beauty and sublimity, and so you need not hamper yourself by selections.

The variety is infinite. First, the broken bank, rising right up over your head, looks as if it had come from Patterdale or the Trosachs. Towering right over it is a higher top, as if Ben-Nevis - the long banks which stretch him to so broad a base being cut away— had been mounted on wheels, and pushed in behind. Then, over all, are the majestic masses, bearing heaps of eternal snow. These broad snowy bosoms, with the gentle tinge of green on their glaciered edges, how pure and sweet and innocent they look when far away, and steeped in sunshine! Who could think they were infested with storms and wild torrents, terrible icebergs that break and crush you to pieces, deep chasms, roaring torrents, avalanches, and the elements of death in numberless fearful forms! So near they seem, so smooth, so accessible, that I have known a Cockney talk of taking a walk over the snowy mountain as he would over Richmond Hill, and feeling very much astonished and aggrieved indeed when, after hours of toilsome walking, he found himself seemingly no nearer to it. He was astonished enough when taken to the spot in a legitimate way, and especially at what first surprises every one on first beholding the glacier-its singular dirtiness on the surface, insomuch that it may be compared to London streets where the snow has been trodden down by millions of blackened shoes after a thaw has come.

To one who has a devotion for mountain scenery, and has limited leisure at his command to make his worship in, it is a great point to get at a place where the scenery is accessible as well as grand. remember once entertaining some thoughts of Iceland as the scene of a holiday trip. There are abundant riches, no doubt, there to reward the explorer, with time on his

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hands; but I discovered that after the long voyage one would find himself on a desert of ashes some eighty miles from any fragment of scenery, with such difficulties in the way of locomotion that the traveller often occupies himself during the stoppage of the steamer in looking about him in the not extensive or varied town of Reikeiavik, and in keeping himself warm. An eye to the more expressive features of geology is of use in the choice of a touring district. There are some formations that never diverge from the heavy respectability of their condition into shattered rocks. The Loch Katrine district, for instance, owes its variety and beauty to the prevalence of schist, which develops itself in horny, twisted, eccentric forms. When we pass northward, we come to a formation kindred in supposed origin, but utterly different in picturesque effect-the gneiss. Its propensity is to undulate in broad, low elevations and shallow hollows, and so the wanderer who gets into it may find that there is no end of desolate, unexpressive moorland before him.

There is a mistake in always aiming at the highest ground in a mountain family. It is often little better than table-land, and frequently it is in the outposts that deep clefts and abrupt precipices have been formed out of shakings of the great mass. When there are so many thousand feet to come and go upon as the Alps supply, you will get as much sublimity as the eye can take in from the eccentricities of the minor mountains. At Chamounix, though you are under the huge shoulders of Mont Blanc, you have a good deal of climbing to get at the aiguilles and precipices; and then, though their tops may be a great many thousand feet above the level of the sea, they are not so very far above where you stand.

In the district where I now am, on the other hand, precipices and spikes as lofty to the eye as anything you can see anywhere come close round you-they start

up everywhere, from the brinks of rivers and lakes, and from the side of the highroad. They go sheer up, in many instances, without throwing out the spurs of lower altitude, which so often weary the searcher after the picturesque, and spoil the influence of mountains, however high. The sages in geological science lead us to attribute these specialties to the prevalence of the dolomite or crystalline limestone, with a deep perpendicular cleavage which separates it into long straight spikes or plates, wonderful in their thinness. There they stand, running straight up into the sky, without a tuft of moss or a blade of grass visible on their marble sides, but deep rooted below in solemn pine-forests, or in a mixed frondage of the liveliest and bright est green. The rock itself is very purely crystalline, merging from a bright white to a rich pink or carnation, on which the varying moods of the sunshine throw wonderful effects.

