the loud trotting of horses is heard, and three handsome equipages drive along in succession. On the high-driving box of the foremost, are seated a young man and a handsome, more elderly lady; she it is who holds the reins, and drives the grandly-trotting horses,—a proud sight; they also drive past without taking any notice of the beggar. And hundreds pass by, but not a single one of them all gives a look at the blind man. It is really distressing to see, in a country where, according to the religious avowal, alms-giving belongs to the first duty of the Christian. It is true that the beggar's voice and form of prayer are not very attractive, but he is old and feeble, and he is blind; he cannot behold the sun, and the unspeakable beauty of evening! It is now already late, the shadows are descending, and the gay promenaders become ever fewer and fewer. Now occurs a pause; the road is empty,—no, there now comes along a lad of about twelve, in a leathern apron,—evidently a poor man's child; he is whistling carelessly, and has already passed the blind man, when he hastily checks himself, stops, looks around him, and pulls out his little purse; it seems very meagre and light, but it contains, nevertheless, a farthing for the blind man! Thanks, good lad! say I, in petto, and the blind man and I go, each consoled, homeward, on our own side of the road.
I have, to-day, made an excursion by steamboat to Tessin—the Italian Switzerland, the southern shore of which is washed by the waters of Lago Maggiore—to see its capital,—Lucarno,—and the banks of the lake on this side.
