THOUGH embracing in its extent several elevated ranges of great length and breadth, the territory of the United States cannot be considered as a mountainous country. The land along the whole line of the seacoast is level for a considerable distance into the interior. The breadth of this level tract expands from fifty miles in the north-east extremity, gradually, as we advance to the south-west, till in the state of Georgia, it has attained an extent of near two hundred miles. Beyond this the land gradually rises into mountains, which are much more remarkable for their length and breadth, than their height. They sometimes consist of numerous parallel ridges rising successively behind each other; at other times they run into knots; and sometimes they recede from their parallel direction into what are called spurs. These ranges or belts of mountainous country, though receiving a vast number of different appellations, are most usually known by the name of the Alleghanies. The long continuity of this chain has obtained it the name of the Endless Mountains, from the northern savages. The French and Spaniards, who first became acquainted with it in Florida, applied to it through its whole extent the name of Apalachian, which is still retained by a considerable river of that country.

The general course of the Alleghanies is about north-east and south-west; east of the Hudson they are scattered in irregular groups, without any very marked direction.

The range of the Rocky or Chippewan Mountains divides the waters which flow east into the Missouri and Mississippi, from those which flow west into the Pacific Ocean, and are a continuation of the Cordilleras of Mexico. Their longitude is about one hundred and twelve west, and they terminate in about seventy north latitude. Along the coast of the Pacific is another range which seems to form a step to the Rocky Mountains. It extends from the Cape of California along the coast to Cook’s Inlet, generally rising to no great height in the southern portion. In the northern part, La Perouse states that it is ten thousand feet high, and at its northern extremity is Mount Elias, eighteen thousand feet high, and the loftiest peak of North America.

The White Mountains in New England, largely considered, are the principal ranges running north-east and south-west, projecting from the main ridge that forms the boundary of the United States, and separates the waters of the St.Lawrence from those that run south through the Northern States. The highest ridge is that called the White Mountain Ridge in New Hampshire, running from south to north, the loftiest summits of which are Monadnock, a hill of an abrupt and striking character, Sunapee, Kearsarge, Carr’s Mountain, and Moosehillock. Towards the north of the state, these eminences rise to a much higher elevation, and are known specifically by the name of the White Mountains.

These are the loftiest mountains in the United States, east of the Mississippi. They lie between the Connecticut and Androscoggin rivers on the north-east and west, and the head-waters of the Merrimack on the south sixty or seventy miles from the coast; yet their white summits are visible from many miles at sea. They extend about twenty miles from south-west to north-east, and their base is eight or ten miles broad.

Mount Washington is the highest of all the White Mountains, being six thousand two hundred and thirty-four feet above the level of the sea. Next to Mount Washington in height is Mount Adams, then Jefferson, then Madison, all more than five thousand feet high; there are several besides these, though none so elevated. The country around and among the mountains is very wild and rough, and the mountains themselves are difficult of access. The east side of Mount Washington rises at an angle of forty-five degrees. The lower part of the mountain is covered with thick woods of spruce and fir trees, with deep beds of moss beneath. Heavy clouds of vapor often rest upon the mountain, and fill the moss with water, which cannot be exhaled or dried up by the sun on account of the woods, and therefore it breaks out in numerous springs which feed the streams from the mountain. The trees are short and stunted higher up the mountain; soon there are only bushes; then instead of bushes are vines; the last thing that grows is winter grass mixed with moss; the summit is entirely bare of vegetation. There is a plain from which the last height of Mount Washington rises to the height of fifteen hundred feet. This elevation or pinnacle is composed of huge grey rocks. Reaching the top much fatigued and out of breath, the traveller is instantly master of a boundless prospect, noble enough to pay him for his labor. The Atlantic dimly seen through a distance of sixty-five miles, the Vermont Mountains on the west, the southern and northern mountains of New Hampshire, Lake Winnipiseogee, ponds, streams, and towns, without number, all form a great impressive picture.

The road from the seacoast to the mountains passes along the head stream of the Saco, which rises among these mountains, and breaks through them at a place known by the name of the Notch, a narrow defile extending two miles in length between two large cliffs, apparently rent asunder by some vast convulsion of nature.

