mer skies,
none is more beautiful than Lake Lugano, although Como is larger and
Maggiore has a charm of its own. The town of Lugano stands at one end of
the lake. It is pretty and bright, with many things to interest and
amuse; but it is in the villages dotted along the south side of the lake
that the real life of the people is to be seen.

These villages are surrounded by vineyards. The grapes are gathered in
October, when the whole scene is very animated and gay. Every one--men,
women, children, even the ox-waggons of the country--is pressed into the
service, and the vineyards resound with songs and laughter. From these
grapes a red wine is made. It is the ambition of every peasant to own a
small vineyard and a boat.

On the other side of the lake rises a range of hills covered almost to
the water's edge with deep green woods. In some places cliffs rise
between wood and water, and in these cliffs are many small natural
caves. These have been enlarged and enclosed with doors, so as to form
wine vaults, and in them is stored much of the wine made in the
district.

On Sunday afternoons in summer the lake is alive with boats, each
holding a happy family party of father, mother, and children, and laden
with cakes made from _polenta_, and other dainties. They are all bound
for the caves, where a series of merry picnic parties is soon in
progress.

The provisions are taken from the boats, the wine vault is opened with a
key, for all are kept carefully locked, and then the feast begins. Soon
the air is filled with song and laughter. The whole afternoon is spent
in this way, and only in the cool of the evening do the merry revellers
return to their simple homes across the lake.

The boats look very pretty. They are rather wide and shallow, and in the
middle a white canvas covering is stretched from side to side, supported
on bent canes, to make a shelter from the heat of the sun. The boatman
in the dress of the country stands at the end, and drives the boat
through the water with rapid strokes from his single oar.

The streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses are built very
irregularly. There is no pavement, and the dust is amazing. The
brown-faced, bare-legged children, with large solemn-looking brown eyes,
tumble about in it, munching ripe red tomatoes with their hunches of
brown bread. In the grass by the road-side funny little green lizards
run in and out, hurrying away at your approach as fast as their legs