CHEE TOR.

BRIDGE OVER THE WYE.

In a romantic and deep hollow, near the little village of Wormhill, the river Wye flows beneath this stupendous mass of rock, which rises perpendicularly more than three hundred and sixty feet above its level. Thechannel of the river, which meanders at the base, is confined between huge rocks of limestone, having such a general correspondence of situation and form, as to render it probable that they were once united. In some parts they are partially covered with brushwood, nut-trees and mountain-ash; while in others, they are totally naked, precipitous and impending. The chasm runs in a direction so nearly circular, that the sublime Chee Tor, and its dependent masses of rock, are almost insulated by the river which rolls at their feet. Its length, as far as it possesses any considerable beauty, is between five and six hundred yards; a distance which presents several picturesque and interesting views, the general effect of the fine scenery being enhanced by the plantations on the neighboring hights, and by a spring which flows into the river near the bottom of a deep descent, as well as by a romantic bridge over the river itself, a representation of which may be seen in the cut above. Not far from here is the well known Masson hill, celebrated in Darwin’s “Loves of the Plants,” which is so high as to overlook the country to a vast extent, and compared with which even the High Torseems considerably diminished in grandeur and sublimity; but this effect is partly compensated by the extent of the prospect, and the variety of objects it comprehends. The hight of this eminence is about seven hundred and fifty feet, the path to its summit having been carried, in a winding direction, through a grove. About half-way in the ascent is an alcove, from which an extensive view of a great part of Matlock dale may be seen, through a fine avenue formed for that purpose.

To the west and north-west of the village of Matlock, are three apertures in the rock, respectively named the Cumberland, Smedley, and Rutland caverns. The former of these is well deserving of a short notice.

The entrance is partly artificial, to afford a greater facility to the visitor, who has to descend fifty-four steps. The cavern now opens on him in solitary grandeur. Huge masses of stone are piled on each other with a tremendous kind of carelessness, evidently produced by some violent concussion, though at an unknown period. He is conducted to a long and wide passage, the roof of which has all the regularity of a finished ceiling, and is bespangled by spars of various descriptions. From above, from beneath, and from the sides, the rays of the lights are reflected in every direction. In an adjacent compartment, rocks are heaped on rocks in terrible array, and assume a threatening aspect. Next is an apartment decorated with what, in the language of the country, is called the snow-fossil, a petrifaction which, both in figure and color, resembles snow, as it is drifted by the winter storm into the cavities of a rock. Near the extremity of the cavern are to be seen fishes petrified and fixed in the several strata which form the surrounding recess. One of these has its back jutting out of the side of the earth, as if it had been petrified in the act of swimming. In another branch of the cavern a well has been found of a considerable depth.

After having proceeded about a mile in Dove dale, the romantic and sublime beauties of which will be hereafter noticed, by a route constantly diversified by new fantastic forms, and uncouth combinations of rock, the visitor is led to a mass of mural rock, bearing the above name, and perforated by nature into a grand arch, nearly approaching to the shape of the sharply pointed Gothic style of architecture, about forty-five feet in hight, and in width twenty. Having passed through this arch, a steep ascent leads to a natural cavern, called Reynard’s Hall, forty-five feet in length, fifteen in breadth, and in hight thirty. From the mouth of this cavern the scenery issingular, beautiful and impressive. The face of the rock which contains the arch, rises immediately in front, and would effectually prevent the eye from ranging beyond its mighty barrier, did not its center open into the above-mentioned arch, through which is seen a small part of the opposite side of the dale, consisting of a mass of gloomy wood, from the shade of which a huge detached rock, solitary, cragged, and pointed, starts out to a great hight, and forms an object truly sublime. This rock, which has received the name of Dove Dale Church, is pleasingly contrasted by the little pastoral river, Dove, and by its verdant turfy banks. A narrow opening at the extremity of the cavern is supposed to lead to other similar cavities in the rock; and on the left is a cavern, about forty feet in length, in breadth fourteen, and in hight twenty-six, called Reynard’s Kitchen, from the interior of which a pleasing view is presented of the upper part of the dale, its river and rocks.

After passing Reynard’s Hole, already described, the rocks rise more abruptly on either side, and appear in shapes more wild and irregular, but diversified and softened by shrubs.