‘The sublime and awful grandeur of this passage baffles all description. Geometry may settle the heights of the mountains; and numerical figures may record the measure; but no words can tell the emotions of the soul, as it looks upward, and views the almost perpendicular precipices which line the narrow space between them; while the senses ache with terror and astonishment, as one sees himself hedged in from all the world besides. He may cast his eye forward or backward, or to either side; he can see only upward, and there the diminutive circle of his vision is cribbed and confined by the battlements of nature’s ‘cloud-capped towers,’ which seem as if they wanted only the breathing of a zephyr, or the wafting of a straw against them, to displace them, and crush the prisoner in their fall. Just before our visit to this place, on the 26th of June, 1826, there was a tremendous avalanche, or slide, as it is there called, from the mountain which makes the southern wall of the passage. An immense mass of earth and rock, on the side of the mountain, was loosened from its resting place, and began to slide towards the bottom. In its course, it divided into three portions, each coming down, with amazing velocity, into the road, and sweeping before it shrubs, trees, and rocks, and filling up the road, beyond all possibility of its being removed. With great labor, a pathway has been made over these fallen masses, which admits the passage of a carriage. The place from which the slide, or slip, was loosened, is directly in the rear of a small, but comfortable dwelling-house, owned and occupied by a Mr.Willey, who has taken advantage of a narrow, a very narrow interval,—where the bases of the two mountains seem to have parted and receded, as if afraid of coming into contact,—to erect his lone habitation: and, were there not a special Providence in the fall of a sparrow, and had not the finger of that Providence traced the direction of the sliding mass, neither he, nor any soul of his family, would ever have told the tale. They heard the noise, when it first began to move, and ran to the door. In terror and amazement, they beheld the mountain in motion. But what can human power effect in such an emergency? Before they could think of retreating, or ascertain which way to escape, the danger was passed. One portion of the avalanche crossed the road about ten rods only from their habitation; the second, a few rods beyond that; and the third, and much the largest portion, took a much more oblique direction. The whole area, now covered by the slide, is nearly an acre; and the distance of its present bed from its former place on the side of the mountain, and which it moved over in a few minutes, is from three quarters of a mile to a mile. There are many trees of large size that came down with such force as to shiver them in pieces; and innumerable rocks, of many tons’ weight, any one of which was sufficient to carry with it destruction to any of the labors of man. The spot on the mountain, from which the slip was loosened, is now a naked, white rock; and its pathway downward is indicated by deep channels, or furrows grooved in the side of the mountain, and down one of which pours a stream of water, sufficient to carry a common saw-mill.

‘From this place to the Notch, there is almost a continual ascent, generally gradual, but sometimes steep and sudden. The narrow pathway proceeds along the stream, sometimes crossing it, and shifting from the side of one mountain to the other, as either furnishes a less precarious foothold for the traveller than its fellow. Occasionally it winds up the side of the steep to such a height, as to leave, on one hand or the other, a gulf of unseen depth; for the foliage of the trees and shrubs is impervious to the sight. The Notch itself is formed by a sudden projection of rock from the mountain on the right or northerly side, rising perpendicularly to a great height,—probably seventy or eighty feet,—and by a large mass of rock on the left side, which has tumbled from its ancient location, and taken a position within twenty feet of its opposite neighbor. The length of the Notch is not more than three or four rods. The moment it is passed, the mountains seem to have vanished. Alevel meadow, overgrown with long grass and wild flowers, and spotted with tufts of shrubbery, spreads itself before the astonished eye, on the left, and a swamp or thicket, on the right, conceals the ridge of mountains which extend to the north: the road separates this thicket from the meadow. Not far from the Notch, on the right hand side of the road, several springs issue from the rocks that compose the base of the mountain, unite in the thicket, and form the Saco river. This little stream runs across the road into the meadow, where it almost loses itself in its meandering among the bogs, but again collects its waters and passes under the rock that makes the southerly wall of the Notch. It is here invisible for several rods, and its presence is indicated only by its noise, as it rolls through its rugged tunnel. In wet seasons and freshets, probably a portion of the water passes over the fragments of rock, which are here wedged together, and form an arch or covering for the natural bed of the stream.

