VOLCANOES
To the purely Alpine traveller, Volcanoes are not a matter of interest,
because there does not exist a single volcano in the Alps, nor, so far
as I am aware, even the ruins of one. Volcanic rocks there may be, but
we are not concerned with rocks except in so far as mountains are built
out of them. To the mountain-lover, however, in the broad sense--and it
is for such I am writing--volcanoes are as interesting as any other
definite type of peak, and I therefore propose to devote this chapter to
a consideration of them from the picturesque and climbing point of view.
For the European traveller there are volcanoes enough, both active and
extinct, and that without going to Iceland. Most people have seen
Vesuvius. Etna and Stromboli are frequently passed, and the former is
not unfrequently climbed. Auvergne is a good place for a holiday. If
ordinary tourists knew how well the volcanic Eifel repay a visit, they
would oftener turn aside to them. Teneriffe is on the list of mountains
most people hope some day to see. In my own mind, when volcanoes are
mentioned, there always rises first the reminiscence of the great
mountains in South Bolivia and Northern Chile, with their stately
grandeur of scale and grace of outline.
Every one who has climbed Vesuvius has some idea of the nature of
volcano climbing. It is by no means the best sort, and the Alps as a
play-ground are none the worse for lacking it. From a climber's rather
than a petrologist's point of view, volcanic rocks are liable to seem
both very hard and very brittle. They fracture with an astonishingly
sharp edge, which cuts, like a knife, the fingers and clothes of the
climber. Notwithstanding their apparent hardness, which seems to promise
for them an unusual durability, they crack up with great rapidity under
the action of frost or of blows, and rapidly subdivide into small
angular debris. The smoothness of the fractured surfaces, when fresh,
reduces the friction between the fragments much below that normal to the
debris of ordinary rocks, so that slopes of volcanic debris are very
unstable. The foot sinks into them, almost as into sand, and they cut
the boots and gaiters to pieces. To run down such a slope is pleasant
enough, but to wade up it is the worst kind of purgatory, provocative
too of more sins of language than it can possibly purge in the time.
The novice at volcano-climbing approaches his mountain with a light
heart. However big it may be, it looks easy, and he promises himself a
rapid ascent. The lower slopes of volcanoes are frequently most fertile,
so that the first stages of the ascent may be along umbrageous paths or
through vineyards and olive gardens. Ultimately the naked mountain has
to be tackled, and then troubles begin, and they are the same all the
world over. All that a volcano produces is toilsome for the foot of man.
The slope continuously steepens. The disintegrated lava or the volcanic
ash are alike disagreeable. The mountain is sure to be voted a fraud
from the climber's point of view. Even Aconcagua, greatest of all
volcanoes, is as rotten as the rest. There is hardly a firm crag on its
mighty face.
[Illustration: 68. PILATUS AND LAKE OF LUCERNE FROM THE SLOPES OF THE
RIGI.]
It follows that volcanoes are peaks of an unstable character. They
are upstarts by nature, and they are easily pulled down. Among mountains
they are the most short-lived. In their decay they lack the dignity of a
peak of crystalline rock, that fights against disintegration and resists
to the last, holding forth to the sky its splintered crags like
passionately protesting hands. There is no protest in a volcano. It
yields willingly to decay. The debris of its upper rocks flow down its
face almost like water. They grind together into dust and are blown away
by the winds. The old moraines of Aconcagua ultimately turn into sand
dunes.
Yet these mushroom monsters are not without their compensations. When
active they enjoy a magnificence of public advertisement that no other
kind of peak, even when it is the scene of a particularly ghastly
accident, can ever hope to rival. They grow in height, or are blown to
perdition, amidst earthquakes and terrific thunders. Lightnings flicker
about them like the dartings of a serpent's tongue. The storm-clouds
that envelop snowy peaks are nothing to the monstrous piles of smoke and
darkness that wreathe the brows of an erupting volcano. Blasts of fire
shoot from them, and for glaciers, their sides are flooded with molten
lava. Few of us can hope to see such sights in the fulness of their
glory.
