The evening's hush is not disturbed by sentry's challenge or the clarion's blast, but merely by a lover's song or nightingale's roulade. The only sunset call here is the Angelas. The only palms contended for are those whose branches rustle in the summer breeze. The frown of man is superseded by the smile of God.

Flora.

A Natural Gibraltar, Sacred To The Interests Of Peace.

Behind the Villa Serbelloni and its terraces, the promontory of Bellaggio is covered with a forest, resembling that which clothes the mountains bordering Baden-Baden. This woodland is a fragrant wilderness of cedars, firs, and pines, so old, so silent, so serene in its seclusion, that one would scarcely feel surprise to find a sylvan god asleep in many of its shady nooks. Through this arboreal labyrinth wind numerous well-kept paths, leading to special points of observation, through which the distant outer world appears so small and noiseless, as to seem unreal. Here man has deftly aided nature by cutting windows in the verdant foliage, revealing in a long perspective of this soft Italian atmosphere some snow-crowned Titan of the Alps, or pink-walled village on the curving shore, or bright expanse of water jeweled by a sail. One passes thus from one enchanting picture to another, as one surveys the different paintings in a gallery. Some of the forest paths are cut and tunneled from the cliffs themselves, and coil about the bluff hundreds of feet above the wavelets at its base. It is a rare experience to gaze down from these natural balconies through scores of noble trees to where the Larian lake lies sleeping in the sun, changing its colors with the passing clouds. Among the conifers whose roots cling firmly to the rocks, while they themselves bend outward, as if eager to survey the mirror-like expanse beneath, are pine trees, whose red bark and singular shapes associate themselves indelibly with certain landscapes in Japan. In fact, one finds around Lake Como more than one resemblance to the land of the Mikado, - such as the Japanese maples which adorn its gardens; the picturesque, diminutive houses often seen embowered in perennial verdure; the little wooden clogs so often worn by the laboring classes; and more especially the large square sails flung out like banners to the Larian breeze. These sails, which fleck so frequently the surface of the lake, form one of its most pleasing features. True, their white canvas rises usually from substantial freight-boats, since yachts and even smaller sailboats are here conspicuous by their absence. But they are none the less attractive because useful; and their broad, sunlit masses gleam in beautiful relief against the dark blue water or the sombre mountain-sides, and in their shape as well as their surroundings forcibly recall the boats that cleave the waves of Nippon's Inland Sea. Particularly striking are these sails when, bending slightly outward in a steady breeze, they are beheld in profile. Then they resemble silvery crescents, outlined gracefully against the azure deep, as if the sky and sickle moon were here portrayed in miniature.

A Miniature Black Forest.

A View From Serbelloni.

A Window On Mount Serbelloni.

The section of Lake Como stretching from Bellaggio to Lecco is usually deemed the least attractive of its three divisions. It suffers, however, chiefly from comparison. Were it alone to be considered, its shores would merit and receive high praise. Far fewer villas, it is true, adorn its rugged banks, and on one side the railroad gives to it a less romantic character than that which charms us on the Como branch. This also is the stormier basin of the lake. The "Breva di Lecco," as its principal wind is called, can be tremendously tempestuous, and residence on its shores on that account has never been so popular as in more sheltered spots. It is, however, at Lecco that the water of Lake Como finds an exit, the river Adda rushing thence impetuously southward to join, one hundred and fifty miles away, the river Po, and thus eventually to add its Alpine waters to the Adrian Sea. Few visitors to the Larian lake will care particularly for the manufacturing interests of Lecco, but on the contrary will probably avoid, as savoring too much of the business world which they have left, this city's iron foundries and silk works. But one impressive monument, adorning the Piazza of the town, will not remain unvisited. It is a well-deserved memorial of Alessandro Manzoni, one of the greatest novelists and poets, as well as one of the best and kindest private citizens, of modern Italy. His best-known work, "I Promessi Sposi" (The Betrothed), which Sir Walter Scott pronounced the finest novel ever written, has passed through one hundred and eighteen editions in the Italian tongue alone, besides a score or more in several other European languages. This of itself makes Lecco and its environs extremely interesting, especially as Manzoni lived for years in this vicinity, and many pages of his famous book are devoted to its description. Another specimen of his genius is his widely read and universally admired poem, "I l Cinque Maggio" (The Fifth of May), inspired by the death of Napoleon, on that date, at Saint Helena. When this illustrious writer died, in 1873, at the age of eighty-eight, Italy mourned him as a literary king. A truly national procession followed his body to the grave, and Verdi's wonderfully beautiful Requiem Mass was specially composed in honor of his memory.