CHAPTER I.

MOUNTAINS AND MEN.

"Happy, I said, whose home is here; Fair fortunes to the Mountaineer."

In old times people looked with awe upon the mountains, and regarded them with feelings akin to horror or dread. A very slight acquaintance with the classical writers of antiquity will suffice to convince any one that Greeks and Romans did so regard them. They were not so familiar with mountains as we are; for there were no roads through them, as now through the Alps, or the Highlands of Scotland,--to say nothing of the all-pervading railway. It would, however, be a great mistake to suppose that the ancients did not observe and enjoy the beauties of Nature. The fair and fertile plain, the vine-clad slopes of the lower hill-ranges, and the "many-twinkling smile of ocean" were seen and loved by all who had a mind to appreciate the beautiful. The poems of Homer and Virgil would alone be sufficient to prove this. But the higher ranges, untrodden by the foot of man, were gazed at, not with admiration, but with religious awe; for men looked upon mountains as the abode of the gods. They dwelt in the rich plain, which they cultivated, and beside the sweet waters of some river; for food and drink are the first necessities of life. But they left the high hills alone, and in fancy peopled them with the "Immortals" who ruled their destiny,--controlling also the winds and the lightning, the rain and the clouds, which seem to have their home among the mountains. A childlike fear of the unknown, coupled with religious awe, made them avoid the lofty and barren hills, from which little was to be got but wild honey and a scanty supply of game. There were also dangers to be encountered from the fury of the storm and the avalanche; but the safer ground of the plains below would reward their toil with an ample supply of corn and other necessaries of life.

In classical times, and also in the Middle Ages, the mountains, as well as glens and rivers, were supposed to be peopled with fairies, nymphs, elves, and all sorts of strange beings; and even now travellers among the mountains of Switzerland, Norway, Wales, or Scotland find that it is not long since the simple folk of these regions believed in the existence of such beings, and attributed to their agency many things which they could not otherwise explain.

Of all the nations of antiquity the Jews seem to have shown the greatest appreciation of mountain scenery; and in no ancient writings do we find so many or so eloquent allusions to the hills as in the Old Testament. But here again one cannot fail to trace the same feelings of religious awe. The Law was given to their forefathers in the desert amidst the thunders of Sinai. To them the earth was literally Jehovah's footstool, and the clouds were His tabernacle. "If He do but touch the hills, they shall smoke."

But this awe was not unmixed with other and more comforting thoughts. They felt that those cloud-capped towers were symbols of strength and the abode of Him who would help them in their need. For so we find the psalmists regarding them; and with our very different conceptions of the earth's natural features, we can but dimly perceive and realise the full force and meaning of the words, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."

To take another example from antiquity, we find that the Himalayas and the source of the Ganges have from very early times been considered as holy by the people of India. Thousands of pilgrims from all parts of that vast country still continue to seek salvation in the holy waters of the Ganges, and at its sacred sources in the snowy Himalayas. And to those who know India the wondrous snowclad peaks of the Himalayas still seem to be surrounded with somewhat of the same halo of glory as of old.

Mountains are intimately associated with the history of nations, and have contributed much to the moulding of the human mind and the character of those who dwell among them; they have alike inspired the mind of the artist, the poet, the reformer, and the visionary seeking repose for his soul, that, dwelling far from the strife and turmoil of the world, he may contemplate alone the glory of the Eternal Being. They have been the refuge of the afflicted and the persecuted; they have braced the minds and bodies of heroes who have dwelt for a time among them before descending once more to the plain that they might play some noble part in the progress of the world.

Moses, while leading the flock of his father-in-law to the back of the wilderness, came to Mount Horeb and received the divine summons to return to Egypt and lead Israel out of bondage. David, with his six hundred followers, fleeing from the face of Saul, found a refuge in the hill country; and the life of peril and adventure which he led during these years of persecution was a part of his training for the great future task of ruling Israel, which he performed so well. Elijah summoned the false prophets of Baal and Asherah to Mount Carmel and slew them at the brook Kishon; and a little later we find him at Mount Horeb listening, not to the wind or to the earthquake or to the fire, but to the "still small voice" telling him to return and anoint Jehu to be king.