Dove dale is nearly three miles in length; but from the sinuosity of its course, and its projecting precipices, the views are limited. Throughout the whole of this majestic feature of country, the river Dove flows, in the halcyon days of summer, with soft murmurs, innocently and transparently over its pebbly bed; but swells into rage during the winter months. Little tufts of shrubs and underwood form islands in miniature within its bed, which enlarge and swell the other objects. The scenery of this dale is distinguished from almost every other in the united kingdoms, by the rugged, dissimilar, and frequently grotesque and fanciful appearance of the rocks. To employ the words of a tourist here, “It is, perhaps, on the whole one of the most pleasing sceneries of the kind anywhere to be met with. It has something peculiarly characteristic. Its detached, perpendicular rocks stamp it with an image entirely its own, and for that reason it affords the greater pleasure. For it is in scenery as in life. We are most struck with the peculiarity of an original character, provided there be nothingoffensiveoffensive

THOR’S HOUSE.

“Where Hamps and Manifold, their cliffs among,Each in his flinty channel winds along,With lucid lines the dusky moor divides,Hurrying to intermix their sister tides,Where still their silver-bosom’d nymphs abhorThe blood-smear’d mansion of gigantic Thor—Erst fires volcanic in the marble wombOf cloud-wrapp’d Whetton rais’d the massy dome;Rocks rear’d on rocks, in huge disjointed piles,Form the tall turrets, and the lengthen’d aisles;Broad pond’rous piers sustain the roof, and wideBranch the vast rainbow ribs from side to side.While from above, descends, in milky streams,One scanty pencil of illusive beams,Suspended crags, and gaping gulfs illumes,And gilds the horrors of the deepen’d glooms.Here oft the Naiads, as they chanc’d to strayNear the dread Fane, on Thor’s returning day,Saw from red altars streams of guiltless blood,Stain their green reed-beds, and pollute their flood;Heard dying babes in wicker prisons wail,And shrieks of matrons thrill the affrighted gale;While from dark caves infernal echoes mock,And fiends triumphant shout from every rock!”—Darwin.

“Where Hamps and Manifold, their cliffs among,

Each in his flinty channel winds along,

With lucid lines the dusky moor divides,

Hurrying to intermix their sister tides,

Where still their silver-bosom’d nymphs abhor

The blood-smear’d mansion of gigantic Thor—

Erst fires volcanic in the marble womb

Of cloud-wrapp’d Whetton rais’d the massy dome;

Rocks rear’d on rocks, in huge disjointed piles,

Form the tall turrets, and the lengthen’d aisles;

Broad pond’rous piers sustain the roof, and wide

Branch the vast rainbow ribs from side to side.

While from above, descends, in milky streams,

One scanty pencil of illusive beams,

Suspended crags, and gaping gulfs illumes,

And gilds the horrors of the deepen’d glooms.

Here oft the Naiads, as they chanc’d to stray

Near the dread Fane, on Thor’s returning day,

Saw from red altars streams of guiltless blood,

Stain their green reed-beds, and pollute their flood;

Heard dying babes in wicker prisons wail,

And shrieks of matrons thrill the affrighted gale;

While from dark caves infernal echoes mock,

And fiends triumphant shout from every rock!”—Darwin.

This spacious cavern is situated about two miles above Dove dale, near the village of Whetton; and tradition says the Druids here offered human sacrifices, inclosed in wicker idols, to Thor, the principal deity of the Saxons and Danes, in the ages of their idolatrous worship. Beneath is an extensive and romantic common, where the rivers Hamps and Manifold sink into the earth, and rise again in Islam gardens. These rivers merit a brief description. A wooden bridge has been thrown over an abyss in the rock, out of which the river Manifold bursts with surprising force, after having pursued a subterraneous course of five miles, from the point where it had engulfed itself in the earth, called Weston hill. At the further distance of twenty yards a similar phenomenon occurs; for here another fissure of a rock presents itself, whence the river Hamps throws its water into day. This river disappears at Leek-water Houses, a place between Leek and Ashbourn; thus pursuing a subterraneous course of seven miles, before it again emerges into light. On their emersion, the temperatures of the two rivers differ two degrees and a half, the Hamps being the coldest.

The environs of Buxton abound in romantic sites, among the most striking of which is the dale named the Lovers’ Leap, on account of a vast precipice which forms one side of a narrow chasm, and from the summit of which a love-lorn female is said to have precipitated herself into the rocky gulf below. Each side of this beautiful dell is bounded by elevated rocks, the proximity of which is such, that for a considerable space there is scarcely room for the passage of the bubbling current of the Wye. Several of these rocks are perpendicular, and bare of vegetation; while others are coveredwith ivy, yew and ash-wood, with a craggy steep occasionally starting through the verdure. A circular road, extending in circumference about three miles, passes in view of the most romantic part of this dale, and forms a very agreeable walk or ride from Buxton. At the southern extremity the scenery assumes a milder character, the hollow taking the name of Mill dale, from a mill which is turned by the stream. In conjunction with a rude bridge, a mountainous path, and other rural objects, this forms a very picturesque view. Another fine scene is presented by a lofty rock, called Swallow Tor, which soars over a mass of wood, the river at its base foaming and roaring over broken masses of limestone.

