The Present Condition of the Indian Archipelago. 351 



joined by narrow straits, which, in the case of those of Suiida, lead at 

 once into the smooth waters and green level shores of the interior, 

 from the rugged and tnrbulent outer coast, which would otherwise 

 have opposed to us an unbroken wall more than two thousand miles 

 iu length. We pass from one mediterranean sea to another, — now 

 through groups of islets so small that we encounter many in an hour, 

 — and presently along the coasts of those so large that we might be 

 months in circumnavioatinor them. Even in crossino; the widest of 

 the eastern seas, when the last green speck has sunk beneath the 

 horizon, the mariner knows that a circle drawn with a radius of two 

 days' sail would touch more land than water, and even that, if the eye 

 were raised to a sufficient height, while the islands he had left would 

 reappear on the one side, new shores would be seen on almost every 

 other. But it is the wonderful freshness and greenness in which, go 

 where he will, each new island is enveloped, that impresses itself on 

 his senses as the great distinctive character of the region. The equi- 

 noctial warmth of the air, tempered and moistened by a constant eva- 

 poration, and purified by periodical winds, seems to be imbued with 

 penetrating life-giving virtue, under the influence of which even the 

 most barren rock becomes fertile. Hence, those groups of small 

 islands which sometimes environ the larger ones like clusters of satel- 

 lites, or mark where their ranges pursue their course beneath the sea, 

 often appear, in particular states of the atmosphere, when a zone of 

 white quivering light surrounds them and obliterates their coasts, to 

 be dark umbrageous gardens floating on a wide lake, whose gleaming 

 surface would be too dazzling were it not traversed by the shadows 

 ot the clouds, and covered by the breeze with an incessant play of 

 light and shade. Far different from the placid beauty of such scenes 

 is the eftect of the mountain domes and peaks which elsewhere rise 

 against the sky. In these the voyager sees the grandeur of Euro- 

 pean mountains repeated, but with all that is austere or savage trans- 

 formed into softness and beauty. The snow and glaciers are replaced 

 by a mighty forest, which fills every ravine with dark shade, and 

 arrays every peak and ridge in glancing light. Even the peculiar 

 beauties which the sumnuts of the Alps borrow fi-om the atmosphere, 

 are sometimes displayed. The Swiss, gazing on the lofty and ma- 

 jestic form of a volcanic mountain, is astonished to behold, at the 

 rising of the sun, the peaks inflamed with the same rose-red glow 

 which the snowy summits of Mont llosa and Mont Blanc reflect at 

 its setting, and the smoke wreaths, as they ascend from the crater 

 into mid air, shining in golden hues like the clouds of heaven.'"' 



But, serene in their beauty and magnificence as these mountains 

 generally appear, they hide in their bosoms elements of the highest 

 terrestial sublimity and awe, compared with whose appalling energy, 



''- M. Zollinger, in dcRcribing Mount Semiru in .lava, notices tliis singular re- 

 Bemblnncc to tlio naountnins of his native country. 