Or, to take another example from a later age, we find that Mahomet's favourite resort was a cave at the foot of Mount Hira, north of Mecca; here in dark and wild surroundings his mind was wrought up to rhapsodic enthusiasm.

And many, like these leaders of men, have received in mountain retreats a firmness and tenacity of purpose giving them the right to be leaders, and the power to redress human wrongs; or, it may be, a temper of mind and spirit enabling them to soar into regions of thought and contemplation untrodden by the careless and more luxurious multitudes who dwell on the plains below. Perhaps Mr. Lewis Morris was unconsciously offering his testimony to the influence of mountains when he wrote those words which he puts into the mouth of poor Marsyas,--

"More it is than ease, Palace and pomp, honours and luxuries, To have seen white presences upon the hills, To have heard the voices of the eternal gods."[2]

[2] Epic of Hades. The thunder and lightning, storm and cloud, as well as the soft beauty of colour, and the harmony of mountain outline, have been a part, and a very important part, of their training. The exhilarating air, the struggle with the elements in their fierceness, the rugged strength of granite, seem to have possessed the very souls of such men, and made them like "the strong ones,"--the immortal beings to whom in all previous ages the races of mankind have assigned their abode in the hills, as the Greek gods were supposed to dwell on Mount Olympus. On these heights such men seem to have gained something of the strength of Him who dwells in the heavens far above their highest peaks,--"the strength of the hills," which, as the Hebrew poet says, "is His also."

We have spoken of the attitude of the human mind towards mountains in the past; let us now consider the light in which they are regarded at the present time by all thoughtful and cultivated people. And it does not require a moment's consideration to perceive that a very great change has taken place. Instead of regarding them with horror or aversion, we look upon them with wonder and delight; we watch them hour by hour whenever for a brief season of holiday we take up our abode near or among them. We come back to them year by year to breathe once more the pure air which so frequently restores the invalid to health and brings back the colour to faded cheeks. We love to watch the ever-varying lights and shades upon them, as the day goes by. But it is towards evening that the most enchanting scenes are to be witnessed, when the sinking sun sheds its golden rays upon their slopes, or tinges their summits with floods of crimson light; and then presently, after the sun has gone down, pale mists begin to rise, and the hills seem more majestic than ever. Later on, as the full moon appears from behind a bank of cloud, those wonderful moonlight effects may be seen which must be familiar to all who know the mountains as they are in summer or autumn,--scenes such as the writer has frequently witnessed in the Highlands of Scotland, but which only the poet can adequately describe.

There are few sights in Nature which more powerfully impress the mind than a sunset among the mountains. General Sir Richard Strachey concludes his description of the Himalayas with the following striking passage:

"Here may the eye, as it sweeps along the horizon, embrace a line of snowclad mountains such as exist in no other part of the world, stretching over one third of the entire circle, at a distance of forty or fifty miles, their peaks towering over a sea of intervening ranges piled one behind another, whose extent on either hand is lost in the remote distance, and of which the nearest rises from a gulf far down beneath the spectator's feet, where may be seen the silver line that marks a river's course, or crimson fields of amaranth and the dwellings of man. Sole representative of animal life, some great eagle floats high overhead in the pure dark-blue sky, or, unused to man, fearlessly sweeps down within a few yards to gaze at the stranger who intrudes among these solitudes of Nature. As the sun sinks, the cold grey shadow of the summit where we stand is thrown forward, slowly stealing over the distant hills, and veiling their glowing purples as it goes, carries the night up to the feet of the great snowy peaks, which still rise radiant in the rosy light above the now darkening world. From east to west in succession the splendour fades away from one point after another, and the vast shadow of the earth is rapidly drawn across the whole vault of heaven. One more departing day is added to the countless series which has silently witnessed the deathlike change that passes over the eternal snows, as they are left raising their cold pale fronts against the now leaden sky; till slowly with the deepening night the world of mountains rises again, as it were, to a new life, under the changed light of the thousand stars which stud the firmament and shine with a brilliancy unknown except in the clear rarefied air of these sublime heights."

