The Lecco Arm Of Lake Como.

Statue Of Manzoni In Lecco.

Menaggio.

An Old Street In Varenna.

A Walk Near Varenna.

Varenna And Its Ruined Castle.

Victor Emanuel III.

Monza, a few miles only from Milan upon the route to Como, well repays a visit, particularly if one takes an interest in memorials of Theodelinda. For its cathedral stands on the foundations of the Lombard church, erected by her order in the year 595 a.d.; and there, in a strong vault behind the altar, is still preserved the Iron Crown, which - on the payment of five francs - is shown to visitors with a ceremonious reverence, worthy of its record. Besides this fine memorial, however, numerous other relics are exhibited here, - such as the crown of Theodelinda, her fan of beautifully painted leather, her comb adorned with gold and emeralds, the richly decorated cover of her prayer-book, the sapphire cup which she made use of upon State occasions, and the rock-crystal cross, bestowed upon her by the pope, to celebrate the christening of her eldest child. Another singular reminder of the Lombard queen is the carved figure over the principal portal of the cathedral, which represents her, giving to her husband, Agilulf, the Christian Cross and Iron Crown.

The Cathedral Of Monza.

For one whose life and services to the Church were so remarkable, the queen's sarcophagus within a frescoed chapel near the choir seems very plain, yet no adornment of its surface could increase the reverence felt by the people for the hallowed dust which it contains. True, she has not yet been canonized, yet thousands kneel before her tomb; for through the moral gloom of mediaeval Italy the beauty, piety, and wisdom of this Christian princess shine, as a galaxy of brilliant stars gleams through a rift in clouds of inky blackness on a night of storm.

Fresco In Theodelinda's Chapel, Representing Her Marriage.

Interior Of The Cathedral.

A short excursion from Varenna, either by rowboat or on foot, reveals a celebrated waterfall, whose stainless whiteness gives to it the name of Fiumelatte, or the Milk Stream.

Issuing from a mountain cavern nearly a thousand feet above the shore, it leaps from ledge to ledge in floods of lacteal foam, which amply justify its name. Its fame attains perhaps an undue prominence because the Larian lake is singularly lacking in such objects. Yet it possesses certain special features which anywhere would render it remarkable. Like most of the cascades around Lake Como, it has its times of disappearance; and those who visit it in summer, when drought has temporarily parched its throat, or in midwinter, when the frost-king chokes it with his icy hand, may find no water here at all, and can form little idea of the enormous volume which, in the spring and autumn, fed by the melting snows or heavy rains on Monte Grigna, comes plunging down the precipice. If this, however, were its only eccentricity, it would be hardly worth recording; but for some unexplained reason this milk-white torrent often shows a variation in its mass during the weeks when the supply of water from the liquefying glaciers ought to be invariable. Is the mysterious cause of this the same that regulates the pulse of Pliny's spring near Torno? Or is the singular caprice due merely to some alteration in the ice upon La Grigna? The latter seems the more probable explanation. Another curious phenomenon connected with this cataract is a strange difference in the sounds accompanying its exit from the mountain cavern. These may be likened to the roaring in a sea-shell, when we hold it to our ear, save that they vary greatly with the wind and weather. Some atmospheric pressure in the resonant reservoir within the hills, or in the channels which connect that basin with the upper world, no doubt occasions these uncanny noises; but, since the causes remain obscure, they are by many associated with some supernatural origin, and in old pagan times would probably have been regarded as the awe-inspiring voices of an oracle. An icy draught comes rushing down the mountain with this foaming flood, and I was not surprised to find its temperature extremely cold. In fact some portions of it are adroitly utilized by those desirous of keeping fresh for several days their meat and fish, just as an old historian of the lake describes the people of this region doing nearly four hundred years ago. The frigid torrent turns at last the wheels of several mills before it enters on the placid life awaiting it within the lake. But this, in such a land of poverty, is as it should be. Moreover, in these strenuous days, if only part of any lovely thing be taken for commercial purposes, we should be silent, thankful it is not the whole.