Derbyshire is everywhere fruitful in natural curiosities, among the most striking of which may be reckoned the moors of Hope parish, inasmuch as they afford an extraordinary instance of the preservation of human bodies interred in them. In the year 1674, a grazier and his female servant, in crossing these moors on their way to Ireland, were lost in the snow, with which they were covered from January to May, and being then discovered, the bodies were so offensive that the coroner ordered them to be buried on the spot. After a lapse of twenty-nine years, when the ground was opened, they were in no way changed, the color of the skin being fair and natural, and the flesh as soft as that of persons newly dead. For twenty succeeding years they were occasionally exposed as a spectacle, but carefully covered after being viewed. They lay at the depth of about three feet, in a moist soil or moss. The minister of Hope parish was present in 1716, forty-two years after the accident, at a particular inspection of these bodies. On the stockings being drawn off, the man’s legs, which had not been uncovered before, were quite fair: the flesh, when pressed by the finger, pitted a little; and the joints played freely, without the least stiffness. Such parts of the clothing as the avidity of the country people, to possess so great a curiosity, had spared, were firm and good; and a piece of new serge, worn by the woman, did not appear to have undergone any sensible change.

Having thus brought to a conclusion our details relative to the wonders of the peak, and the various and interesting natural curiosities there to be found, we subjoin a brief notice of several others, which have, in England, attracted the notice of travelers.

Among the extraordinary caverns to be found in the mountains of the north of England, may be reckoned Yordas cave, in the vale of Kingsland,in Yorkshire, which contains a subterraneous cascade. Whethercot cave, not far from Ingleton, is divided by an arch of limestones, passing under which is seen a large cascade falling from a hight of more than sixty feet. The length of this cave is about one hundred and eighty feet, and the breadth ninety.

There are also in various parts of England many remarkable springs, of which some are impregnated either with salt, (as that of Droitwich, in Worcestershire,) or sulphur, (as the famous well of Wigan, in Lancashire,) or bituminous matter, (as that at Pitchford, in Shropshire.) Others have a petrifying quality, as that near Lutterworth, in Leicestershire, and a dropping well in the West Riding of Yorkshire. And, finally, some ebb and flow, as that of the peak described above, and Laywell near Torbay, whose waters rise and fall several times in an hour. To these we may add that remarkable fountain near Richard’s Castle, in Herefordshire, commonly called Bone Well, which is generally full of small bones, like those of frogs or fishes, though often cleared out. At a cliff near Wigan, in Lancashire, is the famous burning well: the water is cold, neither has it any smell; yet so strong a vapor of sulphur issues out with the stream, that upon applying a light to it, the top of the water is covered with a flame, like that of burning spirits, which lasts several hours, and emits such a heat that meat may be boiled over it.

The British isles present many mountains of a bold and imposing character: when contrasted, however, with those which have been already described, they must be considered as comparatively diminutive.

The loftiest of these mountains is Ben Nevis, in Scotland, its elevation above the level of the sea being forty-three hundred and eighty feet, or somewhat more than four-fifths of a mile. It terminates in a point, and elevates its rugged front far above all the neighboring mountains. It is of easy ascent; and at the perpendicular hight of fifteen hundred feet, the vale beneath presents a very agreeable prospect, the vista being beautified by a diversity of bushes, shrubs, and birch woods, besides many little verdant spots. The sea and the shore are also seen.

At the summit, the view extends at once across the island, eastward toward the German sea, and westward to the Atlantic ocean. Nature here appears on a majestic scale and the vastness of the prospect engages thewhole attention, at the same time the objects in view are of no common dimensions. Just over the opening of the sound, at the south-west corner of Mull, Colonsay rises out of the sea like a shade of mist, at the distance of more than ninety miles. Shuna and Lismore appear like small spots of rich verdure, and, though nearly thirty miles distant, seem quite under the spectator. The low parts of Jura can not be discerned, nor any part of Isla; far less the coast of Ireland, as has been asserted. Such is, however, the wide extent of view, that it extends one hundred and seventy miles from the horizon of the sea at the Murray frith, on the north-east, to the island of Colonsay, on the south-west.

On the north-east side of Ben Nevis is an almost perpendicular precipice, certainly not less than fourteen hundred feet in depth; probably more, as it appears to exceed the third part of the entire hight of the mountain. A stranger is astonished at the sight of this dreadful rock, which has a quantity of snow lodged in its bosom throughout the whole year. The sound of a stone thrown over the cliff to the bottom, can not be heard when it falls, so that it is impossible to ascertain in that way the hight of the precipice.

