As the days passed the general character of the country remained unaltered. The manifold and complex tints in the bush, the differing aspects of each succeeding height, the alternating complexion of the valleys, dissipated the monotony, engendered by the never changing features of the picture—the trees and mountains, hillside hamlets and mountain torrents, precipitous passes and windy plateaux. Moving thus slowly through the mountain passes, a wonderful panorama silently disclosed itself. Hills were piled one upon another, gradually merging into chains of mountains, the crests of which, two and three thousand feet in height, stood out clearly defined against an azure sky, their rock-bound faces covered with birch, beech, oak and pine. The valleys below these mountain chains were long and narrow, cool and cultivated. A hillside torrent dashed through them, tumbling noisily over massive boulders, gradually fretting a new course for itself in the lava _strata_. Countless insects buzzed in the still air; frogs croaked in the marsh meadows; the impudent magpie and the plebeian crow choked and chattered indignantly among the branches of the trees. Cock-pheasants started from the thick cover of the low-lying hills, the dogs pointed the nests of the sitting hens, and does called to their calves among the young bushes. A calm and happy nature revealed itself spontaneously in these fragrant places, undisturbed, luxurious, and unrestrained. The road was rough. Here and there, in keeping with the wild and rugged beauty of the scene, it became the narrow track of the Australasian “backs,” congested with bushes, broken by holes and stones, almost impassable until the coolies made a way.