‘The sensations which affect the corporeal faculties, as one views these stupendous creations of Omnipotence, are absolutely afflicting and painful. If you look at the summits of the mountains, when a cloud passes towards them, it is impossible for the eye to distinguish, at such a height, which is in motion, the mountain, or the cloud; and this deception of vision produces a dizziness, which few spectators have nerve enough to endure for many minutes. If the eye be fixed on the crags and masses of rock, that project from the sides of the mountains, the flesh involuntarily quivers, and the limbs seem to be impelled to retreat from a scene that threatens impendent destruction. If the thoughts which crowd upon the intellectual faculties are less painful than these sensations of flesh and blood, they are too sublime and overwhelming to be described. The frequent alterations and great changes, that have manifestly taken place in these majestic masses, since they were first piled together by the hand of the Creator, are calculated to awaken “thoughts beyond the reaches of the soul.” If the “everlasting hills” thus break in pieces, and shake the shaggy covering from their sides, who will deny that

‘Reflection needs not the authority of inspiration to warrant a belief, that this anticipation is something more than poetical. History and philosophy teach its truth, or, at least, its probability. The melancholy imaginings which it excites are relieved by the conviction that the whole of God’s creation is nothing less

and that, if this globe should be resolved into chaos, it will undergo a new organization, and be re-moulded into scenes of beauty, and abodes of happiness. Such may be the order of nature, to be unfolded in a perpetual series of material production and decay—of creation and dissolution—a magnificent procession of worlds and systems, in the march of eternity.’1

A few weeks after the slide mentioned in the above description, a disaster occurred which occasioned the destruction of the interesting family to which allusion is there made.

The afternoon had been rainy, and the weather continued so till eleven o’clock in the evening, when it cleared away. About the same hour, a great noise was heard, at the distance of several miles like the rushing down of rocks and much water from the mountains. The next morning, the people, at Conway, could perceive that some disaster, of no ordinary character, had happened, by the appearance of the mountains on each side of the road. On repairing to the spot, they found the house of Mr.Willey, standing near the Notch, unhurt, but destitute of any of the family. It is supposed that they left it in their fright, and were instantly swept away, and buried under the rocks and earth which were borne down by the freshet. This family consisted of Mr.Willey, his wife, five children, and two hired men, all of whom were suddenly swept from time to eternity, by this lamentable disaster. Had they remained in the house, they would probably have been safe.

The central and western parts of Maine are mountainous. The highest mountains are the Katahdin, situated near the centre of the state, the Speckled, Bald, Bigelow, and Ebeeme mountains. The range between the rivers Hudson and Connecticut, and this last and lake Champlain, is called the Green Mountains, an appellation which it has received from its perpetual verdure, being covered on its western side with hemlock, pine, spruce, and other evergreens. These mountains are from ten to fifteen miles wide, much intersected with valleys, and abounding in springs and streams. Vegetation decreases on approaching their summits; the trees diminish in size, and frequently terminate in a shrubbery of spruce and hemlock, two or three feet high, with branches so interwoven as to prevent all passage through them. The sides of the mountains are generally rugged and irregular; some of them have large apertures and caves. Their tops are coated with a compact and firm moss, which lies in extensive beds, and is sometimes of a consistency to bear the weight of a man without being broken through. These mosses absorb a great deal of moisture, and afford wet and marshy places, which in the warm season are the constant resort of water fowl. The loftiest summits are Killington Peak, near Rutland; Camel’s Rump, between Montpelier and Burlington, and Mansfield Mountain, a few miles farther north, all which are more than three thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea. Ascutney, a single mountain near Windsor, is three thousand three hundred and twenty feet in height.

The range called Green Mountains in Vermont, enters the west part of Massachusetts from the north, and forms the Hoosac and Tagkannuc Ridges, which run nearly parallel to each other south, into Connecticut. The most elevated peaks of the Tagkannuc Ridge are Saddle Mountain in the north, four thousand feet high, and Tagkannuc Mountain in the south, three thousand feet. No summits of the Hoosac Ridge much exceed half these elevations. Mount Holyoke, in the neighborhood of Northampton, commands a prospect of the highest beauty; the waters of the Connecticut wind about its base, giving fertility and wealth of vegetation to the surrounding country. On its top a shanty is erected, in which refreshments are kept for the visitors who at favorable seasons make this excursion in great numbers.

