poles with cross bars to them which I had already seen elsewhere.
They are for drying the barley on; as soon as it is cut it is hung
up on the cross bars and secured in this way from the rain, but it
is obvious this can only be done when cultivation is on a small
scale. These rascane, as they are called, are a feature of the Val
Leventina, and look very well when they are full of barley.

From Osco I tried to coast along to Calpiognia, but was warned that
the path was dangerous, and found it to be so. I therefore again
descended to Mairengo, and re-ascended by a path which went
straight up behind the village. After a time I got up to the level
of Calpiognia, or nearly so, and found a path through pine woods
which led me across a torrent in a ravine to Calpiognia itself.
This path is very beautiful. While on it I caught sight of a
lovely village nestling on a plateau that now showed itself high up
on the other side the valley of the Ticino, perhaps a couple of
miles off as the crow flies. This I found upon inquiry to be
Dalpe; above Dalpe rose pine woods and pastures; then the loftier
alpi, then rugged precipices, and above all the Dalpe glacier
roseate with sunset. I was enchanted, and it was only because
night was coming on, and I had a long way to descend before getting
back to Faido, that I could get myself away. I passed through
Calpiognia, and though the dusk was deepening, I could not forbear
from pausing at the Campo Santo just outside the village. I give a
sketch taken by daylight, but neither sketch nor words can give any
idea of the pathos of the place. When I saw it first it was in the
month of June, and the rank dandelions were in seed. Wild roses in
full bloom, great daisies, and the never-failing salvia ran riot
among the graves. Looking over the churchyard itself there were
the purple mountains of Biasca and the valley of the Ticino some