. But the life, good or bad, was utterly gone out of it
now, and what was left of the tower was a burden to the sense. A few
scrawny blackberries and other brambles grew out of its fallen stones;
harsh, dust-dry mosses painted its weather-worn walls with their
blanched gray and yellow. From its foot, looking out over the valley,
we saw the road to the Spluegen Pass lying white-hot in the valley; and
while we looked, the diligence appeared, and dashed through the dust
that rose like a flame before. After that it was a relief to stroll
in dirty by-ways, past cottages of saffron peasants, and poor stony
fields that begrudged them a scanty vegetation, back to the steamer
blistering in the sun.

Now indeed we were glad of the awning, under which a silent crowd of
people with sunburnt faces waited for the departure of the boat. The
breeze rose again as the engine resumed its unappreciated labors, and,
with our head toward Como, we pushed out into the lake. The company
on board was such as might be expected. There was a German
landscape-painter, with three heart's-friends beside him; there
were some German ladies; there were the unfailing Americans and
the unfailing Englishman; there were some French people; there were
Italians from the meridional provinces, dark, thin, and enthusiastic,
with fat silent wives, and a rhythmical speech; there were Milanese
with their families, out for a holiday,--round-bodied men, with blunt
square features, and hair and vowels clipped surprisingly short, there
was a young girl whose face was of the exact type affected in rococo
sculpture, and at whom one gazed without being able to decide whether
she was a nymph descended from a villa gate, or a saint come from
under a broken arch in a Renaissance church. At one of the little
towns two young Englishmen in knickerbockers came on board, who were
devoured by the eyes of their fellow-passengers, and between whom and
our kindly architect there was instantly ratified the tacit treaty of
non-intercourse which travelling Englishmen observe.

Nothing further interested us on the way to Como, except the gathering
coolness of the evening air; the shadows creeping higher and higher
on the hills; the songs of the girls winding yellow silk on the reels
that hummed through the open windows of the factories on the shore;
and the appearance of a flag that floated from a shallop before the
landing of a stately villa. The Italians did not know this banner, and