Year by year a larger number of busy workers from our great towns, availing themselves of the increased facilities for travel, come to the mountains to spend their summer holidays,--some to the Swiss Alps, others to Wales, Cumberland, Norway, or the Highlands of Scotland. There are few untrodden valleys in these regions, few of the more important mountains which have not been climbed.

Our knowledge of mountains, thanks to the labours of a zealous army of workers, is now considerable. The professors of physical science have been busy making important observations on the condition of the atmosphere in the higher regions; geographers have noted their heights and mapped their leading contours. Geologists have done a vast amount of work in ascertaining the composition and arrangement of the rocks of which mountain chains are composed, in observing their peculiar structures, in recording the changes which are continually effecting their waste and decay, and thus interpreting the story of the hills as it is written in the very rocks of which they are built up.

Naturalists have collected and noted the peculiar plants and animals which have their home among the hills, and so the forms of life, both animal and vegetable, which inhabit the mountains of Europe, and some other countries, are now fairly well known.

The historian, the antiquary, and the student of languages have made interesting discoveries with regard to the mountain races of mankind. And only to mention this country, such writers as Scott, Wordsworth, and Ruskin have given us in verse and prose descriptions of mountain scenery which will take a permanent place in literature; while Turner, our great landscape-painter, has expressed the glories of mountain scenery in pictures which speak more eloquently than many words. Thus we see that whatever line of inquiry be chosen, our subject is full of varied interest.

With regard to the characteristics of mountain races, it is not easy to say to what extent people in different parts of the world who live among mountains share the same virtues or the same failings; but the most obvious traits in the character of the mountaineer seem to be the result of his natural surroundings. Thus we find mountaineers generally endowed with hardihood, strength, and bravery. To spend one's days on the hillsides for a large part of the year, as shepherds and others do in Scotland or Wales, and to walk some miles every day in pure bracing air, must be healthy and tend to develop the muscles of the body; and so we find the highlanders of all countries are usually muscular, strong, and capable of endurance. And there can be little doubt that mountain races are kept up to a high standard of strength and endurance by a rigorous and constant weeding out of the weakly ones, especially among children. And if only the stronger live to grow up and become parents, the chances are that their children will be strong too. Thus Nature exercises a kind of "selection;" and we have consequently "the survival of the fittest." This "selection," together with the healthy lives they lead, is probably sufficient to account for their strength and hardiness.

As might be expected, mountaineers are celebrated for their fighting qualities. The fierce Afghans who have often faced a British army, and sometimes victoriously; the brave Swiss peasantry, who have more than once fought nobly for freedom; the Highlanders, who have contributed so largely to the success of British arms in nearly all parts of the world, and whose forefathers defied even the all-conquering Roman in their mountain strongholds,--these and many others all show the same valour and power of endurance. Etymologists, whose learned researches into the meaning of words have thrown so much light on the ages before history was written, tell us that the Picts were so called from their fighting qualities, and that the word "Pict" is derived from the Gaelic "peicta," a fighting man. And Julius Cæsar says the chief god of the Britons was the god of war.

