l springs, but as we did not have time to
visit these springs ourselves, we were compelled to take the natives'
word for their temperature and their medicinal properties, and content
ourselves with a distant view of the pillar of steam which marked
their location.

North of the village opens the long narrow valley of Genal--the most
beautiful as well as the most fertile spot in all the Kamchatkan
peninsula. It is about thirty miles in length, and averages three in
breadth, and is bounded on both sides by chains of high snow-covered
mountains, which stretch away from Malqua in a long vista of white
ragged peaks and sharp cliffs, almost to the head-waters of the
Kamchatka River. A small stream runs in a tortuous course through the
valley, fringed with long wild grass four or five feet in height, and
shaded here and there by clumps of birches, willows, and alders. The
foliage was beginning already to assume the brilliant colours of
early autumn, and broad stripes of crimson, yellow, and green ran
horizontally along the mountain sides, marking on a splendid chromatic
scale the successive zones of vegetation as they rose in regular
gradation from the level of the valley to the pure glittering snows of
the higher peaks.

As we approached the middle of the valley just before noon, the
scenery assumed a vividness of colour and grandeur of outline which
drew forth the most enthusiastic exclamations of delight from our
little party. For twenty-five miles in each direction lay the sunny
valley, through which the Genal River was stretched like a tangled
chain of silver, linking together the scattered clumps of birch and
thickets of alder, which at intervals diversified its banks. Like the
Happy Valley of Rasselas, it seemed to be shut out from the rest of
the world by impassable mountains, whose snowy peaks and pinnacles
rivalled in picturesque beauty, in variety and singularity of form,
the wildest dream of eastern architect. Half down their sides was a
broad horizontal belt of dark-green pines, thrown into strong and
beautiful contrast with the pure white snow of the higher summits and
the rich crimson of the mountain ash which flamed below. Here and
there the mountains had been cleft asunder by some Titanic power,
leaving deep narrow gorges and wild ravines where the sunlight could
hardly penetrate, and the eye was lost in soft purple haze. Imagine
with all this, a warm fragrant atmosphere and a deep blue sky in which
floated