THE ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY. 



cushion-like tufts from their angles and crev- 

 ices. 



You pursue the little mountain stream, through 

 the thick mass of tangled cedars and fallen rocks, 

 slippery and treacherous to the unwary foot, wad- 

 ing from stone to stone through many a narrow 

 gorge, till there bursts before you a beautiful cas- 

 cade, that comes bounding down in three leaps 

 from a height of sixty feet. The water is white 

 and sparkling as it plunges over the purple preci- 

 pice; the lowest fall spreading out like a fan of 

 thin gauze, hanging over the rocky wall, and 

 screening the black cavern behind. 



With difficulty you climb through a ravine to 

 the top of the waterfall, and follow the stream for 

 a few hundred yards higher, till you find its origin 

 in a little mountain tarn, deeply embosomed 

 amidst perpendicular walls of rock, with no open- 

 ing or outlet except the narrow cleft by which the 

 tiny stream escapes. How beautiful is the little 

 quiet lake, clear as crystal, but of great depth, 

 and hence of a deep green hue, receiving and ab- 

 sorbing the sun's rays in its profundity, like a 

 floor of polished beryl ! And there on the opposite 

 precipice, gazing down into the distant water, 

 stand in antlered majesty three noble stags. 

 Magnificent creatures! here they are at home, 

 dwelling amidst this grandeur, the very presiding 

 genii loci* 



We are familiar, by report, with that great bird 

 of mighty wing, the lammergeyer or bearded 

 eagle, whose red eye is a fair index of its cruel 

 ferocity, that preys not only on birds and quadru- 

 peds, but even on children. We commonly associ- 

 ate this proud and savage bird with the crags of 



* Every feature in this picture is in Atkinson's " Siberia " ; in 

 the grouping only have I taken any liberty. 

 50 



