432 The Hunting Grounds 



richness of colouring far surpassing the painter's art 

 to depict. Mountains divided by deep, dark, densely- 

 wooded ravines lay beneath us, and the valley from 

 which we commenced the ascent was bathed in a rich 

 violet hue. Castellated peaks and masses of rock of 

 every shape and form rose in all directions, and 

 many foaming torrents and cascades glistened like 

 silver on the rugged sides of the mountain. The only 

 sounds that broke the intense silence that reigned 

 over the whole face of nature, were the roaring of 

 distant avalanches, the melancholy cry of the eagle, 

 or the shrill whistle of the marmot as, alarmed at our 

 intrusion on his domains, he scrambled into his burrow 

 under the rocks. 



The bracing freshness of the air and the magni- 

 ficence of the scenery had the effect of enduing us 

 all with an exuberant overflow of joyous animation 

 and exhilaration of spirits, as for several minutes we 

 amused ourselves in testing our strength by seeing 

 who could throw farthest over the glacier, or hurl 

 the largest fragments of rock down the steep slope. 

 Whilst so amusing ourselves, a pair of immense lam- 

 mergeier came soaring over our heads. I imme- 

 diately unslung my rifle, which I carried across my 

 back, and let drive a couple of shots, but both were 

 without effect, the distance being too great. A 

 lucky thought flashed across my mind which I imme- 

 diately put into execution. I took a red silk pocket- 