In some countries--as, for instance, Greece, Italy, and Spain--the mountains are infested with banditti and robbers, who often become a terror to the neighbourhood. In more peaceful and orderly countries, however, we find among mountaineers many noble qualities,--such as patience, honesty, simplicity of life, thrift, a dignified self-reliance, together with true courtesy and hospitality. This is high praise; but who that knows mountain peasants would say it is undeserved? How many a tired traveller among the hills of Scotland or Wales has had reason to be grateful for welcome, food, and rest in some little cottage in a far-away glen! How many friendships have thus been formed! How many a pleasant talk has beguiled the time during a storm or shower! The old feuds are forgotten now that the Saxon stranger and invader is at peace with the Celtic people whom his forefathers drove into the hills. The castles, once centres of oppression or scenes of violence, lie in peaceful and picturesque ruins, and add not a little to the interest of one's travels in the North. What true courtesy and consideration one meets with at the hands of these honest folk, among whom the old kindly usages have not died out! Often too poor to be afflicted with the greed and thirst for wealth, which frequently marks the man of the plain as compared with the man of the hills,--the Lowlander as compared with the Highlander,--they exhibit many of those simple virtues which one hardly expects to meet with among busy townspeople, all bent on making money, or as the phrase is, "getting on in life."

"The mountain cheer, the frosty skies, Breed purer wits, inventive eyes; And then the moral of the place Hints summits of heroic grace. Men in these crags a fastness find To fight corruption of the mind; The insanity of towns to stem With simpleness for stratagem."

Mr. Skene, the Scotch historian, records a touching case of the devotion of Highlanders to their chief. He says,--

"There is perhaps no instance in which the attachment of the clan to their chief was so strongly manifested as in the case of the Macphersons of Cluny after the disaster of 'the Forty-five.' The chief having been deeply engaged in that insurrection, his life became of course forfeited to the laws; but neither the hope of reward nor the fear of danger could induce any one of his people to betray him. For nine years he lived concealed in a cave a short distance from his own house; it was situated in the front of a woody precipice of which the trees and shelving rocks concealed the entrance. The cave had been dug by his own people, who worked at night and conveyed the stones and rubbish into a neighbouring lake, in order that no vestige of their labour might appear and lead to the discovery of the retreat. In this asylum he continued to live secure, receiving by night the occasional visits of his friends, and sometimes by day, when the soldiers had begun to slacken the vigour of their pursuit. Upwards of one thousand persons were privy to his concealment, and a reward of £1,000 was offered to any one who should give information against him.... But although the soldiers were animated by the hope of reward, and their officers by promise of promotion for the apprehension of this proscribed individual, yet so true were his people, so inflexibly strict in their promise of secrecy, and so dextrous in conveying to him the necessaries he required in his long confinement, not a trace of him could be discovered, nor an individual base enough to give a hint to his detriment."

The mountaineer is a true gentleman. However poor, however ignorant or superstitious, one perceives in him a refinement of manner which cannot fail to command admiration. His readiness to share his best with the stranger and to render any service in his power are pleasing traits in his character. But there is one sad feature about mountaineers of the present day which one frequently notices in districts where many tourists come,--especially English or American. They are, we regret to say, losing their independence, their simple, old-fashioned ways, and becoming servile and greedy,--at least in the towns and villages. Such changes seem, alas! inevitable when rich townspeople, bent on pleasure or sport, invade the recesses of the hills where poverty usually reigns. On the one hand, we have people, often with long purses, eager for enjoyment, waiting to be fed, housed, or otherwise entertained; on the other hand, poor people, anxious to "make hay while the sun shines" and to extract as much money as possible from "the visitors," who often allow themselves to be unmercifully fleeced. Then there are in the Highlands the sportsmen, who require a large following of "gillies" to attend them in their wanderings, pay them highly for their services, and dismiss them at the end of the season; and so the men are in many cases left without employment all the winter and spring. Is it, then, surprising that they give way to a natural tendency to idleness, and fall into other bad habits? Any visitor who spends a winter, or part of one, in the Highlands will be better able to realise the extent of this evil, which is by no means small; and one cannot help regretting that the sportsmen's pleasure and the tourist's holiday should involve results of such grave consequence. We are inclined to think that in these days sport is overdone, and wish it could be followed without taking the hillman away from the work he would otherwise find, and which would render him a more useful member of society. With the agitation going on in some parts against deer-forests we do not feel much sympathy, because they are based on the erroneous idea that "crofters" could make a living out of the land thus enclosed; whereas those who know the land and its value for agricultural purposes tell us that with the exception of a few small patches here and there, hardly worth mentioning, it could not possibly be made to produce enough to maintain crofters and their families. Nevertheless, another way of looking at the matter is this: that the man who merely ministers to the pleasure of others richer than himself loses some of the self-respect and independence which he would acquire by working in his own way for a living.

