elf.

Returning from Switzerland, I passed a fortnight on the Lake of
Como, and afterward visited Lugano. There is no exaggeration in the
enthusiastic feeling with which artists and poets have viewed these
Italian lakes. The _"Titan"_ of Richter, 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 class 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 grandiose, 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 on one side,--the ruins of ancient
palaces rise softly with the beauties of that shore; but at the other
end, amid the Tyrol, it is so sublime, so calm, so concentrated in its
meaning! Como cannot be better described in generals 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 little danger, just enough to exhilarate; its waters
wild, and clouds blowing across its peaks. I like 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. Grossi gives a true picture of such
a man in his family relations; the story may be found in "Marco
Visconti."

On this lake, 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 authorit