rocks, smoothed by old glaciers, into long, dark, billowy swellings,
like the backs of plunging dolphins, the peasant watches the slow
colouring of the tufts of moss and roots of herb, which, little by
little, gather a feeble soil over the iron substance; then, supporting
the narrow strip of clinging ground with a few stones, he subdues it to
the spade, and in a year or two a little crest of corn is seen waving
upon the rocky casque."

Tyndall, speaking of the scene from the summit of the Little
Scheideck,[39] says: "The upper air exhibited a commotion which we did
not experience; clouds were wildly driven against the flanks of the
Eiger, the Jungfrau thundered behind, while in front of us a magnificent
rainbow, fixing one of its arms in the valley of Grindelwald, and,
throwing the other right over the crown of the Wetterhorn, clasped the
mountain in its embrace. Through jagged apertures in the clouds floods
of golden light were poured down the sides of the mountain. On the
slopes were innumerable chalets, glistening in the sunbeams, herds
browsing peacefully and shaking their mellow bells; while the blackness
of the pine trees, crowded into woods, or scattered in pleasant clusters
over alp and valley, contrasted forcibly with the lively green of the
fields."

Few men had more experience of mountains than Mr. Whymper, and from him,
I will quote one remarkable passage describing the view from the summit
of the Matterhorn just before the terrible catastrophe which overshadows
the memory of his first ascent.

"The day was one of those superlatively calm and clear ones which
usually precede bad weather. The atmosphere was perfectly still and free
from all clouds or vapours. Mountains fifty, nay, a hundred miles off
looked sharp and near. All their details--ridge and crag, snow and
glacier--stood out with faultless definition. Pleasant thoughts of happy
days in bygone years came up unbidden as we recognised the old familiar
forms. All were revealed, not one of the principal peaks of the Alps was
hidden. I see them clearly now, the great inner circle of giants, backed
by the ranges, chains, and _massifs_.... Ten thousand feet beneath us
were the green fields of Zermatt, dotted with chalets, from which blue
smoke rose lazily. Eight thousand feet below, on the other side, were
the pastures of Breuil. There were black and gloomy forests; bright and
cheerful meadows, bounding waterfalls and tranquil lakes, fertile lands
and s