile through which I ascended, and partly by Cento Valli, where there is hardly any open space, and where the views are finer than on the ascent, but which I should probably have admired more, if I had not just passed the grander and more impressive scenery of the Simplon. I eat, and slept, at the house of the parish priest in the little village of Borgnone, in the Swiss state of Ticino, and the next morning continued my walk to Locarno. I did not fare very well on this road, probably from not being sufficiently aware of the manners of the people, nor having learned to apply for food at the proper hours. In all these remote places you must comply with the customs of the country; it is too difficult a task to teach the inhabitants to accommodate themselves to yours.