The same changes for the worse are still more manifest in Switzerland; and even in some parts of Norway the people are being similarly spoiled. Mr. Ruskin, speaking of the former country, says:

"I believe that every franc now spent by travellers among the Alps tends more or less to the undermining of whatever special greatness there is in the Swiss character; and the persons I met in Switzerland whose position and modes of life render them best able to give me true information respecting the present state of their country, among many causes of national deterioration, spoke with chief fear of the influx of English wealth, gradually connecting all industry with the wants of strangers, and inviting all idleness to depend upon their casual help, thus resolving the ancient consistency and pastoral simplicity of the mountain life into the two irregular trades of the innkeeper and mendicant."[3]

[3] Modern Painters, vol. iv.

Mountain people have still their superstitions; since the introduction of railways many of the old legends and popular myths have died out, but even what is left is interesting to the student of folk-lore,--indeed, we might say, to every one.

Sir A. Geikie, speaking of Scotch mountain scenery says,--

"To the influence of scenery of this kind on the mind of a people at once observant and imaginative, such legends as that of the Titans should in all likelihood be ascribed. It would be interesting to trace back these legends to their cradle, and to mark how much they owe to the character of the scenery amongst which they took their rise. Perhaps it would be found that the rugged outlines of the Boeotian hills had no small share in the framing of Hesiod's graphic story of that primeval warfare wherein the combatants fought with huge rocks, which, darkening the air as they flew, at last buried the discomfited Titans deep beneath the surface of the land. Nor would it be difficult to trace a close connection between the present scenery of our own country and some of the time-honoured traditionary stories of giants and hero kings, warlocks and witches, or between the doings of the Scandinavian Hrimthursar, or Frost Giants, and the more characteristic features of the landscapes and climate of the North."[4]

[4] Scenery of Scotland.

The following passage from Ruskin brings out more strongly the effects of mountains on men,--a subject to which he has given much attention:--

"We shall find, on the one hand, the mountains of Greece and Italy, forming all the loveliest dreams, first of Pagan, then of Christian mythology, on the other, those of Scandinavia, to be the first sources of whatever mental (as well as military) power was brought by the Normans into Southern Europe. Normandy itself is, to all intents and purposes, a hill country.... We have thus one branch of the Northern religious imagination rising among the Scandinavian fiords, tempered in France by various encounters with elements of Arabian, Italian, Provençal, or other Southern poetry, and then reacting upon Southern England; while other forms of the same rude religious imagination, resting like clouds upon the mountains of Scotland and Wales, met and mingled with the Norman Christianity, retaining even to the latest times some dark colour of superstition, but giving all its poetical and military pathos to Scottish poetry, and a peculiar sternness and wildness of tone to the Reformed faith, in its manifestations among the Scottish hills."[5]

[5] Modern Painters, vol. iv.

The Alps, like most other mountainous countries, have their fair share of legends, some of which are very grotesque. We have selected the following, as related by Professor Bonney.[6] The wild huntsman's yell is still heard in many places by the shuddering peasants as his phantom train sweeps by the châlet. There is also the wild goat-herd, a wicked lad, who crucified an old he-goat and drove his flock to worship it; lightning consumed him; and now he wanders forever over the Alps, miserably wailing.

