¶ 2 Leave a comment on paragraph 2 0 flock of frightened Chamois. At a distance they might be called picturesque. From one point, on our steamer we counted 19 villages- A nearer view dispels the charm. The meanest old rookery town in America would be elegant in comparison. Dilapidated roofs, windows open, or protected by rusty iron grating narrow dark crooked streets, filth everywhere, lazy, shiftless, as devoid of enterprise as a gipsy camp. what do they find to sustain life. We can see nothing upon the grounds around except a few terraced spots for grapes, resembling in the distance, series of high narrow steps where a handful of dirt has been brought and held up by a high wall, each generation adding another wall- and scattered around upon isolated peaks are the white, high toward “pilgrimage churches” of the Catholics, adding interest to the picture, and at every landing a priest, with long black over coat and broad brimmed black hat, gets on or off. They are the best looking men we see.
¶ 3 Leave a comment on paragraph 3 0 As we leave Lugano we have a fine view of the villages, villages and churches on the first mountain at our left- near the front of of which is an old turreted castle. The lower half is quite verdant while the upper half is barren. These villages are nearly all upon the north side ^of the lake^ where the Sun is their best friend. Upon our right the steep sunless slopes covered with low, dense, hardy foliage, now coloring with autumn tints (not bright like American autumn.) hansome, but useless