as from an historical point of view; and it is the lower branch that breaks out of the glacier where we stand.

At the very beginning of its course, scarcely half a mile distant from its source, the battle of this young stream with the old bowlders may be seen in earnest it is hurled precipitously into an abyss of yawning depth; the rocks cover it, it has vanished, it is buried-choked. It looks almost as if the rocks would imprison it anew; the thunder of its roar echoes above as it wrestles for life and for freedom, but it cuts its way victoriously through; and, as the infant Hercules strangled the two snakes, so has the Rhine in its cradle conquered the two great powers that endangered its existence - namely, Ice and Rock. Its childhood is an augur of its giant future. Even the names which accompany its origin have a mystic grandeur, for the mountain-plain which lies opposite the source of the Lower Rhine is called "Paradise," and the abyss into which it falls is called "Hell."

The first elevated plain through which it flows is called the Rheinwald Valley, and the first village we meet with bears the name of the young stream. In spite of the lofty and rugged situation, we are surrounded by the most beautiful woods of fir and larch. The inhabitants are descended from the time of Barbarossa, who colonized the valley with Germans, in order to guard the old military road over the Alps. But much more remote traces of human life are found, for in places where the earth has been washed and worn away by the elements primitive household utensils have been found, and in one spot which is more fully exposed a Roman temple must have stood. In fact, it is believed that the glacier in the Rheinwald Valley has considerably increased in the course of centuries, and that the climate was formerly much milder than it is now. There have been found nests of birds which have not built there within the memory of man. Swallows and jays have migrated forever; only the sparrow-hawk, gray as the rock on which it builds its eyrie, circles in fitful flight high over our heads; only the rock-falcon pecks, and flits, and skims shyly away when it becomes aware of the presence of man.

Out of this solitude we step on to the next lower plateau into the Schamser Valley, through which the celebrated Splügen Pass leads from Chur to Chiavenna. The pass was opened in 1822; but the Romans were acquainted with it. From November 27 to December 4, 1800, General Macdonald led his division, which was to cover the flank of the Italian army commanded by Brune, over it during a severe snow-storm, whole columns of troops being precipitated into the abyss by avalanches. Until 1818 it was only a bridle-path, but in 1819-'21 the Austrian Government caused the present road to be built.

The powers of Nature which were active enough here centuries ago to tear a yawning cleft in the close wall of rock inspire us, even at the present day, with thoughts of terror. The stone-walls of the pass rise precipitously for two thousand feet, and

sink perpendicularly an equal distance from the road; the space between is so narrow that it seems as though the rocks on either side could be grasped by the hand. This gaping slit reaches for miles, going straight through the mountain-mass, and is the only foot-path for those living on either side. The sky hangs heavy above, the river foams beneath. For four centuries men wearied themselves with seeking an answer to the question as to how a road was to be made through this rugged pass. The rocks were blasted, the river bridged, and, wherever avalanches threatened, substantial galleries were built, under which, at the present time, the heavily-laden mail rushes with its jingling team. The one yawning gap is visible; but what immeasurable, invisible gaps lie between the past and the present! Formerly intercourse was carried on almost entirely by means of pack-horses, four hundred of which often came through the village of Splügen in the course of a week. Then small carts with low, broad wheels were built; but more than one of these broke through the slender hand-rail and were hurled into the abyss.

At the Rongella Ravine we have passed Zillis, and the end of the Via Mala, as the pass is called, is near. The tunnel, through which we pass hurriedly, is called the Verlorenes Loch (the Forlorn Hole); then we look down on Thusis, which lies smiling in the valley below, with the Heinzenberg towering above it. As soon as we have passed through the huge gate of the Via Mala we reach a fresh stage of the road lying on a lower level, for the whole course of the Lower Rhine resembles a colossal terrace of three gigantic steps-namely, the Rheinwald Valley, the Schamser Valley, and the Domleschger Valley.