When the mountain is full-grown, and its days of activity are done,
for a while it reigns, a figure of perfect grace, a very queen for
elegance and beauty of form. Who that has ever seen Vesuvius can deny
this fact. Probably no snowy peaks in the world are more absolutely
perfect in form than the white-clad giant volcanoes of Kamchatka, or, on
a smaller scale, the peerless Fuji of Japan. The outline of the cone,
gently rising from the foot, and then steepening in its incomparable
logarithmic curve, is the gracefullest that nature produces on a large
scale. Even the effulgent domes of the greatest cumulous clouds that, on
a faultless summer afternoon, soar into the clearest blue sky, are not
to be compared with volcanoes at their best. These have the aspect of
works of art, made, as it were, expressly to incorporate an idea of
beauty. They possess the symmetry of a fine crystal, but at the same
time, a grace far beyond what is possible to any crystalline form. And
then, how they soar! How their beautiful heads seem almost to float in
the blue! How symmetrically the mists gather about their summits! At one
time the base will vanish in the bright opacity of the lower air, and
the top will be seen in sharp distinctness, like a floating island in
the sky. At another, the summit will fade away, and the shadowed base
will fill the vision with its purple solidity. And always there hangs
about a volcano the memory of its fire-begetting, and the suspicion that
all may not yet be over. It is, as it were, an inscribed finger-post,
warning us of the molten core within. It is at once a memorial and a
monition to those that dwell beneath it. It is the witness of past and
the herald of future convulsions; yet, being such, it is itself in form
the peacefullest and tenderest in nature. No woman's robe droops more
delicately over her bosom than droops the once molten drapery of a
volcano. Its aspect bears a double and opposed suggestiveness. Such are
volcanoes in the day of their perfection, before the denuding forces
have made inroads on the symmetry of their form.
[Illustration: 69. MONTREUX, LAKE OF GENEVA.]
Yet even then it is not well to approach them too closely, unless you
would have the sense of their beauty supplanted by a different kind of
emotion. The nearer you approach a snow-mountain, such as Mont Blanc,
and the more intimately you penetrate its white recesses, and acquaint
yourself with its details of crevasse and serac, the more conscious are
you of the perfection of its finish and the loveliness of its details.
It is not so with a volcano at any time of its career. When it is newly
fashioned and the lava streams are still in movement and smoking upon
its sides, and the cinders and ashes of its recent ejection are piled
upon it, to approach them is to behold sights more provocative of horror
than of admiration. They appal, they create astonishment, but they do
not attract. Cast your eye over the remarkable series of photographs by
Dr. Tempest Anderson, published under the title "Volcanic Studies," and
you will have ample proof of this. Consider the Icelandic gorges, the
outer crater of Teneriffe, or the views of recent volcanic energies
displayed in St. Vincent--the mud-rivers, the sand-strewn valleys; here
is enough to interest and more than enough to appal, but the kind of
beauty associated with a distant view of a volcano is absent. There is
no grace, no charm, none of the sweet feminine outline which makes
volcanoes the queens and fair ladies among hills.
But when all the dramatic stage of their existence is over, and the
fires are out and the earth around has ceased from quaking; when trees
have gathered over the lava torrents and rich vegetation has covered up
cinders and ash; when the sulphurous vents are become sapphire pools of
clear water overshadowed by foliage, and all the ghastly details of
tragedy are covered up by the splendid garments of tropical vegetation;
then you may approach and ascend if you please, but it will not be as a
climber, for the climber is one who seeks the naked places of the earth,
and does not wander for choice in grassy dells and tree-embosomed
shades.
He, however, who should converse about volcanoes and say no more than
this, would leave a most false impression upon his hearers, for Nature
always provides compensations for her sincere and humble lovers, and
even in the barest volcano she has not failed. The very rapidity with
which they yield to destructive forces leads to results not discoverable
in stronger and more resolute peaks. Frost, winter, and snow breach
their sides with exceeding facility. Torrents dig gullies into them. The
very winds blow their substance away. Hence it comes that a volcano in
active process of destruction often provides detailed scenery of
astonishing grandeur and boldness. Its vertical-walled gullies, its
cliffs, its castellated ridges are like none other. There is no aspect
of durability about them, no signs of hoary antiquity, none of the
dignity that belongs to archaean rocks. They are visibly in rapid decay,
yet, for all that and even because of it, they are strangely imposing
with a sort of rococo grandeur. If the Meije and Ushba are Romanesque,
if the Matterhorn, Masherbrum, and Siniolkum are Gothic, we may describe
the world's shattered volcanoes as Flamboyant. They boast a greater and
more unusual variety of forms, a multiplicity of details that bewilders.