This is the loftiest of the Welch mountains, its elevation above the level of the sea being thirty-seven hundred and twenty feet, or nearly three-quarters of a mile. It is accessible on one side only, its flanks being in every other quarter precipitous. Its aspect soon convinces the spectator that he is not to look to the Alps alone, or to the rocky regions of Altai, bordering on Siberia, for romantic scenes of wildness, confusion and disorder. Snowdon presents them in all their rude and native majesty.

In the ascent, a narrow path not more than nine feet in width, leads along the margin of a frightful precipice of nearly fifteen hundred feet in extent, so perpendicular that it can not be approached without terror; while to the north of the summit nearest to the one the most elevated, a semi-amphitheater of precipitous rocks, also of a great hight, is seen; and, behind this summit, another semicircle of equal depth and extent. The loftiest summit here appears to descend in the form of a sharp ridge, and beneath it another appears, which, on account of its color, is called the Black Rock. From the upper part of the valley, one of these summits presents a grand, vertical, and very elevated point.

The bottom of each of the amphitheaters of rocks, thirteen in number, is occupied by a small lake of a circular form, and very deep. The one known by the name of Llyn Glass is remarkable for its green hue, derived from its being impregnated with copper, several mines of which line its borders.Than this mountain, nothing in the Alps can be more arid and desert, those regions alone excepted which are too lofty to admit of vegetation. Here there is not a tree, not even a shrub; small patches of verdure, which sheep can scarcely reach, are alone to be seen. Its summit, or highest peak, is a flat of about eighteen feet only in circumference. Thence may be seen a part of Ireland, a part of Scotland, Cumberland, Lancashire, Cheshire, all North Wales, the isle of Man, and the Irish and British seas, with innumerable lakes; while the whole island of Anglesea is displayed so distinctly, that, its flat uncultivated plains, bounded by the rich Parys mountain in the vicinity of Holyhead, may be descried as on a map.

To the south of Dolgellau, Cader Idris towers above the subject mountains, which seem to retire, to allow its base more room to stand, and to afford to their sovereign a better display. It stands on a broad rocky base, with a gradual ascent to its brow, when the peaks elevate themselves in a manner at once abrupt, picturesque and distinct. The point emphatically named Cader, appears to the eye below to be little superior in hight to the saddle; but the third point, or apex, which has a name expressive of its sterility, is neither equal in hight, nor in beauty, to the other two. On its loftiest peak a stone pillar has lately been erected, for the purpose of a trigonometrical survey.

Cader Idris is the commencement of a chain of primitive mountains, and is computed to be twenty-eight hundred and fifty feet above the green of Dolgellau, and thirty-five hundred and fifty feet, or nearly three-fourths of a mile above the level of the sea. It has been conjectured that at some remote period it was a volcano of immense magnitude.

The tract to the south of Cader Idris, as far as Talylyn and Malwydd, is peculiarly grand. High and rugged mountains of every possible form, close in on all sides, while huge masses of rock hang over, or lie scattered in misshapen fragments by the side of the road. To add to the effect of this scene, the river Difi forms one continued cataract for five or six miles, overflowing with the innumerable tributary torrents which precipitate themselves from the highest summits of the surrounding rocks; while, to crown the whole, the shady head of Cader Idris towers, the majestic sentinel of the group.

The county of Caernarvon, in which this mountain is situated, claims precedency over every other in Wales, for the loftiness of its mountains, andthe multitude of the eminences, which in a curved and indented chain, occupy nearly the whole of its extent.

In proceeding from Conway to Bangor, by a route at once picturesque and romantic, and amid a scenery which varies at every step, Penman-mawr discloses to the traveler its bulky head. It protrudes itself into the sea, and exhibits a fine contrast to the fertility which it interrupts, by a rude view of gray weather-beaten stones and precipices. The passage over the mountain was formerly terrific; but the road has been latterly widened and secured, near the verge of the precipice, by a small wall about five feet in hight. It forms the most sublime terrace in the British isles, winding round the mountain on the edge of the abrupt cliff; while the vast impending rocks above, the roaring of the waves at a great distance below, and the frequent howling of the wind, all unite to fill the mind with solemnity and awe.

This English mountain, which has an elevation of thirty-five hundred and thirty feet, or nearly three-fourths of a mile above the level of the sea, is situated in Cumberland. It is more remarkable on account of the scenery over which it presides, and which exceeds in beauty whatever the imagination can paint, than for those bold projections and that rugged majesty which might be expected, but which will be here sought in vain. Except at such a distance as smooths the embossed work of all these rich fabrics, and where its double summit makes it a distinguished object to mark and characterize a scene, it may be considered as a tame and inanimate object.

