colored and elevated margin of the fountain
extended for a great way in every direction
the yellow crust of crystallized sulphur,
raised into a gently swelling hillock by the
soft bolus of unmeasurable depth beneath;
and from the centre of this trembling mass
a crater was vomiting forth, with a tremendously
roaring noise, to the height of four or
five feet, a thick blackish liquid, accompanied
by vast bodies of steam, which now
ascended perpendicularly, and now were
driven down the sides of the hill by the
frequent eddying gusts of wind which issued
from the chasms that abounded in the neighborhood.
A back ground, worthy of such
a picture, was supplied by the dark and rugged
sides of the mountain that, extending all
around, formed a chain of rocks, which, in
addition to the rudeness of their figure,
were the most barren that can be imagined.
A few lichens and mosses alone broke the
uniform blackness of their surface ; and these,
far from being in a luxuriant state of vegetation,
were scarcely to be discerned at a
little distance, and appeared only minute
greyish spots. How unlike to the volcanic
scenery of this frigid region must be that of
iEtna, where, according to the account of an
ingenious traveller *, “ every beauty and
every horror are united, and all the most
opposite and dissimilar objects in nature;
where in one place you observe a gulf that
formerly threw out torrents of fire, now
covered with the most luxuriant vegetation,
and from an object of terror become an object
of delight; where you gather the most
delicious fruits and tread upon ground covered
with every flower ; where you wander
over these beauties and contemplate this wilderness
of sweets without considering that
hell, with all its terrors, is immediately
under your feet; and that but a few yards
separate us from fire and brimstone.” The
horrors alone of the picture given us by Bry-
done are to be met with in the volcanic
mountains of Kreisevig: for luxuriant vegetation,
fruits, and flowers, other countries
must be searched, and yet, in spite of the
absence of every beauty that could attract,
or excite a pleasurable sensation, I doubt
whether a traveller ever turned his back
upon iEtna with more regret than we felt
* See Brydone's Tom through Sicily and Malta, p. 93.