hese stupendous objects should be seen "as
through a glass darkly," though still seen.

All too soon was the _diligence_ ready to start. From the bridge of the
Ticino the scenery was decidedly tamer. The Alps fell more into the
background, and with their white peaks disappeared the chief glory of
the scene. The plain was so level, and its woods of mulberry and walnut
so luxuriant, that little could be seen save the broad road, with its
white lines of curb-stones running on and on, and losing itself in the
deep foliage of the plain. Its windings and turnings, though coming only
at an interval of many miles, were a pleasant relief from the sameness
of the journey. Occasionally side views of great fertility opened upon
us. There were the small farms of the Lombard; and there was the tall
Lombard himself, striding across his fields. If the farms were small,
amends was made by the largeness of the farm-house. There was no great
air of comfort about it, however. It wanted its little garden, and its
over-arching vine-bough, which one sees in the happier cantons of
Switzerland; and the furrowed and care-shaded face of the owner bespoke
greater acquaintance with hard labour than with the dainties which the
bounteous earth so freely yields. The Lombard plants, but another eats.
We could see, too, how extensively and thoroughly irrigated was the
plain. Numerous canals, brim-full of water, the gift of the Alps,
traversed it in all directions; and by means of a system of sluices and
aqueducts the surrounding fields could be flooded at pleasure. The plain
enjoys thus the elements of a boundless fertility, and is the seat of an
almost eternal summer.

Hic Ver perpetuum, atque alienis mensibus Aestas.

But the little towns we passed looked so very old and tottering, and the
inhabitants, too, appeared as much oppressed with years or cares as the
heavy dilapidated architecture amid which they dwelt, and out of which
they crept as we passed by, that one's heart grew sad. How evident was
it that the immortal spirit was withered, and that the land, despite its
images of grandeur and sublimity, nourished a stricken race! The Alps
were still young, but the men that lived within their shadow had grown
very old. Their ears had too long been familiar with the clank of
chains, and their hearts were too sad to catch up the utterances of
freedom which came from their mountains. The human soul was dying, and
will die, unless new fire from a celes