with a quick sudden burst, it poured
a flood of light into the valley, tinging our little white tent with a
delicate pink, like that of a wild-rose petal, turning every pendent
dewdrop into a twinkling brilliant, and lighting up the still water
of the river, until it became a quivering, flashing mass of liquid
silver.

"I'm not romantic, but, upon my word,
There are some moments when one can't help feeling
As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirred
By things around him, that 'tis vain concealing
A little music in his soul still lingers,
Whene'er the keys are touched by Nature's fingers."

I was just delivering the above quotation in impassioned style, when
Dodd, who never allowed his enthusiasm for the beauties of nature to
interfere with a proper regard for the welfare of his stomach, emerged
from the tent, and, with a mock solemn apology for interrupting
my soliloquy, said that if I could bring my mind down to the
contemplation of material things he would inform me that breakfast
was ready, and begged to suggest that the little music in my soul be
allowed to "linger," since it could do so with less detriment than the
said breakfast. The force of this suggestion, seconded as it was by a
savoury odour from the interior of the tent, could not be denied. I
went, but still continued between the spoonfuls of hot soup to "rave,"
as Dodd expressed it, about the scenery. After breakfast the tent was
struck, camp equipage packed up, and taking seats in the stern-sheets
of our whale-boat we pushed off and resumed our slow ascent of the
river.

The vegetation everywhere, untouched as yet by the autumn frosts,
seemed to have an almost tropical luxuriance. High wild grass, mingled
with varicoloured flowers, extended to the very river's brink; Alpine
roses and cinquefoil grew in dense thickets along the bank, and
dropped their pink and yellow petals like fairy boats upon the surface
of the clear still water; yellow columbine drooped low over the
river, to see its graceful image mirrored beside that of the majestic
volcano; and strange black Kamchatkan lilies, with downcast looks,
stood here and there in sad loneliness, mourning in funeral garb some
unknown flowery bereavement.

Nor was animal life wanting to complete the picture. Wild ducks, with
long outstretched necks, shot past us, continually in their swift
level flight, uttering hoarse quacks of curiosity and apprehension;
the honking of geese came to