The spiry exuberance of Milan Cathedral can be paralleled in the
neighbourhood of Aconcagua. Nowhere are buttresses more emphatic, points
of rock in perilous precipitance of decay more plentiful, cliffs more
abrupt, the skeleton of the mountains more nakedly displayed.
Yet better deserving of note is the brilliancy and variety of the
colouring by which volcanic rocks are often characterised. The local
colouring of Alpine rocks is seldom rich. The Dolomites indeed have a
reputation for the richness of their tints, but it is mainly derived
from the sunrise and sunset colouring which they reflect so brilliantly
that it almost seems to proceed from them. The general effect of Alpine
rocks is some variety of grey or brown, the tone of which is deepened by
contrast with the snows. Except in volcanic districts, it is only in
Spitsbergen, and at one or two spots in the Himalayas, that I have
observed the local colouring of the rocks to form a prominent factor in
the beauty of a mountain view. There indeed the red and yellow
sandstones display their rich tints with great effect, so that the
colour, shining over the wide expanses of Arctic glacier and snow-field,
becomes a main element, and reduces the forms of the peaks to a
secondary consideration. Yet in Spitsbergen this only happens in a
relatively small area, within Kings Bay.
In volcanic districts, however, the colouring of the rocks is almost
always remarkable. It seems as though Nature had emptied her whole
palette upon them. Hardly any tint, from white to black, is missing.
Other mountains depend for their colour upon the atmosphere. These are
independent of that source. Their own colour is predominant. All they
ask for is transparent air and bright sunshine to display them. Their
combination is so unusual, their chord so unlike any to which we are
accustomed in ordinary natural surroundings, that they cannot fail to be
the chief element in the view. That is why photographs of volcanic
scenery convey an impression so different from actual sight. The normal
blues, greens, and browns of the temperate habitable regions; the black,
greys, and whites of the snowy world; the blue sea, white sand, and red
cliffs of a Devonian coast: such chords of colour are usual; the eye
expects them. Even a tropical landscape, except for its occasional
blazes of blossom, belongs to the same category. Autumnal glories, first
of golden harvest, later of iridescent foliage, are an accustomed sight.
But all these schemes of colour belong to a wholly different category
from that which volcanic rock-masses display. They bring together,
combine, and contrast a whole series of unusual tints. Their purples are
not the purples which we elsewhere know. Their greens are not the greens
of vegetation. Their yellows are not the yellows of a blossoming field
or a fading forest.
Were I to catalogue in a list the colours I have seen in a volcanic
panorama, it would little serve, for it is not the names that count but
the special significance of each, and that is not capable of brief
statement. Such a scene as I am recalling astonishes by the multitude
and close juxtaposition of an apparently countless number of coloured
strata. It looks as though Nature had kept changing her mind and
staining each successive ejection with a different tint. Sometimes there
comes a considerable thickness of a certain coloured rock, but above and
below it thin strata will succeed of all sorts of colours. If such a
series of deposits is intersected by a cliff, its face will be ruled
across by a polychrome multitude of bands. Oftenest, however, the whole
mass will be riven into gullies and weathered into pinnacles of all
heights and varieties. Or short cliffs and elbows will alternate with
slopes of debris. In such cases any sense of order in the succession of
colours may be lost. A blue pinnacle will stand before a yellow one, and
that beside a red with a green top. In one buttress purple may
predominate, in another grey, in a third orange.
The effect on slopes of debris is often most peculiar. Naturally they
derive their tint from that of the rocks above, out of whose fragments
they are formed. If those rocks are a mass of a single colour, such will
be the tint of the debris slope. But if they be fed by the splintered
fragments of two different beds, as for example one red, the other
yellow, the slope below will be a kind of orange, varying in tone
according to the supply of the two ingredients. Sometimes a slope will
be, let us say, purple throughout its upper portion till it comes down
to a point where white rocks emerge. Below them it will be streaked as
by splashes of whitewash. In the floor of a valley, where all these
ingredients mix together in sandy intimacy, the general tone will be of
a light neutral tint, the colour being destroyed by the intimacy of the
mixture, the minuteness of the fractures, and the multiplicity of the
incidence and reflection of light.
Where there is snow aloft its melting will enforce the local colour of
the rocks or debris over which it flows. Similar will be the effect of a
spring bursting out of the hillside. These waters will themselves be
brilliantly stained, and if they chance to flow over a bed of snow, they
will stain it in their turn. I have seen a blood-red area of snow
produced in this fashion.