There are two distinct chains belonging to the Alleghany range in the state of New York, the Catskill and the Wallkill. The Catskill, which is the most northern, is the continuation of the proper Alleghany or western chain; the eastern is called, by some geographers, Wallkill.

A visit to the Catskill is a favorite excursion of northern travellers, and several days may be spent very agreeably in examining the grand and romantic scenery of the neighborhood. Pine Orchard is a small plain, two thousand two hundred and fourteen feet above the Hudson, scattered with forest trees, and furnished with an elegant house of great size. Immediately below is seen a wild and mountainous region, finely contrasting with the cultivated country beyond, which presents every variety of hill and valley, interspersed with town, hamlet, and cottage.

The hills of Weehawken are on the west side of the Hudson, nearly opposite the city of New York.

The Highlands of the Hudson, or Fishkill Mountains, which first appear about forty miles from New York, are marked for their sublimity and grandeur, and interesting from their connection with many great events of the revolution. This chain is sixteen miles in width, and extends twenty miles along both sides of the Hudson. The height of the principal has been estimated at one thousand five hundred and sixty-five feet. The Peruvian Mountains consist of a lofty tract in the northern part of New York, being round the sources of the Hudson, and separating the waters of Lake Champlain from those of the St.Lawrence. They received their name from the supposition that they contained mineral treasures. Their loftiest summit, called Whiteface, is about three thousand feet above the level of Lake Champlain.

The Apalachian chain in Pennsylvania spreads to its widest limits, and covers with its various ranges more than one half of the state. The greatest width of the chain equals two hundred miles. It consists of parallel ridges sometimes little distant from each other, and at other times with valleys twenty or thirty miles broad lying between them. The range nearest the coast is called the South Mountain, and is a continuation of the Blue Ridge of Virginia. This, however, is hardly a distinct ridge, but only an irregular series of rocky, broken eminences, sometimes disappearing altogether, and at others spreading out several miles in breadth. These eminences lie one hundred and fifty or two hundred miles from the sea, and their height does not exceed one thousand two hundred feet above the surrounding country. Beyond these are the Kittatinny or Blue Mountains, which extend from Maryland to New Jersey across the Susquehanna and Delaware. Farther westward are the ridges bearing the names of the Sideling Hills, Ragged Mountains, Great Warrior Mountain, East Will’s Mountain, till we come to the Alleghany Ridge, the highest range, and from which this whole chain has in common language received the name of the Alleghany Mountains. The highest summits are between three and four thousand feet above the level of the sea. West of the Alleghany are the Laurel and Chesnut Ridges.

These mountains are in general covered with thick forests. The Laurel Mountains are overgrown on their eastern front with the tree from which they are named. The wide valleys between the great ridges are filled with a multitude of hills, confusedly scattered up and down. The tops of the ridges sometimes exhibit long ranges of table land, two or three miles broad; some of them are steep on one side, and extend with a long slope on the other. These mountains are traversed by the great streams of the Susquehanna chain, and the head-waters of the Ohio.

The Wallkill, which crosses the Hudson at West Point, forty miles below the Catskill, is the continuation of the Blue Ridge, or Eastern Chain, which is the most general appellation for the extensive ridge which fronts the Atlantic. The eastern and western ranges run parallel to each other, south-west, till on the frontiers of North Carolina and Virginia they unite in a knot which has been called the Alleghany Arch, because the principal chain embraces there in a curve all its collaterals from the east. Alittle farther to the south, but still in North Carolina, a second knot unites all the collateral ridges from the west, and forms a culminating point of heads of rivers. The second bifurcation stretches south-west and then west, and the name of the 2Cumberland Mountains through the whole state of Tennessee, while the proper Alleghany Chain, left almost alone, continues its course to the south-west, and completes the boundary of Georgia and the two Carolinas. From the Alleghany Arch, there are three principal ridges or ramifications of the Alleghany, running north-east and nearly parallel to each other, namely, the Alleghany Proper, the North Mountain, and the Blue Ridge. Of the last ridge the highest summits are the Otter Peaks. The elevated district of South Carolina presents seven or eight mountains running in regular directions, the most distinguished of which is the 3Table Mountain. Mr.Jefferson, with peculiar felicity of illustration, called the range of the Alleghanies the spine of the United States separating the eastern from the western waters, and the whole of the territory from the Mississippi to the Atlantic into three natural divisions, materially differing from each other in climate, configuration, soil, and produce; namely, the coast, the mountains, and the western territory.

