Now that Varallo can be easily reached by the new railway from
Novara, it is not likely to remain so little known much longer. The
town is agreeable to stay in; it contains three excellent inns. I
name them in geographical order. They are the Italia, the Croce
Bianca, and the Posta, while there is another not less excellent on
the Sacro Monte itself. I have stayed at all these inns, and have
received so much kindness in each of them, that I must decline the
invidious task of recommending any one of them especially. My book
is intended for Varallo, and not for this or that hotel. The
neighbourhood affords numberless excursions, all of them full of
interest and beauty; the town itself, though no exception to the rule
that the eastern cities of North Italy are more beautiful than the
western, is still full of admirable subjects for those who are fond
of sketching. The people are hospitable to a fault; personally, I
owe them the greatest honour that has ever been conferred upon me--an
honour far greater than any I have ever received among those who know
me better, and are probably better judges of my deserts. The climate
is healthy, the nights being cool even in the height of summer, and
the days almost invariably sunny and free from fog in winter. With
all these advantages, therefore, it is not easy to understand the
neglect that has befallen it, except on the ground that until lately
it has been singularly difficult of access.

Two hundred years ago it must have been much as it is at present.
Turning to the work of the excellent Canon Torrotti, published in
1686, I find he writes as follows:-


"Oh, what fannings is there not here," he exclaims, "of the assiduous
Zephyrs; what warmth in winter, what gelidness of the air in summer;