The reader may not derive from the foregoing description an idea of any
effect produced by the reality save strangeness. One should be a
landscape-painter of remarkable skill to convey any other. But the
actual effect in nature, when the first shock of strangeness has worn
off, is an effect of remarkable beauty. The colours in their great
variety and multitude do in fact harmonise and agree together. Being
fashioned in one work-shop, the work-shop of Nature, the self-same that
fashions the eyes and intelligences of men and implants in them the idea
of beauty as part of nature's law, they do not appear chaotic or
inharmonious to the natural man. On the contrary they are bonded
together and informed by the sense of a common origin, a common purpose,
and a common meaning. When this unity is felt and perceived by the eye,
not only do the forms, for all their jagged and splintered multiplicity,
harmonise into compositions of remarkable grandeur, but their rich and
varied colouring ennobles and distinguishes those forms.
Views of this kind affect the imagination and impress themselves upon
the memory more than most. Amongst the many wide vistas or actual
panoramas which a mountain-climber of a few years' experience must have
seen, he will doubtless freely admit that there are few which he can
recall to his memory with any completeness. The first he ever saw
overwhelmed him with their intricate elaboration. Later on, when he knew
better what to look for, his susceptibility to impression was already
lessened. The same is likely to be true of valley views. How many of
them can we conjure up in any detail? The Matterhorn from Zermatt, Mont
Blanc from Chamonix, and a few other similarly well-known prospects we
know by heart; but of how many valley views, that we have only beheld
once or during a short interval, can we form a visual image in our
minds. My own experience leads me to conclude, though without making any
allowance for a possibly large personal equation, that desert views are
more memorable than those in which fertility predominates. Various views
in the naked Indus valley are firmly fixed in my mind, though none of
them were more than briefly beheld. The same is true of the scenery in
the desert volcanic regions with which I am acquainted: the
neighbourhood of Arequipa in Peru, parts of the provinces of Oruro and
Potosi in Bolivia, the surroundings of the volcanoes of Ascotan in
Chile, and of Aconcagua in the Argentine. In all these districts the
scenery I beheld remains photographed in my memory with exceptional
vividness, not merely its strangeness but its beauty, and the element in
the scenery most vividly memorable is the element of colour.
In fact both colour and forms are strange to an eye accustomed to look
upon the fertile and normally habitable regions of the earth. This is
true not merely of the mountains themselves and their constituent parts
but of all their surroundings. I have never looked down upon the boiling
interior of an active volcano, such as travellers to Hawaii are
privileged to behold on the top of Mauna Loa. That must be a sight
passing wonderful. Nor have I ever beheld an erupting volcano from near
at hand. But I have seen enough in the volcanic districts of South
America to realise the marvels and fascinations they contain. Let me be
forgiven for quoting one or two passages from my book on the Bolivian
Andes, which were written when the impressions were fresh, though not a
detail of them has yet escaped me.
Near Ollague, on the Chile-Bolivian frontier, is an active volcano. It
was puffing steam in white jets from its top when I passed. All the
hills and ground beneath, utterly bare of vegetation, were red or yellow
in colour, or of white ashes dotted over with black cinders. Proceeding
southward for some 200 kilometres, this kind of scenery continued. We
wandered in and out among volcanoes, lava-streams, and great level
sheets of white saline deposit, like frozen lakes covered with snow.
Most of the volcanoes were extinct, but some retained the perfection of
their form--wide, infinitely graceful cones outlined by a pure unbroken
curve against the clear sky. The surface of the hills was often coloured
in the most brilliant fashion imaginable. The combinations of the rich
colours and strange forms rising beyond, and apparently out of, the
large, flat, greyish-white surface of the saline deposits were most
beautiful. One white imitation lake was framed in a margin of black
volcanic dust and cinders, merging upward into grey sand. White
dust-spouts were dancing on its white floor. A riven hill near by
revealed streaks of blood-red, chrome yellow, and I know not what other
bright colours.
Presently came the smoking volcano San Pedro, with a smaller cone at
its foot, from which there stretched to a distance of two or three miles
a flow of lava, long cold, but looking as it lies on the sandy desert as
though newly poured out. It resembled a glacier with steep sides and
snout much crevassed and all covered with black moraine. With this
strange product of volcanic convulsion for foreground, the sunburnt and
silent desert stretching around, and volcanoes great and small rising
behind, San Pedro's head smoking over all, I thought I had never beheld
a more weird and uncanny scene. Yet it was beautiful, beyond all
question beautiful to a high degree. If a man could be transported to
the surface of the Moon, say somewhere near Aristarcus or Gassendi,
such, I imagine, might be the kind of landscape that would salute his
eyes.
