y a breath of air astir, and the atmosphere had that peculiar
crystalline transparency which may sometimes be seen in California. A
heavy hoar-frost lay white on the boats and grass, and a few withered
leaves dropped wavering through the still cool air from the yellow
birch trees which overhung our tent. There was not a sound to break
harshly upon the silence of dawn; and only the tracks of wild reindeer
and prowling wolves, on the smooth sandy beach showed that there was
life in the quiet lonely wilderness around us. The sun had not yet
risen, but the eastern heavens were aglare with yellow light, even up
to the morning-star, which, although "paling its ineffectual fires,"
still maintained its position as a glittering outpost between the
contending powers of night and day. Far away to the north-eastward,
over the yellow forest, in soft purple relief against the red sunrise,
stood the high sharp peaks of Kluchei, grouped around the central
wedge-like cone of the magnificent Kluchefskoi volcano. Nearly a month
before I had seen these noble mountains from the tossing deck of a
little brig, seventy-five miles at sea; but I little thought then
that I should see them again from a lonely camp in the woods of the
Kamchatka River.

For nearly half an hour Dodd and I sat quietly on the beach,
absent-mindedly throwing pebbles into the still water, watching the
illumination of the distant mountains by the rising sun, and
talking over the adventures which we had experienced since leaving
Petropavlovsk. With what different impressions had I come to look at
Siberian life since I first saw the precipitous coast of Kamchatka
looming up out of the blue water of the Pacific!

Then it was an unknown, mysterious land of glaciers and snowy
mountains, filled with possibilities of adventure, but lonely and
forbidding in its uninhabited wildness. Now it was no longer lonely
or desolate. Every mountain peak was associated with some hospitable
village nestled at its feet; every little stream was connected with
the great world of human interests by some pleasant recollection of
camp life. The possibilities of adventure were still there, but the
imaginary loneliness and desolation had vanished with one week's
experience. I thought of the vague conceptions which I had formed in
America of this beautiful country, and tried to compare them with the
more recent impressions by which they had been crowded out, but the
effort was vain. I could not surr