In some of the maps of Yorkshire, the hight of this mountain is greatly exaggerated, its elevation above the sea not being more than twenty-five hundred feet, or nearly half a mile. As it is situated in the midst of a vast amphitheater of hills, the prospect it affords is diversified with pleasing objects. On its summit are four or five small lakes, two of which are about nine hundred feet in length, and nearly the same in breadth. A thin seam of coal also occurs near the top, and another is said to correspond with it on the summit of the lofty Colm hill, on the opposite side of Dent dale. Numerous caves and other natural curiosities abound here, as well as on Pennigent, about six miles to the eastward of Ingleborough. These latter mountains do not possess any particular interest.

STROMBOLI.

Stromboli is the principal of the cluster of small islands, lying to the north of Sicily, named the Lipari isles, the whole of which contain volcanoes. At a distance, its form appears to be that of an exact cone, but on a closer examination it is found to be a mountain having two summits of different hights, the sides of which have been torn and shattered by craters. The most elevated summit, inclining to the south-west, is, agreeably to Spallanzani, about a mile in hight.

In this volcanic mountain, the effects of a constantly active fire are everywhere visible, heaping up, destroying, changing, and overturning every instant what itself has produced, and incessantly varying in its operations. At the distance of one hundred miles, the flames it emits are visible, whence it has been aptly denominated the light-house of that part of the Mediterranean sea.

From the more elevated summit, all the inner part of the burning crater, and the mode of its eruption, may be seen. It is placed about half-way up, on the north-west side of the mountain, and has a diameter not exceeding two hundred and fifty feet. Burning stones are thrown up at regular intervals of seven or eight minutes, ascending in somewhat diverging rays. While a portion of them roll down toward the sea, the greater part fall back into the crater; and these being again cast out by a subsequent eruption, are thus tossed about until they are broken and reduced to ashes. The volcano, however, constantly supplies others, and seems inexhaustible in this species of productions. Spallanzani affirms that, in the more violent eruptions, the ejected matter rises to the hight of half a mile, or even higher, many of the ignited stones being thrown above the highest summit of the mountain.

The erupted stones, which appear black in the day-time, have at night a deep red color, and sparkle like fire-works. Each explosion is accompanied by flames or smoke, the latter resembling clouds, in the lower part black, in the upper white and shining, and separating into globular and irregular forms. In particularly high winds from the south or south-east, the smoke spreads over every part of the island. Spallanzani observed this volcano on a particular night, when the latter of these winds blew with great violence. The clear sky exhibited the appearance of a beautiful aurora borealis over that part of the mountain on which the volcano is situated, and which from time to time became more red and brilliant, in proportion as the ignitedstones were thrown to a greater hight. The violence of the convulsions depends on that of the wind.

The present crater has burned for more than a century, without any apparent change having taken place in its situation. The side from which the showers of ignited matter fall into the sea, is almost perpendicular, about half a mile broad at the bottom, and a mile in length, terminating above in a point. In rolling down, the lava raises the fine sand like a cloud of dust. While this was observed by Spallanzani, the volcano suddenly made an eruption. Numerous pieces of lava of a dark red color, and enveloped in smoke, were ejected from the top of the precipice, and thrown high into the air. A part of them fell on the declivity, and rolled down, the smaller preceded by the greater; after a few bounds, dashing into the sea, giving out a sharp hissing sound. The more minute fragments, from their lightness, and the hindrance of the sand, rolled slowly down, and striking against each other, produced nearly the same sound as hail-stones falling on a roof. In a few minutes another explosion followed, without any sensible noise; and two minutes after a third eruption took place, with a much louder explosion than the first, and a far more copious ejection of lava. The eruptions, which were almost innumerable during the time Spallanzani remained there, all exhibited the same appearances.

On the night following the one above described, the volcano raged with still greater violence, and rapidly hurled to a great hight, thousands of red-hot stones, forming diverging rays in the air. Those which rolled down the precipice, produced a hail of streaming fire, which illuminated the steep descent. Independently of these ignited stones, there was in the air which hovered over the volcano, a vivid light, which was not extinguished when that was at rest. It was not properly flame, but real light reverberated by the atmosphere, impregnated by extraneous particles, and more especially by the ascending smoke. Besides varying in intensity, it appeared constantly in motion, ascending, descending, dilating and contracting, but always remaining perpendicular over the mouth of the volcano, which showed that it was occasioned by the conflagration within the crater. The detonations in the greater eruptions resembled the roaring of distant thunder, and in the lesser ones, the explosions of a mine. In the smallest they were scarcely audible. Each was some seconds later than the ejection.

