that we were actually in that Italy I had so long desired to see. We entered a very large salon-no bells-no glass to the sashes-no fastening to the doors-tiles to tread on, and the walls and ceiling stuccoed and delicately painted with flowers. We retired to rest, thankful for preserving mercies to Him" who sendeth the springs into the valleys which run among the hills." Domo d'Ossola appeared populous and commercial-the houses are painted with various subjects on the outside. The convent of the Jesuits is of black and white marble. Leaving the town early, we crossed Val Bugnanco, Val Antzina, and the Val Angasca. The latter leads up, between vast rocky buttresses, to Mount Rosa-la Bella Rosa d'Italia, which displays its rosy beauties to the sun at the height of fifteen thousand and eighty-four feet above the level of the sea. We crossed the pretty Ponte Masone over the Toccia ; and, on the opposite side of the valley, observed the little village of Pie de Mouliere, at the foot of that range of Alps which forms the side screen to Mount Rosa. Beyond the beautiful wooded mountain on the left of this valley, rises a branch of the Grison range, reaching to Lago Maggiore, and forming one side of the gloomy valley of Intrasca, Mountains and valleys, and rivers, in coastant variety, rouse you to observation: there is no napping-time, and your eye is carried along the Toccia, between the fine white marble mountains of Cordaglia, and the red granite masses, near Baveno, till it catches the first glimpse of the Lago Maggiore. Arrived on its border, I was disappointed; and yet Isola Bella, Isola Madre were before me. But I had just left the gloomy grandeur of the Simplon, and I did not feel in tone, perhaps, for a lighter, gayer landscape. Look ing to the south there is a flatness, a barrenness. As we drove on the border of the lake, the chesnut, the olive, the mulberry, the fig-tree, and the maize, were luxuriant on our right. At Baveno, we found a neat inn, with a terrace of very pretty flowers: here we hired a boat, and in a quarter of an hour were seated in our bark, gathering news from our Italian boatmen. With just breeze enough to ripple the waves, we glided along by a small island called "Il Peschera," (from the number of pescatori who inhabit it,) and then passed on to the " Isola Bella." The first object is a very large unfinished house-not a vestige of fine architecture-and not a tree to shade it. As we rowed round to the steps, the porticos assumed a better appearance, but the family linen was hanging to dry from its balustrades. A well-informed man led us through the galleries. My attention was drawn to a table of agate, a present from Pius VII. to Buonaparte. He and his officers were some time in this Palazzo; we saw the bed in which he slept, and heard discussions on the reception given him by the Prince Borromeo. The under part of the palace is a succession of grottoes, fitted up with shells, and ornamented with statues. A head of Jove and a veiled figure were finely executed. On the rock are two "laurus nobilis," (the bay of Italy)—they are six hundred years old. How many laurels, Borromean and Buonapartean, have faded since they began to flourish!-they appeared in full vigour. On the southern side of the rock rises a pyramid of terraces, on arches. The fruits are delicious; the lemons and oranges annually gathered amount to thousands; they are not indigenous, but are preserved in winter by the whole pyramid being boarded over. CARDINAL BORROMEO. 11 The exotics were not very choice; but in summer the flowers are said to be luxuriant. The gardens are in childish taste, and from no one spot have an unity of effect,—a mere heap of small things. A French nobleman (whom we saw presented to Prince Borromeo) attracted our attention, from his truly high-toned manners. The two parties walked round the garden together, and as children presented flowers, he selected a bouquet and offered it; the Princess, who was with him, appeared to less advantage. The Principessa Borromeo was quietly drawing in her boudoir. It was not till we were reseated in our boat, escaped from the scorching heat of this Bella Isola, that we woke to all the beauties which surrounded us. To the north rise Mount Rosa, the Simplon, the Gries, the St. Gothard, the Moschellon, the Bennardin, and the Jarisberg; and from this Alpine amphitheatre the waters rush down to the lake. To the east and south the mountains gradually decrease to the plains of Lombardy. Isola Madre, a little wooded island, lay before a lofty mountain; the deep recesses of the north-eastern view received the fine shades of lofty promontories, and led the eye dimly to its distant valleys of Locarno, whilst in front was the dazzling iris-tinted crystal water; our canopy, heaven's brightest blue; and, hanging over the shore of Baveno, the rich treasures of the vineyard, surmounted by red granite-rocks. We glided back to Baveno: they gave us for dinner the fish agone, a species of Sardinia-" Cyprinus Agone." After this refreshment, we drove to Arona, and observed to the right the gigantic statue of Carlo Borromeo, in bronze. Arona, the birthplace of this remarkable character, is now in ruins. The castle, where he was born in 1538, is totally dilapidated. Invested with the dignities of Cardinal Nephew to Pope Pius IV., he devoted himself to the duties of his pastoral office as Archbishop of Milan; with an intellect enlightened by the then spreading doctrines of the reformation, his heart was a stranger to their power. It is true that he, seeing that the accusations of licentiousness brought against the Catholic clergy were just, endeavoured strengthen their declining power by reforming their man ners. He gave the example, dismissed eighty domestics. -discarded silk from his dress-fasted once a weekevinced his charity by his continuance in the scene of danger at Milan, attending the sick and dying of the plague, and sold his goods in order to furnish himself with the means of relieving the general distress. Surely, say you, we have a saint?-Yes! he was canonized by Paul V. But he had learned his lessons of charity amidst those scenes which induced his uncle to throw into the gloomy cells of the Inquisition beyond the Tiber all who thought not as the church dictated. He planted convents of Jesuits on the hills which overlook Locarno, and here persecuted the Protestants to the utmost; lined the Valteline with forts, and sent inquisitors to seek heretical books; bands of armed men haunted the road of the Valteline, to seize the Protestants unawares, and carry them to Rome. Francisco Cellario*, the Protestant minister of Montigno, was near Chiavenna, when some emissaries rushed from a wood on the margin of the Lake Maggiore, and took him prisoner. Can one forget the scenes of war that Borromeo occasioned on its borders? Barbara di Montalto, the wife of the first physician of Locarno, having incurred the resentment of the Pope's nuncio, (patronised by Borromeo,) he endeavoured to apprehend * Sce M'Crie's History of the Reformation in Italy. her. Her husband's house, which had been built as a place of defence during the violent feuds of the Guelphs and Ghibelines, is on this lake, looking to the lofty Alpine heights which rise in solemn grandeur at its northern end. It had, we are told, a concealed door, which it required the strength of six men to move, opening on the water, where a boat was kept waiting to carry off the inmates on any sudden alarm. Montalto had caused his servants to open this at night, in consequence of an alarming dream, which led him to apprehend danger, not to his wife, but to himself. Early next morning, the officers of justice entered his house; and, bursting into the apartment where the lady was dressing, presented a warrant to convey her to prison. Rising up, with the greatest presence of mind, she begged them, with an air of feminine delicacy, to permit her to retire to an adjoining apartment. This being granted, she descended the stairs; and, leaping into the boat, was rowed off in safety before the eyes of her enemies, who were assembled in the court-room to receive her. But, alas! Montalto found that the danger was still to himself. The officers wreaked their vengeance upon him; and, ere long, all the Protestants of these beautiful shores were banished, in the midst of winter, to the snows of Bellinzone and its neighbouring mountains. But Borromeo was canonised; and his bust, and his statues, and his fame, fill Lombardy. Turning to the right, round the wall of his castle, we soon reached the Ticino, and got into the ferry. A blind Italian musical beggar jumped into the boat, and almost made the horses jump over its side by his Orphean strains. On landing at Sesto, we observed two very smart beaux ; and, to our no small surprise, they accompanied us to the |