These effects for the landscapepainter and the lover of the picturesque have, of course had their sources in certain specialties concerning the structure of this part of the crust of the earth-specialties as to which the geologists take upon themselves the responsibility. It is a very pretty, and also satisfactory thing in its way to follow your paleozoontological mentor as he explains to you the succession of the fossiliferous strata through the special characteristics of the animal and vegetable remains left in each of them. At the place, too, where all the horizontal layers get a twist, are turned over each other's backs as it were, and become at last undistinguishable, and fused together into one flinty mass, it is not easy even for the most sceptical to resist the explanation that the great black rock found protruding upwards and overtopping the whole confusion is a fresh upheaval from the molten centre of the earth of boiling matter which has broken through those quiet layers of sedimentary strata.

But when it comes to giving us an account, with philosophical plainness and simplicity, of the manner in which this mass of Alpine scenery was brought into existence, I think, in humble ignorance, that geology would require to get at a fact or two more than it possesses, and must drive a few more experimental shafts through the earth's crust, before it dogmatises. To show how widely the authorities who deal with questions so large are driven into differing with each other, I take the following short summary from The Dolomite Mountains,' a book of which the reader must not judge entirely from a passage taken out of its scientific department, since it contains a great amount of amusing and well-written narrative of travel attendant on its instruction in geological investigations and theories —and yet these are more animated than stratified literature generally is :

What, then, is the origin of this strictly 'family group' of mountain masses? It has formed the subject of discussion among French and German geologists for more than a generation past, and much ink has been shed during tion having been arrived at. Richthofen the process, without a satisfactory soluis one of the latest contributors to its literature, and he propounds a theory that requires a separation of the question into two parts. We have to ask—First, What is the origin of these mountains, as such and then, What is the origin of the Dolomite rock of which they mainly consist?

"Leopold Von Buch-in 1822-was one of the first who attracted scientific attention towards the peculiar appearance of the South Tyrol Dolomites. The frequent neighbourhood of augite porphyry; the numerous veins of that rock to be seen penetrating the Dolomite Massives; the aspect some of them possess of having been suddenly elevated from below to their present position; their chemical character, entire absence of bedding, and crystalline, often cellular, structure, were the points that led him to the theory that these mountains had been upheaved by volcanic force and converted from carbonate of lime into dolomite by the vapour of magnesia, evolved from the molten volcanic rocks below, and penetrating

the limestone above. The publication of Von Buch's letters was the signal for the commencement of a long series of discussions, and led to many scientific visits to the district. The chemist, however, gave the death-blow to this theory, in the proof, besides other difficulties, of the all but impossibility of the production of magnesia in a state of vapour. Richthofen goes so far as to add, that Von Buch would never have enunciated his theory if he had but allowed himself to examine with care a single Dolomite mountain!

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'It is impossible to enter into the details of this long discussion: we must confine ourselves to a statement of the hypothesis Richthofen proposes for the explanation of the orographic peculiarities of those mountains, at least, which are formed of 'Schlern Dolomite.' He says, The Schlern is a CORAL REEF, and the entire formation of "Schlern Dolomite" has in like manner originated through animal activity.'

"The following are some of the facts to which Richthofen calls attention in support of his hypothesis, taking the Schlern as the subject for illustration. First, its form as a mass, falling away steeply on all sides; its isolation from similar masses in the neighbourhood; the improbability of such a form being the result of denudation, as involving-supposing, for instance, the Schlern and Lang Kofel had ever been a continuous deposit-too great a destruction in one direction, and too complete a protection from denudation in another.

Then, the

undisturbed beds upon which the Schlern rests, and the equally undisturbed Raibl beds upon its summit, imply that the intermediate Dolomite has suffered, since its deposit, no considerable mechanical disturbance. The unequal thickness of the different masses, too, points strongly in the same direction. The Dolomite of

the Schlern and of the Sella plateau could never have been higher than at present, covered, as it is in both, with Raibl beds; while the upper portions of the Dolomite of the more lofty Rosengarten, Lang Kofel, and Marmolata, have been left exposed to denuding

action.