Near the mouth of the volcano is a small cavern, a projection above which secures it from the entrance of the ignited stones. From this cavern Spallanzani was enabled to look down into the very bowels of the volcano. He describes the edges of the crater as of a circular form, and not more than three hundred and forty feet in circumference, the internal sides contractingas they descend, and assuming the shape of a truncated inverted cone. The crater itself, to a certain hight, is filled with a liquid red-hot matter, resembling melted brass. This is the fluid lava, which appears to be agitated by two distinct motions, the one intestine, whirling and tumultuous, and the other that by which it is impelled upward. This liquid matter is raised, sometimes with more, and sometimes with less rapidity, within the crater; and when it has reached within twenty-five or thirty feet of the upper edge, a sound is heard not unlike a short clap of thunder, while at the same moment a portion of the lava, separated into a thousand pieces, is thrown up with indescribable swiftness, accompanied by a copious eruption of smoke, ashes and sand. A few moments before the report, the superficies of the lava is inflated and covered with large bubbles, some of which are several feet in diameter; on the bursting of these the detonation and fiery shower take place. After the explosion, the lava within the crater sinks, but soon rises again as before, and new bubbles appear, which again burst and produce new explosions. When the lava sinks, it gives little or no sound; but when it rises, and particularly when it begins to be inflated with bubbles, it is accompanied by a noise similar, in proportion to the difference of magnitude, to that of liquor boiling vehemently in a caldron.

This island, which has given name to the whole cluster, is deserving of notice on account of its celebrated “stoves.” They are the only vestiges of subterraneous conflagration now remaining, and lie to the west of the city, on the summit of a mountain of considerable elevation, called Monte della Stufe, the Mountain of Stoves. They consist of five excavations, in the form of grottos; but two of them have been abandoned on account of the great heat, an exposure to which might cause suffocation. Even the stones are so hot that they can not be touched; but still the heat varies, and experiences all the vicissitudes of volcanoes. The ground is not penetrated with hot vapors issuing from several apertures, as has been asserted. Spallanzani, however, found one from which a thin stream of smoke issued from time to time, with a strong sulphureous smell, indicating the remains of conflagration existing beneath.

It is impossible to fix the exact epoch at which the fires of Lipari were extinguished, or rather the period at which the eruptions ceased, for the existence of the former may be deduced from the hot springs and stoves. Dolomieu thinks the last eruptions are as old as the sixth century of the Christian era, and conjectures that they may have ceased since the firesfound a new vent in Vulcano, since he does not entertain any doubt but that the two islands have a subterraneous communication. Of this the inhabitants of Lipari are so well convinced, that they are in the greatest agitation when Vulcano does not smoke, and when its passages are obstructed. They fear shocks and violent eruptions, suspecting even that the fires may again break out in their island. It is a fact that the earthquakes, which are very frequent, generally cease when the eruptions of Vulcano commence.

This, which is the last of the Lipari isles, bears in every part the stamp of fire. It was the superstitious belief of the ancient inhabitants that Vulcan had here established his forges, there being constant fires during the night, and a thick smoke throughout the day. It consists of a mountain in the form of a truncated cone, which is, however, merely a case opening and exposing to view a second cone within, more exact than the other, and in which the mouth of the volcano is placed. The latter is thus enveloped on three sides by the ancient cone, and is open only on that side which is immediately washed by the sea.

The base of the interior cone is separated from the steep sides of the ancient crater by a circular valley, which terminates on one side at the junction of the two mountains, and on the other sinks into the sea. In this valley, light pumice-stones are blended with fragments of black, vitreous lava, and buried in ashes perfectly white. The blow of a hammer on these stones produces a loud hollow sound, which reëchoes in the neighboring caverns, and proves that the surface is nothing more than the arch of a vault covering an immense abyss. The sound varies according to the thickness of the crust, which must have considerable solidity to support the weight of the new mountain. This, according to Dolomieu, is higher and steeper than the cone which contains the crater of Etna, and its access still more difficult; its perpendicular hight, however, is not more than twenty-six hundred and forty feet, or half a mile. He represents the crater of Vulcano as the most magnificent he ever saw; and Spallanzani observes that, with the exception of that of Etna, he does not know of any more capacious and majestic. It exceeds a mile in circuit, has an oval mouth, and its greatest diameter is from the south-east to the west, while its depth is not more than a quarter of a mile. The bottom is flat, and from many places streams of smoke exhale, emitting a strong sulphureous vapor. This vast cavity is very regular, and as its entire contents are displayed to the eye, presents one of the grandest and most imposing spectacles in nature. On large stones beingrolled down, the mountain reëchoes; and on their reaching the bottom, they appear to sink in fluid. Indeed, with the aid of a glass, two small lakes, supposed to be filled with melted sulphur, have been discovered. The declivity of the interior walls is so great, that, even when there is not any danger from fire, the descent is next to impossible. After considerable difficulty, however, this was accomplished by Spallanzani on the south-east side, the only one accessible. He found the bottom to be somewhat more than one-third of a mile in circumference, and of an oval form. The subterraneous noise was here much louder than on the summit, sounding like an impetuous river foaming beneath, or, rather, like a conflict of agitated waves meeting and clashing furiously together. The ground was likewise in some places perforated with apertures, from which hissing sounds issued, resembling those produced by the bellows of a furnace. It shook when pressed by the feet; and a large piece of lava, let fall five or six feet, produced a subterraneous echoing sound, which continued some time, and was loudest in the center. These circumstances, combined with its burning heat, and the strong stench of sulphur it emits, prove that the fires of the volcano are still active.