In extent, in elevation, and in breadth, the Rocky Mountains far exceed the Alleghanies of the Eastern States. Their mean breadth is two hundred miles, and where broadest, three hundred. Their height must be very great, since, when first seen by Captain Lewis, they were at least one hundred and fifty miles distant. On a nearer approach, the sublimity of the prospect is increased, by the appearance of range rising behind range, each yielding in height to its successor, till the most distant is mingled with the clouds. In this lofty region the ranges are covered with snow in the middle of June. From this last circumstance, these ranges have been sometimes denominated the Shining Mountains—an appellation much more appropriate than that of the Rocky or Stony Mountains, a property possessed by all mountains, but peculiar to none. The longitudinal extent of this great chain is immense, running as far north-west as sixty degrees north latitude, and perhaps to the Frozen Ocean itself. The snows and fountains of this enormous range, from the thirty-eighth to the forty-eighth degree of northern latitude, feed, with never-failing supplies, the Missouri and its powerful auxiliary streams.

In endeavoring to explore these Alpine heights, and the sources of the Red and Arkansaw rivers, Captain Pike and his party were bewildered amidst snows, and torrents, and precipices. The cold was so intense, that several of the party had their limbs frostbitten, and were obliged to be abandoned to their fate, by Pike and his surviving companions. In a lateral ridge, separating the valley of the Arkansaw from that of the Platte river, in north latitude forty-one degrees, is a remarkable peak, called the Great White Mountain; so remarkable, indeed, as to be known to all the savage tribes for hundreds of miles round, and spoken of in terms of admiration by the Spaniards of New Mexico, and which formed the boundary of their knowledge to the north-west. The altitude of this peak was taken on the base of a mile by Pike, and found to be ten thousand five hundred and eighty-one feet above the level of the meadow at its foot; and the height of this latter was estimated at eight thousand feet above the level of the sea; in all, eighteen thousand five hundred and eighty-one feet of absolute elevation; being six thousand feet higher than the peak of Teneriffe, by Humboldt’s measurement; or two thousand eight hundred and ninety-one feet short of that of Chimborazo, admitting the elevation of this last to be twenty-one thousand four hundred and seventy-two feet. Captain Pike and his companions never lost sight of this tremendous peak, unless in a valley, for the space of ten weeks, wandering amongst the mountains. What is the elevation at the sources of the Missouri can only be matter of mere conjecture. The level of the river, where they left their canoes, could not be less than six thousand feet above the sea; but how high the mountains rose above this point the narrative does not inform us, and hardly gives us any data to decide. The central chain, as usual, is marked in the map as highest, and covered with snow during the whole year. The latitude is between forty-five and forty-seven degrees; and between these parallels, in Europe, the lower limit of perpetual congelation is fixed at from nine to ten thousand feet above the level of the sea; and it can hardly be supposed that the summits of this snowy range were less than eight thousand five hundred or nine thousand feet high, making a reasonable allowance for the greater coldness of the American continent. Captain Clarke allows this central range to be sixty miles across, and that the shortest road across the different ranges is at least one hundred and forty miles, besides two hundred miles more, before we can reach a navigable river. In their first passage across these tremendous mountains, the American party suffered every thing which hunger, cold, and fatigue, could impose, during three weeks. They were compelled to melt the snow for their portable soup; many of their horses (which they used for conveying their baggage, or for riding,) were foundered by falls from precipices; the men became feeble through excessive toil, and sickly from want of food, as there are no wild animals in these inhospitable regions; and, but for an occasional meal of horse flesh, the whole party must have perished. In returning home from the mouth of the Columbia, their state was little better. Having again come in sight of the mountains, in the middle of May, they attempted to pass them but in vain, on account of the snow, which lay from six to ten feet deep, and were obliged to return, and rest in the plains to the twenty-fourth of June. These mountains are, therefore, a far more formidable barrier to the Pacific, than the Alleghanies to the back country, and can be passed with great difficulty only for three months in the year, namely, from the latter end of June to the latter end of September.

