chter, the Wanderjahre of Goethe, the Elena of Taylor,
the pictures of Turner, had not prepared me for the visions of beauty
that daily entranced the eyes and heart in those regions. To our
country Nature has been most bounteous; but we have nothing in the
same kind that can compare with these lakes, as seen under the Italian
heaven. As to those persons who have pretended to discover that the
effects of light and atmosphere were no finer than they found in our
own lake scenery, I can only say that they must be exceedingly obtuse
in organization,--a defect not uncommon among Americans.

Nature seems to have labored to express her full heart in as many
ways as possible, when she made these lakes, moulded and planted their
shores. Lago Maggiore is grand, resplendent in Its beauty; the view of
the Alps gives a sort of lyric exaltation to the scene. Lago di Garda
is so soft and fair,--so glittering sweet on one side, the ruins of
ancient palaces rise so softly with the beauties of that shore; but
at the other end, amid the Tyrol, it is sublime, calm, concentrated
in its meaning. Como cannot be better described in general than in the
words of Taylor:

"Softly sublime, profusely fair."

Lugano is more savage, more free in its beauty. I was on it in a
high gale; there was a little clanger, just enough to exhilarate; its
waters were wild, and clouds blowing across the neighboring peaks. I
like very much the boatmen on these lakes; they have strong and prompt
character. Of simple features, they are more honest and manly than
Italian men are found in the thoroughfares; their talk is not so witty
as that of the Venetian gondoliers, but picturesque, and what the
French call _incisive_. Very touching were some of their histories, as
they told them to me while pausing sometimes on the lake.

On this lake, also, I met Lady Franklin, wife of the celebrated
navigator. She has been in the United States, and showed equal
penetration and candor in remarks on what she had seen there. She gave
me interesting particulars as to the state of things in Van Diemen's
Land, where she passed seven years when her husband was in authority
there.

I returned to Milan for the great feast of the Madonna, 8th September,
and those made for the Archbishop's entry, which took place the same
week. These excited as much feeling as the Milanese can have a chance
to display, this Archbishop being much nearer tire public heart than
his predecessor, who was