Its eruptions have been most considerable during the earthquakes which have desolated Sicily and a greater part of Italy. In the month of March, 1786, after subterraneous thunders and roarings, which were heard over all the islands, to the great terror of the inhabitants, and were accompanied by frequent concussions, the crater threw out a prodigious quantity of sand, mixed with immense volumes of smoke and fire. This eruption continued fifteen days, and so great was the quantity of sand ejected that the circumjacent places were entirely covered with it to a considerable hight. The lava did not flow at the time, at least over the edges of the crater; and indeed, such a current is not remembered by any living person.

“The great Himalayan snowy range,” says Mr. Fraser, “is only the high elevated crest of the mountainous tract that divides the plains of Hindoostan from those of Thibet, or Lesser Tartary. Far as they predominate over, and precipitously as they rear themselves above the rest, all the hills that appear in distant ranges, when viewed from the plains, are indeed only the roots and branches of this great stem; and, however difficult to trace, the connection can always be detected between each inferior mountain and some particular member of its great origin.

“The horizontal depth of this mountainous tract, on that side which overlooks Hindoostan, is no doubt various; but, from the difficulty of the country, a traveler performs a journey of many days before he reaches the foot of the immediate snowy cliffs. The best observations and surveys do not authorize the allowance of more than an average depth of about sixty miles from the plains to the commencement of these, in that part of the country that forms the subject of this narrative. The breadth of the snowy zone itself in all probability varies still more; for huge masses advance in some places into the lower districts, and in others the crest recedes in long ravines, that are the beds of torrents, while behind they are clothed by a succession of the loftier cliffs. Every account we receive of a passage through them, (and this is no doubt found most commonly where the belt is narrowest,) gives a detail of many days’ journey through the deserts of snow and rocks; and it is to be inferred, that on the north-east side they advance to, and retreat from the low ground in an equally irregular manner. Indeed, some accounts would induce the belief, that long ranges, crowned with snow-clad peaks, project in various places from the great spine, and include habitable and milder districts; for, in all the routes of which we have accounts, that proceed, in various directions toward the Trans-Himalayan countries, hills covered with snow are occasionally mentioned as occurring, even after the great deserts are passed, and the grazing country entered. The breadth, then, of this crest of snow-clad rock itself, can not fairly be estimated at less than from seventy to eighty miles.

“The great snowy belt, although its loftiest crest is broken into numberless cliffs and ravines, nevertheless presents a barrier perfectly impracticable, except in those places where hollows that become the beds of rivers have in some degree intersected it, and facilitated approach to its more remote recesses, or courageous and attentive perseverance has here and there, discovered a dangerous and difficult path, by which a possibility exists of penetrating across the range. Few rivers hold their course wholly through it: indeed, in the upper part the Sutlej alone has been traced beyond this rocky barrier; and there is a path along its stream, from different parts of which roads diverge, that lead in various directions through the mountain. No reasonable doubt can now exist of the very long and extraordinary course which this river takes.

“Captain Webb of the Bengal establishment, was at one time employed on a survey of a province of Kumaoon. On the twenty-first day of June, his camp was eleven thousand, six hundred and eighty feet above Calcutta. The surface was covered with very rich vegetation as high as the knee; there were very extensive beds of strawberries in full flower; and plenty ofcurrant-bushes in blossom all around, in a clear spot of rich black mold soil, surrounded by a noble forest of pine, oak and rhododendron. On the twenty-second of June he reached the top of Pilgoenta-Churhaee, (or ascent,) twelve thousand, six hundred and forty-two feet above Calcutta. He was prevented from distinguishing very distant objects by a dense fog; but there was not the smallest patch of snow near him; and the surface, a fat black mold through which the rock peeped, was covered with strawberry plants, (not yet in flower,) butter-cups, dandelions, and a profusion of other flowers. The shoulders of the hill above him, about four hundred and fifty feet more elevated, were covered with the same to the top; and above five hundred feet below was a forest of pine, rhododendron and birch. There was some snow seen below in deep hollows, but it dissolves in the course of the season. These facts led Captain Webb to infer, that the inferior limit of perpetual congelation on the Himalaya mountains is beyond thirteen thousand, five hundred feet, at least, above the level of Calcutta: and that the level of the table-land of Tartary, immediately bordering on their range, is very far elevated beyond eight thousand feet, the hight at which it has been estimated.