[Illustration: 70. AFTER THE SUNSET. From the Schaenzli, Bern.]
Over against these mountains there rose on the other side of the valley
a polychrome hill, the Cerro Colorado, covered, they say, with magnetic
sand, which leaps into the air and flies about in sheets and masses when
a thunderstorm comes near--to the very natural horror of the local
Indians. At such times, amidst the roar of thunder and the electric
flashes, surrounded by a desert shaken by earthquakes and dotted over by
cinders, and with this dancing fiend of a hill close at hand, ignorant
people may be pardoned for imagining themselves possessed by a horde of
rioting devils.
Not far away is the blood-red canyon of the Rio Loa, 360 feet deep. I
stood at the edge of this profound meandering trench at an hour when the
low westering sun struck full on one face of it and a dark shadow fell
from the other. With this sanguinary hollow at my feet, I looked across
a great flat plain towards countless volcanic hills, many of them
perfectly symmetrical in form, shining in the mellow evening light. The
sunset is the time to enjoy to the fullest this clean lunar landscape,
enriched by the world's fair atmosphere, when the shadows are stealing
across the flat and climbing the opposite crimson hills, whence they
seem to drive the colour up to the soft still clouds, where it fades
away in the purple pomp of oncoming night.
Is it possible, I wonder, by any words to convey to the reader the
least notion of this sort of scenery? Picture to yourself a lake the
size of Zug, or Annecy, or Orta. It is not a lake for all its flatness
and the aspect of its shores, but a flat plain of salt, white as snow.
Its banks and surroundings are not green, but wide-spreading sand, that
stretches away and yet away till it vanishes perhaps into trembling
mirage. Black spots are dotted all about as though newly scattered from
some enormous pepper-pot. They are ashes. You can scarcely believe they
are yet cold from the fire, that ejected them, however, ages ago.
Yellow, crimson, green slopes rise nearer or farther away to form
stately cones or ruined lumps of the crude earth. Alas! the picture is
not paintable by me. Beheld, it smites the eye with a single indelible
impression. Described, it is a mere succession of details and fragments,
and there is no verbal lightning-stroke that will avail to smite them
for an instant into simultaneous visibility.
Strictly speaking, what has been written above has no place in an
Alpine book. Yet the interest of the Alps to me, or of any range of
mountains, lies in the fact that they are a specimen range, that they
resemble more or less other ranges from Arctics to Tropics, that they
are examples of one large category of mundane phenomena. To understand
the position and character of Alpine scenery in the scenery of
mountains, we must consider what the Alps lack as well as what they
possess. Every range of mountains, indeed, has its own special and
purely local elements of character, but outside of them it likewise
possesses many more in common with other ranges. The experienced Alpine
climber will find himself, if not at home, at all events not far from
home in the mountains of Spitsbergen, Greenland, or the Antarctic, in
the Caucasus, the Himalayas, the Canadian Rockies; even in the snowy
Cordillera of tropical Bolivia, or in the African groups of Kenya and
Ruwenzori. The only kind of mountains, so far as I know, that will be
wholly strange to him, and at first sight almost wholly
incomprehensible, are the desert volcanoes. It has been for the purpose
of bringing this fact clearly before his mind that I have felt myself
justified in devoting a brief space to the character of such volcanic
scenery.
THE END
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Painted by NORMAN H. HARDY Described by E. Way Elkington, F.R.G.S.
=The Savage South Seas=
68 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted and Described by Edgar T. A. Wigram
=Northern Spain=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by SUTTON PALMER Described by A. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF
=Surrey=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by WILFRID BALL, R.E.
