On our first day’s journey we passed through two terrific mountain gorges, almost equalling in grandeur the defile of the “Devil’s Bridge.”  The Ticino, in its course to Lago Maggiore has to make a descent of nearly three thousand feet, passing through three valleys, which lie like terraces, one below the other.  In its course from one to the other, it has to force its way down in twenty cataracts through a cleft in the mountains.  The road, constructed with the utmost labor, threads these dark chasms, sometimes carried in a tunnel through the rock, sometimes passing on arches above the boiling flood.  The precipices of bare rock rise far above and render the way difficult and dangerous.  I here noticed another very beautiful effect of the water, perhaps attributable to some mineral substance it contained.  The spray and foam thrown up in the dashing of the vexed current, was of a light, delicate pink, although the stream itself was a soft blue; and the contrast of these two colors was very remarkable.

As we kept on, however, there was a very perceptible change in the scenery.  The gloomy pines disappeared and the mountains were covered, in their stead, with picturesque chesnut trees, with leaves of a shining green.  The grass and vegetation was much more luxuriant than on the other side of the Alps, and fields of maize and mulberry orchards covered the valley.  We saw the people busy at work reeling silk in the villages.  Every mile we advanced made a sensible change in the vegetation.  The chesnuts were larger, the maize higher, the few straggling grape-vines increased into bowers and vineyards, while the gardens were filled with plum, pear and fig-trees, and the stands of delicious fruit which we saw in the villages, gave us promise of the luxuriance that was to come.

The vineyards are much more beautiful than the German fields of stakes.  The vines are not trimmed, but grow from year to year over a frame higher than the head, supported through the whole field on stone pillars.  They interlace and form a complete leafy screen, while the clusters hang below.  The light came dimly through the green, transparent leaves, and nothing was wanting to make them real bowers of Arcadia.  Although we were still in Switzerland, the people began to have that lazy, indolent look which characterizes the Italians; most of the occupations were carried on in the open air, and brown-robed, sandalled friars were going about from house to house, collecting money and provisions for their support.

We passed Faido and Giornico, near which last village are the remains of an old castle, supposed to have been built by the ancient Gauls, and stopped for the night at Cresciano, which being entirely Italian, we had an opportunity to put in practice the few words we had picked up from Pietro.  The little fellow parted from us with regret a few hours before, at Biasco, where he had relations.  The rustic landlord at Cresciano was an honest young fellow, who tried to serve us as well as he could, but we made some ludicrous mistakes through our ignorance of the language.