¶ 2 Leave a comment on paragraph 2 0 painted white, glistening in the sunlight. From near Bellano, we count 53 villages in sight at once, which would seem to indicate a rich land flowing with milk and honey, but a nearer approach fails to discover the lacteal ruminants or the beehives, nothing but the laborious grape terraces, worn out, insufficient for the fourth of its inhabitants
¶ 3 Leave a comment on paragraph 3 1 I’ve heard of “smiling villages” and perhaps the picturesque expression which they give to the beauties of nature would so be called by an enthusiast. There are plenty of villages but no smiles. Heaped up masses of old buildings with dilapidated rusty tile hiproofs, no smoke, no Horses or wagons, no life. dead! dead! An air of desertion worn out, not even fit for a straggling fisherman to roost overnight, but we know they are full, of the redcapped sunburnt lazaroni. Although we only see here and there a straggler on the beach a few idlers at the landing. No commerce, no shipping. frequently not even a rowboat in front of a whole village and we do not wonder at our steamers passing them, dozens of them without stopping.
¶ 4 Leave a comment on paragraph 4 0 These large houses, plain, but of good architecture exteriorly [sic], speak of xxx another race, other energies, for we cannot believe that these people found the money or energy to build them, much less the luxury of white paint.
¶ 5 Leave a comment on paragraph 5 2 Whole streets, in fact whole towns, rarely ever have much glass, fine large 2nd and 3rd story windows without sash or glass, as far as the eye can reach. A deserted mexican village found by a band of digger Indians might be something of a comparison, with an exception, we never see flat roofs in Europe.
¶ 6 Leave a comment on paragraph 6 0 Our steamer makes half a dozen stops, generally many rods from shore, where we are met by the usual style of native awning covered rowboat, rowed by a bar footed man and woman, exchange the flat little canvass mail