uld suppose it impossible for
any human being to arrive at such a height without the help of a balloon.
It reminded me of the castle of the enchanter in the _Orlando Furioso_, who
keeps Ruggiero confined and who rides on the Hippogriff.

The village of the Simplon is a mile beyond the toll-house, descending. We
stopped there for two hours to dine. A snow storm had fallen and the
weather was exceedingly cold; the mountain air had sharpened our appetite,
but we could get nothing but fish and eggs as it was a _jour maigre_, and
the Valaisans are rigid observers of the ordinances of the Catholic church.
We however, on assuring the landlord that we were _militaires_, prevailed
on him to let us have some ham and sausages. German is the language here.
The road from the toll-house to Domo d'Ossola (the first town at the foot
of the mountain on the Italian side) is a descent, but the slope is as
gentle as on the rest of the road. Fifteen miles beyond the village of the
Simplon stands the village of Isella, which is the frontier town of the
King of Sardinia, and where there is a rigorous _douane_, and ten miles
further is Domo d'Ossola, where we arrived at seven in the evening. Between
Isella and Domo d'Ossola the scenery becomes more and more romantic,
varying at every step, cataracts falling on all sides, and three more
galleries to pass. Domo d'Ossola appears a large and neat clean town, and
we put up at a very good inn. At Isella begins the Italian language, or
rather Piedmontese.

The next morning we proceeded on our journey till we reached Fariolo, which
is on the northern extremity of the _Lago Maggiore_. The road from Domo
d'Ossola thro' the villages of Ornavasso and Vagogna is thro' a fertile and
picturesque valley, or rather gorge, of the mountain, narrow at first, but
which gradually widens as you approach to the lake. The river Toso runs
nearly in a parallel direction with the road. The air is much milder than
in Switzerland, and you soon perceive the change of climate from its
temperature, as well as from the appearance of the vines and mulberry trees
and Indian corn called in this country _grano turco_.

At Fariolo, after breakfast, my friend Zadera took leave of me and embarked
his carriage on the lake in order to proceed to Lugano; and I who was bound
to Milan, having hired a cabriolet, proceeded to Arona, after stopping one
hour to refresh the horses at Belgirate. The whole road from Fariolo to
Arona is on the b