Through the last the road is rich in artistic beauty and in historical associations. Here are crowded together those proud castles which were reared by ecclesiastical and worldly power for the domination of the oppressed people; and here raged at its maddest that struggle for possession which included not only the property but also the liberty of the subject. Full twenty castles crown the heights round this lovely valley-castles among whose ruins lies hid the history of a century. The monastery of Katzis, which stands high up on the mountain, was founded as early as the year 680 by a Countess of Realta, whom tradition gives as wife to the Bishop of Chur. Realta itself carries its origin as far back as the sixth century before Christ, when it is said to have been built by the Tuscan prince Rhætus. How boldly all these names sound in our ears-Ortenstein and Juvalta, and, above all, Rhæzuns, which rises from the bare, wave-washed rock! This last was for a long time the most hated bulwark against the liberty of the people; for the lords of Rhæzuns who had been ennobled by the Emperor Sigismund were members of the "Black League" formed by the nobles in opposition to the "Gray Covenant" (Grisons). The feud between these two parties raged long, until, by a bold inroad into the Schamser Valley, the Covenanters overcame the nobles.

At the point of the road which we have now

forces its way through the rocks. The small basin where they first unite is called Lake Toma. Its length is scarcely more than three hundred paces, and its breadth scarcely two hundred; its depth also

ORTENSTEIN.

is inconsiderable; but the dark mirror stands out in wondrous beauty of color, and from the clefts an Alpine flower peeps, here and there, among the snow. The waters gather quietly, and prepare, as it were, for a rush down over the stony mountains to Chiamunt and Selva, until the Middle Rhine flows into them at Dissentis. This village itself lies deep in the valley; the sound of the vesperbell comes down from the chapel which stands up among the green meadows.

Dissentis was not always so lonely as it is at the present day. For a whole century after Attila, the "Great Scourge of God," had been carried to his grave, dispersed bands of his nomadic army hung about the neighborhood, until the Rhætians conspired against them and exterminated them to the last man.

On the hills which surround the village the disciples of St. Benedict built themselves a dwelling-place, which they inhabited for more than a thousand years, hidden among the peaceful moun

tains, far away from the stream of time and history. Then time came to them in the shape of the wild soldiers of the Republic, with their flapping tricolors, who burned down their village and destroyed their cloisters.

Although the Rhine does not always run beside us on the path which now leads us from Dissentis to Ilanz, it is still our guide, for, even where we cannot see it because of the fir-woods and rocks which hide it from our view, we nevertheless hear close beside us the roar with which it beats out its foamy path. On the road we meet with little villages, often composed of only a few weather-beaten cottages; at one a mountain-stream rushes down from the hills, and at another the beat of a forge-hammer rings through the silent depths of the wood. Trout is very fine here, some weighing as much as twenty pounds each being caught at times.

Just before we enter the village street of Truns there stands the trunk of a renowned old tree; it was once a maple with rustling boughs, under which, more than four hundred years ago, assembled the founders of the "Gray Covenant," who gave their name to this part of the country. The little chapel which stands just above is consecrated to its memory. Whatever relics of that time remain in the way of records and treaties, are preserved in the old court-house at Ilanz, the first town on the bank of the Rhine.

The road has already lost much of its former roughness; it leads over broad, green meadows studded with thick alder-trees, and even the hamlets that lie away from it have a sweet charm that induces us to loiter. Where it takes a wide sweep to the left, is the little village of Flims; on every side are murmuring streams running to the Rhine. Before us lies the Flimser Lake, with its pale-green water-a sunny idyl, where the herdsman lies dreaming in the rich grass, with his charges pasturing lazily beside him. But the river lies away to the right; we can hear the sound of its ripple coming over the summit of the wood, while now and then an island covered with trees rises out of the stream, or the ruins of a fallen castle look down on us from the heights.

We meet more than once with the scenes of a cruel period of oppression. Prominent among them is Upper Truns, the history of which reaches back to the time of the Merovingians. The village lies deep below the castle, leaning as it were timidly on the slope of the mountains. And now the landscape again begins to change. The broad masses of wood are drawn thickly together on the banks of the stream, and it is veiled in sombre color. We no longer wander through the open valley, as at Ilanz, shaded by hazel and maple boughs, but a dark pinewood environs us. The waves rush forward with new power, with fresh impetuosity, as though approaching a long-desired goal, as though longing for a speedy reunion. Already a strange, exciting element mixes its darker waves with the light, transparent green peculiar to the waters of the Upper Rhine. We are near the mouth of the Lower Rhine, and the back