[6] "The Alpine Regions of Switzerland" (Deighton, Bell, & Co.), a most interesting book, especially for travellers.

When the glacier of Gétroz burst, the Archfiend himself was seen swimming down the Rhone, with a drawn sword in one hand and a golden ball in the other; when opposite to Martigny he halted, and at his bidding the waters rose and swept away part of the town. A vast multitude of imps was seen about the same time on a mountain in the Val de Bagnes by two mendicant friars from Sion, who, hearing of this unlawful assembly, had gone out as detectives to learn what mischief was hatching.

Many places also have their spectral animals, the Valois, according to Tschudi, being the headquarters of these legends. There are also pygmies to be seen in the lonely mountains, like the Norwegian trolls, and brownies who make or mar the house, according as the goodwife is neat or a slattern.

Many Alpine stories have reference to the sudden destruction of pastures by the fall of rocks or ice. Here is one from the Clariden Alps:--

Once upon a time these were fertile pastures, on which dwelt a "senn." He grew rich, so that none could match him in wealth; but at the same time he grew proud and haughty, and spurned both the laws of Nature and the commandments of God. He was so foolishly fond of his mistress that he paved the way from the châlet to the byre with cheeses, lest she should soil her feet, and cared so little for his mother that when she lay at his door fainting with hunger, he offered her only milk to drink in which he had thrown the foulest refuse. Righteously indignant, she turned away, calling upon Heaven to punish such an insult. Before she reached her home, the rocks and ice had descended, crushing beneath them her wicked son, his mistress, and possessions.

In the neighbourhood of Monte Rosa there is a tradition that a valley exists in the heart of that mountain the entrance to which has been sealed up by impassable glaciers, though the floor of the "cirque" within is still a rich pasturage. In a certain valley they point out a spring which bursts from the ground, as the outlet of the torrent by which it is watered. Once, said they, a _chasseur_ found the bed of this stream dry, and creeping up its subterranean channel, arrived on the floor of the valley. It was a huntsman's paradise; chamois were there in plenty, bears also, and even bouquetins, wandering over the richest pastures. He retraced his steps to announce the good news; but when he returned again, the waters had resumed their course, and the place has ever since remained inaccessible.

Mountains play a very important part in human history. In the first place, they are natural barriers separating the nations of the world from one another, and tending to keep them confined within certain definite bounds; we say, tending to keep them thus confined, because, as every one knows, these barriers have again and again been surmounted by conquering armies. The rugged Alps could not ward off Hannibal, who made his way through them to march upon the capital of the Roman empire. In like manner Napoleon defied this great natural rampart, made a road through it, and came to Italy. No mountains would seem to be quite impassable; but although liable in the course of ages to be occasionally overrun, they afford good protection and produce a feeling of security.

The Himalayas separate our great Indian empire from that of China; and we do not at present apprehend an invasion from that quarter. The Suliman Mountains divide us from the Afghans, and the great Russian and Persian empires farther west. Still, we know that in the eleventh century a great Mahometan invasion of India took place; our own armies have more than once penetrated to Kabul. Perhaps the common garden wall separating adjacent suburban residences furnishes a suitable illustration of the great natural walls which divide, not households or families, but much larger families than these,--the nations of the world.

Just as unruly boys sometimes climb over the neighbour's wall and play games in a garden which is not their own; or as burglars may surmount these obstacles to their progress, and finding a way into the house by a back door or kitchen window, commence their ravages,--so a neighbouring (but not neighbourly) nation, bent on conquest, may invade some natural garden of the world, such as India, by forcing their way through physical barriers which for ordinary purposes serve to protect those within.

The Thian Shan Mountains divide Russia from China's sphere of influence. The Caucasus Mountains separate Russia from Asia Minor. Austro-Hungary is bounded by the Carpathians, Spain by the Pyrenees. The Alps of Switzerland separate four nations not very friendly to each other; and lastly, in our own country the Cheviot Hills, together with the Tweed, form the boundary between Scotland and England.