"The original local character of the 'Schlern Dolomite' formation is implied in another circumstance connected with the mode of deposit of the Raibl beds. Evidence derived from other deposits shows that, during this period, the district was undergoing a gradual slow depression, and that no violent catastrophe occurred. Now the Raibl bedscontaining fauna of a shallow sea-are

found, not only on the summit of the Schlern, and of the lower line of precipices of the Sella and Guerdenazza plateaus, but also in two patches upon the Tuff at the foot of these Massives, thousands of feet below. These great differences of elevation in an undisturbed bed at very short distances would, Richthofen argues, be difficult to explain without the supposition of reef-building corals.

"Richthofen institutes a comparison between the growth and conditions of existence of the reef-building corals in the tropical seas of the present day, as observed by Darwin, Dana, and Jukes, and those of the assumed Trias coralreefs of South Tyrol. The coral animals find an especially favourable ground, without, however, being limited to it, in districts of former sub-aqueous volcanic activity, when a period of slow depression often takes the place of the previous period of elevation. South Tyrol was, during the latter portion of the Trias period, in a similar condition, and the sea was filled with the products of the decomposition of volcanic material. They are limited in their growth to a depth of about 120 feet under the sea surface; and yet, favoured by the continual slow depression of the ocean bed, reefs of enormous depth are formed. From soundings made, it is evident that there are reefs in the Pacific Ocean, of a depth equal to the height of the South Tyrol Dolomite Massives. If the Pacific were laid bare, or the reefs in it, with their base, were now elevated above the sea-level, would not their aspect, seated upon mountain-ridges, and many of them in the immediate neighbourhood of extinct volcanoes, present a similarity to the existing Orography of South Tyrol ?"

Ah yes! If we could but drain the Pacific even so far down as to get at the tops of the reefs, then we would see what we would see and this is the standing grief of the geologist, that his own experimenin comparison with what it accomtal genius can do little for him plishes for other classes of inquirers. The electrician can create thunder and lightning to the extent of his make a single stratum, though he means; but the geologist cannot had all the wealth at his command that ever was in the world. Never mind. He has material enough before him to exhaust the most pa

tient perseverance and the most ardent zeal; and before he has completely settled, so as to leave no room for scepticism, the question of how this great mountain-group came into existence, and assumed all its special forms, he will have gone through a good deal of work.

The pedestrian has not yet become, in relation to the elements of his favourite scenery, so fastidious as the epicure. Perhaps he is improving-perfectionating, as the French say, his vocation, as all other things are brought onwards by degrees. I am not sure that I would desire to see his pursuit converted into an absolute science, or deprived of the charms which its lawlessness of practice and its waywardness in matters of taste confer on it. There are, however, some characteristics of the physical geography of a district so important to the wayfarer's enjoyment that he should attend to them. Among these the existence or non-existence of water, and, if it exist, its character, are vital considerations. The curious mountainregion called the Saxon Switzerland abounds in scenes eminently picturesque; but then its picturesqueness comes of its being a cake of dry sandstone broken into splinters, and into its dusty pathways gush no bright springs. The absence of this source of enjoyment to the wayfarer, mere animal enjoyment as it is, will enter into the reminiscences of his sojourn in the land; and even the abundance of taverns, which bravely endeavour to make up in wine and beer for the niggardly hospitality of nature, will not put the district in the same genial chamber of the memory with that in which the clear unstained fountains spout multitudinously from the crystalline rocks.