=Sussex=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by G. E. MITTON
=The Thames=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted and Described by A. HENRY SAVAGE LANDOR
=Tibet and Nepal=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS (50 IN COLOUR)
By MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by DOROTHY MENPES
=Venice=
100 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by ROBERT FOWLER, R.I. Described by EDWARD THOMAS
=Beautiful Wales=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by DOROTHY MENPES
=War Impressions=
99 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By CAPTAIN S. E. ST. LEGER
=War Sketches in Colour=
165 ILLUSTRATIONS (50 IN COLOUR)
Painted by FRED. WHITEHEAD, R.B.A. Described by CLIVE HOLLAND
=Warwickshire=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by WALTER TYNDALE Described by CLIVE HOLLAND
=Wessex=
75 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by A. S. FORREST Described by JOHN HENDERSON
=The West Indies=
74 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by DOROTHY MENPES
=World's Children=
100 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by DOROTHY MENPES
=World Pictures=
500 ILLUSTRATIONS (50 IN COLOUR)
_A detailed prospectus, containing a specimen plate, of any volume in
this List will be sent on application to the Publishers._
PUBLISHED BY A. AND C. BLACK . SOHO SQUARE . LONDON . W. AND OBTAINABLE
THROUGH ANY BOOKSELLER AT HOME OR ABROAD
THE =10s.= SERIES
ALL WITH FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
=Size 9 x 6-1/4 ins.=
Painted by WILLIAM SMITH, Jun. Described by A. K. HOPE MONCRIEFF
=The Highlands and Islands of Scotland=
40 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by A. FORESTIER Described by G. W. T. OMOND
=Bruges And West Flanders=
37 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by NICO JUNGMAN Described by G. E. MITTON
=Normandy=
40 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
THE =7s. 6d.= SERIES
ALL WITH FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
=Size 9 x 6-1/4 ins.=
Painted by WILLIAM SMITH, Jun. Described by REV. W. S. CROCKETT
=Abbotsford=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By C. LEWIS HIND
=Adventures among Pictures=
24 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS (8 IN COLOUR AND 16 IN BLACK AND WHITE)
By GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND, R.I.
=The Beautiful Birthday Book=
12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR DECORATIVE BORDERS BY A. A.
TURBAYNE
Painted by A. FORESTIER Described by G. W. T. OMOND
=Brabant & East Flanders=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Text by A. CROXTON SMITH Painted by G. VERNON STOKES
=British Dogs at Work=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR;
Painted by JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I. Text by ROSALINE MASSON
=Edinburgh=
21 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted and Described by DION CLAYTON CALTHROP
=English Costume=
In Four Sections, each containing 18 to 20 full-page Illustrations in
Colour, and many Illustrations in the text:
Section I. Early English
" II. Middle Ages
" III. Tudor and Stuart
" IV. Georgian, etc.
Price 7s. 6d. net each.
Painted by GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I. Text by ALFRED AUSTIN, Poet Laureate
=The Garden that I Love=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By LADY BUTLER Painter of "The Roll Call"
=Letters from the Holy Land=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY LADY BUTLER
Painted by JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I. Described by A. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF
=Middlesex=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted and Described by MRS. WILLINGHAM RAWNSLEY
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20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by ARTHUR GEORGE BELL Described by NANCY E. BELL
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Painted by H. J. DOBSON, R.S.W., A.R.C.A. Described by WILLIAM SANDERSON
=Scottish Life and Character=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by HELEN ALLINGHAM, R.W.S. Described by ARTHUR H. PATERSON
=The Homes of Tennyson=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By C. LEWIS HIND
=Days with Velasquez=
24 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS (8 IN COLOUR AND 16 IN BLACK AND WHITE)
By OLIVER GOLDSMITH
=The Vicar of Wakefield=
13 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ARTIST
Painted by JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I. Text by MRS. A. MURRAY SMITH
=Westminster Abbey=
21 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by GEORGE M. HENTON Described by Sir Richard Rivington Holmes,
K.C.V.O.
=Windsor=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
By GORDON HOME
=Yorkshire Coast and Moorland Scenes=
32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted and Described by GORDON HOME
=Yorkshire Dales and Fells=
20 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
BOOKS FOR ANGLERS
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=Size 8 x 5-1/3 ins.=
Edited by F. G. AFLALO
=Fishermen's Weather=
Opinions and Experiences by 100 well-known Anglers.
CONTAINING 8 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR FROM PICTURES BY CHARLES
WHYMPER, F.Z.S.