Where there are no mountains or hills, rivers sometimes serve as boundaries, but of course they do not answer the purpose so well. Sometimes a nation actually builds a wall for a boundary. Of this the great wall of China and the Roman wall between the Cheviots and the Solway Firth are familiar examples.

In the second place, mountains have always been a refuge and shelter for conquered races; and the primitive tribes who once lived in the plains have been forced by adverse circumstances to take to the hills. This has taken place over and over again.

We know that the Celtic people now living in Brittany, Devonshire, Cornwall, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, though now considerably mixed, are the descendants of the old Celtic inhabitants of France and Britain. But there is a great deal of unwritten history for which we may look in vain to the ordinary sources of information, such as books, and which is only to be read in quite different records,--in antiquities buried up in peat-beds, in bogs, in ruins and ancient forts, or camps; and last but not least, in the names of places, rivers, or mountains. The hills, the valleys, the rivers, are the only writing-tablets on which unlettered nations have been able to inscribe their annals. For this kind of history we must go to the antiquary, and, above all, to the philologist, who tells us the meaning of the names of places, and who the people were who gave the names that we see on our maps. The great advances which have of late years been made in our knowledge of the primeval races of men, or at least of nations but little known in the annals of history, are largely due to the interpretation of the obscure records preserved in local names. The Celtic, the Iberian, the Teutonic, the Scandinavian, and Sclavonic races have thus for the most part made known to us their migrations, conquests, and defeats. And so by studying the names of places, rivers, and hills, as well as by careful collection of works of art, implements, coins, such as may be seen in many a museum, it has been possible to read a great deal of early history which would otherwise have been lost.

Those who have studied these matters say they can trace wave after wave of population which has thus left its mark,--Gaelic, Cymric (or Welsh), Saxon, Anglian, Norwegian, Danish, Norman, and Flemish. Thus it can be proved from the names on the map that almost the whole of England was once Celtic, whereas now the Celts are almost entirely confined to the hills. The Peak of Derbyshire and the mountains of Cumberland retain a greater number of Celtic names than the districts surrounding them; and the hills of Devonshire long served as a barrier to protect the Celts of Cornwall from Anglo-Saxon conquerors.

But even mountain races are often a good deal mixed, and in the Pyrenees we find the descendants of the Iberians, who, a very long time ago, were driven from the lowlands of France and Spain. These Iberians are a very interesting race, of short stature, with long heads, and dark hair and eyes. This old type is to be met with in Wales and the Highlands even in the present day. And so we learn--if these conclusions are sound--that even the Celts in their early days were invaders, and drove before them an older population. This race, it seems, lived in Europe a very long time ago, before the discovery of metals, when people made axes, hammers, and spear-heads out of flints or other stones; and so they are said to belong to "the Stone Age." Their remains are found in many of the caves which of late years have been explored. Possibly the ancient people of Switzerland who lived in wooden houses, erected on piles near the shores of lakes (probably for safety), were also of the same stock.

It is curious to find how people living in separate valleys among the mountains of Switzerland have, in the course of time, become so much unlike their neighbours that they can hardly understand each other's speech, so effectually have the mountains kept them apart. In some districts almost every valley has its separate dialect. Switzerland is only twice the size of Wales, yet the local names are derived from half a dozen different languages, three or four of which are still spoken by the people. In the Alps, too, the same mixture of Celtic with an older Iberian stock has been detected.

A curious reversal of the usual order of things is noticed by the late Dean Stanley in his "Sinai and Palestine." He points out that the Jews took possession of many of the hills of Palestine soon after the invasion under Joshua, but could not drive out the peoples of the plains, because they were better armed, and had chariots of iron in great number. The conquerors in this case kept to the hills; while the Canaanites, Philistines, and other inhabitants of the country retained for a long time their hold of the lower ground.