from the plains of Central Australia. Banda
is a lovely little spot, its three islands enclosing a secure harbour
from whence no outlet is visible, and with water so transparent, that
living corals and even the minutest objects are plainly seen on the
volcanic sand at a depth of seven or eight fathoms. The ever smoking
volcano rears its bare cone on one side, while the two larger islands
are clothed with vegetation to the summit of the hills.

Going on shore, I walked up a pretty path which leads to the highest
point of the island on which the town is situated, where there is a
telegraph station and a magnificent view. Below lies the little town,
with its neat red-tiled white houses and the thatched cottages of the
natives, bounded on one side by the old Portuguese fort. Beyond, about
half a mile distant, lies the larger island in the shape of a horseshoe,
formed of a range of abrupt hills covered with fine forest and nutmeg
gardens; while close opposite the town is the volcano, forming a nearly
perfect cone, the lower part only covered with a light green bushy
vegetation. On its north side the outline is more uneven, and there is
a slight hollow or chasm about one-fifth of the way down, from which
constantly issue two columns of smoke, as well as a good deal from the
rugged surface around and from some spots nearer the summit. A white
efflorescence, probably sulphur, is thickly spread over the upper part
of the mountain, marked by the narrow black vertical lines of water
gullies. The smoke unites as it rises, and forms a dense cloud, which in
calm, damp weather spreads out into a wide canopy hiding the top of the
mountain. At night and early morning, it often rises up straight and
leaves the whole outline clear.

It is only when actually gazing on an active volcano that one can fully
realize its awfulness and grandeur. Whence comes that inexhaustible
fire whose dense and sulphurous smoke forever issues from this bare and
desolate peak? Whence the mighty forces that produced that peak, and
still from time to time exhibit themselves in the earthquakes that
always occur in the vicinity of volcanic vents? The knowledge from
childhood of the fact that volcanoes and earthquakes exist, has taken
away somewhat of the strange and exceptional character that really
belongs to them. The inhabitant of most parts of northern Europe sees in
the earth the emblem of stability and repose. His whole life-experience,
and that of all his