“On the night of the sixteenth of July, we slept at Bheemkeudar, near the source of the Coonoo and Bheem streams. There is no wood near this place, even in the very bottom of the valley, and we had left even the stunted birch at a considerable distance below; but there was a profusion of flowers, ferns, thistles, &c., and luxuriant pasturage. Captain Webb’s limit of wood is at least as high as twelve thousand to twelve thousand, three hundred feet. I would, therefore, presume the site of Bheemkeudar to be considerably above that level; say thirteen thousand to thirteen thousand, three hundred feet, above the level of Calcutta. From thence we ascended at first rather gradually, and then very rapidly, till we left all luxuriant vegetation, and entered the region of stripped and scattered and partially melting snow. From calculating the distance passed, and adverting to the elevation we had attained, I would presume that this was at least fifteen hundred feet above Bheemkeudar, or from fourteen thousand, five hundred, to fifteen thousand feet above Calcutta.

“We proceeded onward, ascending very rapidly, while vegetation decreased gradually to a mere green moss, with here and there a few snow-flowers starting through it; snow fast increasing, till at length we entered on what I presume was the perennial and unmelting snow, entirely beyond the line of vegetation, where the rock was bare even of lichens: and in this we ascended, as I think, about eight hundred feet; for, though Bamsooroo Ghat may not be so far above this line, we continued ascending, even after crossingthat point, and I would incline to estimate this utmost extent of ascent at two thousand feet more, or nearly seventeen thousand feet above the level of Calcutta.

“Whilst proposing to consider the point of sixteen thousand to sixteen thousand, five hundred feet, as that of inferior congelation, I must observe that there was no feeling offrostin the air, and the snow was moist, though hard, chiefly through the influence of a thick mist, which, in fact, amounted to a very small drizzling rain, which fell around: all which would seem to indicate, that the true line of congelation had not there been attained; but we were surrounded by snow which evidently never melted. To a great depth below it extended all over the hills, very little broken, while on the valleys from whence the Coonoo and Bheem streams issue, at full two thousand feet below, it lay covering them and the surrounding mountains in an unbroken mass, many hundred feet thick. Thus, though it may seem contradictory, the line of perpetual congelation, in fact seems fixable at even below the point I have ventured to indicate, and, I presume, might, on these grounds, be placed somewhere between fifteen and sixteen thousand feet above the level of Calcutta.

“The result of all the considerations that arise out of the foregoing remarks is a belief, that the loftiest peaks of the Himalaya range will be found to fall considerably short of the hight attributed to them by Mr. Colebrooke; and that their loftiest peaks do not more than range from eighteen thousand to twenty-two or twenty-three thousand feet above the level of the sea.

“Having reached the top of an ascent, we looked down upon a very deep and dark glen, called Palia Gadh, which is the outlet to the waters of one of the most terrific and gloomy valleys I have ever seen. But it would not be easy to convey by any description a just idea of the peculiarly rugged and gloomy wildness of this glen: it looks like the ruins of nature, and appears, as it is said to be, completely impracticable and impenetrable. Little is to be seen except dark rock: wood only fringes the lower parts and the waters’ edge: perhaps the spots and streaks of snow, contrasting with the general blackness of the scene, highten the appearance of desolation. No living thing is seen; no motion is visible but that of the waters; no sound is heard but their roar. Such a spot is suited to engender superstition, and here it is accordingly found in full growth. Many wild traditions are preserved, and many extravagant stories related of it.

“The glen above described, is by far the most gloomy, savage scene we have yet met with. I regret that the weather did not permit a sketch of it to be attempted. Beyond this we could see nothing in the course of theriver but rocky banks. The opposite side is particularly precipitous; yet along its face a road is carried, which is frequented as much as this, and leads to villages still farther up. By the time we had reached the village, the clouds which had lowered around and sunk down on the hills, began to burst with loud thunder and heavy rain. The noise was fearfully reverberated among the hills; and during the night more than once the sound was heard of fragments from the brows of the mountains, crashing down to the depths below with a terrific din. Our quarters were good. I slept in a temple, neat, clean and secure from the weather.”

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