IT was to see this beautiful lake that I made my last excursion before quitting Rome. Thespring had nearly grown into summer, the trees were all in full but fresh green foliage, thevine-dresser was singing, perched among them, training his vines: the cicada had not yetbegun her song, the heats therefore had not commenced; but at evening the fire-fliesgleamed among the hills, and the cooing aziola assured us of what in that country needs noassurance-fine...