its dirtiness. Clear, sparkling waters are a delight to the eye as well as to the appetite. The chemists tell you that there is no absolutely pure water capable of standing analysis in rivers or springs, and to get the nearest practicable liquid to the pure element you must use the still. They admit at the same time that the presence of some slight mineral solution is necessary to give its zest to spring-water. So, perhaps, also a slight amount of colour is not unwelcome in fitting water for scenery

although to look down through the depths of clear water and see through it nearly as easily as you can through the atmosphere, is a great delight. For colouring matter there are varieties in intensity and in character. For both, that compound which colours the Thames is the most odious to all the senses. The red clay which some English rivers carry with them too abundantly is not beautiful. I confess to a partiality for the port-winish colour which our Scotch streams carry from the peat, when it is light; but this mixture is very open to abuse and over-dosing when floods come. Glacier streams are all filthy, like the ice they come from, until they get settled down, and then they have their curious and special beauties. The Rhone, for instance, with the intense depth of its blueness, as it comes out of the Lake of Geneva, has no doubt received a deal of flattering attention; but its colour is, to my notion, too deep and powerful: it reminds one of the vat of an indigo-dyer. Among the streams of Salzburg and the Tyrol, the glacier sediment exists high up, but when it is purified away the tinge it leaves in the water is very beautiful-a just perceptible blue, aptly compared to that of the beryl or aquamarine.

The rivers in their full bulk are very grand-grander in their rapidity and depth than waters of much greater width. Of the channel of each, the section-or" elevation," as

architects term it, whether they are going up or down—is a semicircle, and this is filled with a rushing torrent. If you want to know its force, jump in as you would into the Tay or the Tweed, and strike out-you are a powerful swimmer if you don't, after a short trial, make for shore again as fast as you can. We have nothing in the British Islands to compare as impetuous rivers with the Salz, the Inn, the Iser, and some others that go to make the mighty Danube-to make, not to feed it, for this is a derogatory expression to use towards streams which carry a far heavier weight of water than the Danube bears in his upper reaches. His course there is steady, straight, and quiet-he passes agricultural plains and respectable towns and makes himself useful to them-and so, like a diligent and respectable parliamentary leader or chief magistrate, he gathers to himself the general repute of possessing all the impetuous talent that goes along with him.

For minor waters-burns, rills, brooks, springs, and all the rest of them-I never happened to be in a region so affluently supplied. It would seem sometimes as if that heavy mass of stone, which the authors of 'The Dolomite Mountains' so well account for, had caught up a portion of the flood which was ever getting out here and there despite their efforts to keep it down. In some places art also has laid her weights on the bubbling waters, with the effect, not unintentional, of making them more rebellious and reactionary than ever. At Hellbrun, a few miles from Salzburg, there is an old princely pleasure-house with a history of its own, which may probably be found in the guide-books. The building is now a dirty gast-house; but the chief feature in its pleasure-grounds is fresh as ever, and will remain so. It was created at the time when the great delight of pleasure-grounds was the fountains. Where you see them in old pictures, you may now find nothing but the dry basin with

the river-god or the colossal hand holding a tube whence nothing flows into the classically-shaped vase below. Even where fountains exist still from old times or have been lately made, they are mere squirts, giving you an unpleasant feeling of mechanical contrivance for making the water do as much as it can. But here, the great point seems to be to keep the water down. It bursts out everywhere, and the curious mechanical contrivances connected with it seem rather as if they were for the purpose of restraining it and keeping it out of mischief, by affording it innocent amusement, than of exciting it to feats of dexterity like our ordinary fountain works.

Delicious as are these bright waters in appeasing the thirst, they make a very Tantalus of you in some other respects. The difference between British and German notions of the cubicular supply of the element is well known, and in hot dry days one would fain take advantage of its abundance outside; besides, some men have a dash of the amphibious in their nature, and cannot be comfortable in hot weather unless a large proportion of the day is spent in the water. Near the great roads, however, it is impossible to bathe, for they are continually frequented sometimes crowded-and they run close to the margins of the streams and lakes. There is immersion enough to be got on the wild Alp, where one does not so much care for it; but in the flat valleys, even while surrounded by the most magnificent of nature's triumphs, the wanderer is to some extent subjected to the social slavery of the crowd.

These valleys are not a place suited for following the example of some young fellows whom I remember suffering grievously from the baking sun in a hot valley in the Grampians, far remote from man. As they were every now and then stripping and plunging into the nice little claret-coloured pools under the pretty waterfalls, the