Ah! admirable conceit, Lake Como: superseding attendants.

For, from hand to hand the trenchers sailed; no sooner gaining one port, than dispatched over sea to another.
Well suited they were for the occasion; sailing high out of water, to resist the convivial swell at times ruffling the sociable sea; and sharp at both ends, still better adapting them to easy navigation.
But soon, the Morando, in triumphant decanters, went round, reeling like barks before a breeze.

But their voyages were brief; and ere long, in certain havens, the accumulation of empty vessels threatened to bridge the lake with pontoons.

In those directions, Trade winds were setting.

But full soon, cut out were all unladen and unprofitable gourds; and replaced by jolly-bellied calabashes, for a time sailing deep, yawing heavily to the push.
At last, the whole flotilla of trenchers--wrecks and all--were sent swimming to the further end of Lake Como; and thence removed, gave place to ruddy hillocks of fruit, and floating islands of flowers.
Chief among the former, a quince-like, golden sphere, that filled the air with such fragrance, you thought you were tasting its flavor.
Nor did the wine cease flowing.