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nOMESTTC MANNERS OF THE PRÜSSIANS.

thougli the very caldrons of hell itself were secthing bc-neath it.

Never was seen such grand confusion—such exquisitetangle and crossing of lines—-such Iovely opalescence of tint,and sparkle of light. A rocky precipice is jagged, opaquc, andheayy; but in this precipice of water all is curved, transparent,and light as spray.

Every element of beauty and grandcur conspires to lendits charm to such a scene — wildness of motion conjoined withthe most perfect softness and diversity of outline—play oflight and lustre, and the faintest bloom of colour, mingledwith the very fury of power—a whirlwind of water—aliquid volcano pouring forth lava-like torrents of foam.

The spray, too, which rises up in front of the great torrent,is not the least beautiful part of the spectacle. It is like acurtain of the finest mist — a gauzy veil of dew — a broadethereal pellicle of metallic colours (such as one sees fioatingoccasionally on the surface of a pool), and drifting throughthe air like a light cloud of water-dust, or river-smoke, orrain-powder. It seems as if it were a whiff of breath passingover the surface of a mirror—fresh and delicate as the earlymorning-bloom on fruit — soft as the feather-dust sweptfrom a butterfly's wing—thin and iridescent as fragments ofbubbles—powdery as the film of autumn frost on grass-blades—it sails through the air like a white shadow—thetransparent spirit of a rainbow.

Then, the roar of the torrent is in exquisite harmony withthe fury of the scene. It murmurs in the ear everlastinglylike a sea-shell, filling the air with a faint moan, as does astorm sweeping through some distant forest. Now it soundslike the roar of a furnace—now like the rush of escapingsteam — and then like the noise of a vast city's traffic heard