ing with the white waters, and tossed about in the raging
stream, are the shattered remains of a carriage and its contents.

It seems that two young men from Canton Zurich essayed to make a tour of
the mountains with their own horse and carriage--a foolhardy experiment,
since none but tried horses, used to these passes, are considered safe
here. All went well, however, until they reached this point, where a
torrent falls down the mountain-side to the road, under which it passes
with a fearful noise. It might, indeed, startle the strongest nerves.
The horse, young and high-spirited, shied to the edge of the precipice,
then reared high in the air. They saw that he must go over when his fore
feet came down, and springing out, barely escaped a similar fate. We all
passed the spot with some trepidation, the most of us preferring to
walk; but our horses, accustomed to the road, were utterly unmoved by
the swooping torrent. At night we reached Andermatt--only an untidy
little village, lying in one of these upper valleys, bustling and all
alive around the door of its one inn; but how green and beautiful were
the mountains, shutting us in all around, after the desolation through
which much of our way had led! Upon the side of the nearest was a
triangular patch of wood-land,--firs and spruces,--said to divide and
break the force of the avalanches that sweep down here in the spring.
It can be nothing but a story of what had been true formerly, when the
wood was more extensive. Down these mountains, as night closed in,
straggled a herd of goats to the milking, tinkling countless little
bells, while the roar of the Reuss, which we had followed until it was
now hardly more than a mountain brook, mingled with our dreams as it ran
noisily through the village.

On we went the next morning, wrapping ourselves warmly, for the air was
chill as November, though at Lucerne, only twenty-four hours before, we
had suffered a torrid heat. Just beyond Andermatt, at Hospenthal, we
left the St. Gothard, to follow the Furka pass. All around was barren
desolation, as we went on, still ascending, leaving every sign of human
life behind. Rocky and black the mountains rose, bearing only lichens
and ferns. Occasional patches of snow appeared, lying in the beds of the
last year's torrents, or scattered along beside the road. But here,
where Nature had bestowed little to soften and beautify, she had spread
upon the barren land, and tucked in among the rock