t is comparatively easy now to run over to Switzerland, and through the lovely scenery of the St. Gothard Pass, to the plains of sunny Italy; but this land of light and song is very little known to English boys and girls.

Of all the lovely lakes that reflect the deep blue of the summer 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 will carry them.

It is very strange to see even the smallest cottages fitted with electric light, but this is the case in one village, Marroggia. A clever German has set up some works close by, and drives the machinery by power derived from a beautiful waterfall near the village.

From Marroggia a young Italian went to London some years ago to seek his fortune. He succeeded so well that he soon became rich. Returning to his native village, he built there a beautiful villa, with gardens and lawns sloping down to the lake. When it was finished he gave a feast to all the villagers. Thousands of fairy lamps and Chinese lanterns were sent for from London to illuminate the gardens, and turn them for the occasion into fairyland. The peasants had never before seen anything like it. They danced, they sang, and ate the good things provided for them. They would willingly have lingered there all night, and it was only when the last lamp flickered and went out that they returned home to dream of what they had enjoyed.

At one end of the lake stands Monte Generoso. The top is reached by a mountain railway, which zig-zags its way up through the woods. It feels very strange as the engine goes up panting and puffing, turning a sharp corner at every few yards; but the view from the summit is very fine, and the journey down still more exciting than the ascent.

At the other end of the lake is a famous china and earthenware manufactory. You can reach it by steamboat, but it is much better fun to go in a small boat, where you can lie under the awning and watch the boatman, in his white shirt-sleeves and coloured velvet waistcoat, steering his boat like the gondoliers of Venice.

The china manufactory is old-fashioned, but very interesting. The potter's wheel is still used there, and it is wonderful to see the ease and quickness with which a lump of clay is made into a cup, a saucer, a vase, or any other article you may ask for. After it is taken off the wheel, it is dipped into liquid glaze, then ornamented with some design transferred from coloured paper, and finally fired in the furnace.

Most people who visit the Italian lakes go on to Milan, a very important, busy town. On the way you pass through large tracts of country covered with maize and rice fields. The maize grows to an enormous height, and the rice is watered artificially by tiny streams, which may be seen trickling through the fields in all directions.

Elaine Carruthers.