vista opens up of the grim snowy sentinels, that looked down on us through the darkness of the night. In a few sheltered crevices, here and there cowers a scanty handful of stunted trees and shrubs, as if huddling for shelter from the biting blasts that with icy breath come hurtling and howling down the gorges from the fields of snow. What a scene of desolate grandeur! I had heard of the majesty of the mountains of Wakatipu; but the reality beggared all description. We are encompassed on every hand by these mighty masses, and could fancy them djinns, guarding the valley of desolation from all contact with the outside world.
The horizon is crowded thick with hoary giants; and beyond their utmost pinnacles the scene is circumscribed by a band of black-blue leaden cloud; save where, behind us, closing in the valley at the back of Queenstown, a drapery of purest white has settled down on the mountains, with not a speck sullying its absolute purity.
Down on the little wharf two stalwart lakesmen are discharging a cargo of firewood from a melancholy-looking ketch; and a blue-faced teamster is vigorously blowing on his chilled fingers. The whistle of the Mountaineer wakes the echoes, and hastily dressing, we sally forth from Mrs. Eichardt's cosy hotel and embark once more on the tidy little steamer whose hospitality we have already tested.
Going up the lake the most noteworthy peaks