By W. EARL HODGSON
=Trout Fishing=
CONTAINING FRONTISPIECE AND A MODEL BOOK OF FLIES IN COLOUR
By W. EARL HODGSON
=Salmon Fishing=
CONTAINING 8 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR, INCLUDING MODEL CASES OF
74 VARIETIES OF SALMON FLIES, AND 10 FULL-PAGE REPRODUCTIONS FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS
PUBLISHED BY A. AND C. BLACK . SOHO SQUARE . LONDON . W. AND OBTAINABLE
THROUGH ANY BOOKSELLER AT HOME OR ABROAD
THE =6s.= SERIES
ALL WITH FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by FRANCIS S. WALKER, R.H.A. Described by FRANK MATHEW
=Ireland=
32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by MORTIMER MENPES, R.I. Text by DOROTHY MENPES
=Paris=
24 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND NUMEROUS LINE ILLUSTRATIONS IN
THE TEXT
Painted by A. S FORREST Described by JOHN HENDERSON
=Jamaica=
24 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Painted by J. HAMILTON HAY Described by WALTER SCOTT
=Liverpool=
24 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Described by F. J. SNELL
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26 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
MISCELLANEOUS BOOKS
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=Whistler as I Knew Him=
SQUARE IMPERIAL OCTAVO, CLOTH, GILT TOP (11x8-1/4 INCHES).
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125 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND TINT OF WHISTLER OIL-COLOURS,
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By MORTIMER MENPES, R.I., R.E.
=Rembrandt=
With an Essay on the Life and Work of Rembrandt by C. LEWIS HIND DEMY
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=PRICE 12s. 6d. NET=
16 EXAMPLES OF THE MASTER'S WORK, REPRODUCED IN COLOUR FACSIMILE BY A
SPECIAL PROCESS
By SIR WALTER SCOTT
=The Lady of the Lake=
LARGE CROWN OCTAVO, CLOTH, GILT TOP
=PRICE 5s. NET=
50 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS (8 OF THEM IN COLOUR, FROM PAINTINGS BY
SUTTON PALMER)
By W. C. STEWART
=The Practical Angler=
=or, the Art of Trout Fishing, more particularly applied to Clear Water=
12MO., CLOTH. =PRICE 3s. 6d. NET=
CONTAINING COLOURED FACSIMILES OF THE FLIES USED BY Mr. STEWART (6
PLATES)
=_THE PORTRAIT BIOGRAPHIES SERIES_=
Size 6-1/4x4 ins.
By MORTIMER AND DOROTHY MENPES
=Sir Henry Irving=
CONTAINING 8 PORTRAITS OF IRVING IN COLOUR
=PRICE 2s. NET=
BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
ALL WITH FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR PRICE =6s.= EACH
=Size 8-1/4x6 ins.=
By S. R. CROCKETT
=Red Cap Tales=
=Stolen from the Treasure-Chest of the Wizard of the North=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR By SIMON HARMON VEDDER
By ASCOTT R. HOPE
=The Adventures of Punch=
12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR By STEPHEN BAGHOT DE LA BERE
_=ANIMAL AUTOBIOGRAPHIES=_
=The Black Bear.= By H. PERRY ROBINSON
=The Cat.= By VIOLET HUNT
=The Dog.= By G. E. MITTON
=The Fox.= By J. C. TREGARTHEN
=The Rat.= By G. M. A HEWETT
EACH CONTAINING 12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
_Others in preparation._
Translated and Abridged By Dominick Daly
=The Adventures of Don Quixote=
12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY STEPHEN BAGHOT DE LA BERE
=Gulliver's Travels=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY STEPHEN BAGHOT DE LA BERE
=BY JOHN BUNYAN=
=The Pilgrim's Progress=
9 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR By GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND, R.I.
=By P. G. WODEHOUSE=
=William Tell Told Again=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY PHILIP DADD
By G. E. MITTON
=Children's Book of London=
17 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY JOHN WILLIAMSON
By ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON
=Children's Book of Edinburgh=
12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY ALLAN STEWART
By ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON
=Children's Tales from Scottish Ballads=
12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY ALLAN STEWART
By the REV. R. C. GILLIE
=The Story of Stories=
32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS (FRONTISPIECE IN COLOUR)
By the REV. R. C. GILLIE
=The Kinsfolk and Friends of Jesus=
16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND SEPIA
By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
=Uncle Tom's Cabin=
8 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND MANY OTHERS IN THE TEXT
_Kindly apply to the Publishers,_ ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK_, Soho Square,
London, W., for a detailed Prospectus of any volume in this list. The
books themselves may be obtained through any Bookseller at home or
abroad._
PUBLISHED BY A. AND C. BLACK . SOHO SQUARE . LONDON . W.