rubberies. The owners live very little
there, and principally in winter, when, they say, it is seldom
cold in this sheltered spot. The late Count Melzi was Governor of
Milan under Napoleon, and used to feast the Viceroy here. He once
gave him a _fete_, and had all the mountain tops illuminated, of
which the effect must have been superb.

_Evening. Top of the Simplon._--Set off at five from Varese,
travelled very slowly through a very pretty road to Navero, where
I crossed the Lago Maggiore in a boat, and landed at the Isola
Bella, which is very fine in its way, though rather flattered in
its pictures. The house is large and handsome, and there is a
curious suite of apartments fitted up with pebbles, spars, and
marble, a suite of habitable grottoes. The garden and terraces
are good specimens of formal grandeur, and as the Count
Borromeo's son is a botanist, they are full of flowers and shrubs
of all sorts and climates.

Whatever fruits in different climes are found,
That proudly rise or humbly court the ground;
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky
With vernal flowers, that blossom, but to die;
These, here disporting, own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil.

The expense of keeping this place up is immense, but the owner is
very rich. He lives there during August and September, and has
fifteen other country houses. All the island belongs to him, and
is occupied by the palace and gardens, except some fishermen's
huts, which are held by a sort of feudal tenure. They live there
as his vassals, fishing for him, rowing him about the lake, and
their children and wives alone are employed in the gardens. It
was built about 150 years ago by a younger son (a nephew of San
Carlo), who was richer than his elder brother. He was his own
architect, and planned both house and garden, but never completed
his designs. The cost was enormous, but if he had lived and
finished it all, he would have spent four millions more. There is
a laurel in the garden, the largest in Europe, two trees growing
from one stem, one nine and the other ten feet round and eighty
high; under this tree Buonaparte dined, as he came into Italy,
before the battle of Marengo, and with a knife he cut the word
'Battaglia' on the bark, which has since been stripped off, or
has grown out--so the gardeners said at least. Breakfasted at
Baveno, which is the best inn I have seen in I