We are indebted to the Missouri Advocate for the following account of General Ashley’s discoveries in this quarter. He considers it quite possible to form a route across this formidable barrier to the Pacific Ocean. The route proposed, after leaving St.Louis, and passing generally on the north side of the Missouri river, strikes the river Platte, a short distance above its junction with the Missouri; then pursues the waters of the Platte to their sources, and, in continuation, crosses the head-waters of what General Ashley believes to be the Rio Colorado of the west, and strikes, for the first time, a ridge or single connecting chain of mountains, running from north to south. This however presents no difficulty, as a wide gap is found apparently prepared for the purpose of a passage. After passing this gap, the route proposed falls directly on a river, called by George Ashley the Buenaventura, and runs from that river to the Pacific Ocean. The face of the country, in general, is a continuation of high, rugged, and barren mountains; the summits of which are either timbered with pine, quaking-asp, or cedar; or, in fact, almost entirely destitute of vegetation. Other parts are hilly and undulating; and the valleys and table-lands (except on the borders of water-courses, which are more or less timbered with cotton-wood and willows,) are destitute of wood; but this indispensable article is substituted by an herb, called by the hunters wild sage, which grows from one to five feet high, and is found in great abundance in most parts of the country. The sterility of the country generally is almost incredible. That part of it, however, bounded by the three ranges of mountains, and watered by the sources of the supposed Buenaventura, is less sterile; yet the proportion of arable land, even within those limits, is comparatively small; and no district of the country visited by General Ashley, or of which he obtained satisfactory information, offers inducements to civilized people, sufficient to justify an expectation of permanent settlement. The river visited by General Ashley, and which he believes to be the Rio Colorado of the west, is, at about fifty miles from its most northern source, eighty yards wide. At this point, General Ashley embarked and descended the river, which gradually increased in width to one hundred and eighty yards. In passing through the mountains, the channel is contracted to fifty or sixty yards, and so much obstructed by rocks as to make its descent extremely dangerous, and its ascent impracticable. After descending this river about four hundred miles, General Ashley shaped his course northwardly, and fell upon what he supposed to be the sources of the Buenaventura; he represents those branches as bold streams, from twenty to fifty yards wide, forming a junction a few miles below where he crossed them, and then emptying into a lake (called Grand Lake,) represented by the Indians as being forty or fifty miles wide, and sixty or seventy miles long. This information is strengthened by that of the white hunters, who have explored parts of the lake. The Indians represent, that at the extreme west end of this lake, a large river flows out, and runs in a westward direction. General Ashley, when on those waters, at first thought it probable they were the sources of the Multnomah: but the account given by the Indians, supported by the opinion of some men belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, confirms him in the belief, that they are the head-waters of the river represented as the Buenaventura. To the north and north-west from the Grand Lake, the country is represented as abounding in salt. The Indians west of the mountains are remarkably well disposed towards the citizens of the United States; the Eutaws and Flatheads are particularly so, and express a great wish that the Americans should visit them frequently.

A large number of lateral ranges project to the south-east, east, and north-east of the main range. Where the Missouri enters the plains, is the most eastern projection; and from where the Jaune leaves the snowy range, there is a lateral range, running more than two hundred miles south-east, which is intersected by the Bighorn river. As these mountains have not yet been explored by the eye of geological science, it is impossible to say any thing respecting their component parts; but, from every thing that we can learn from Pike and Clarke, they seem to be chiefly granitic. No volcanoes have yet been discovered amongst them; but strange unusual noises were heard from the mountains, by the American party, when stationed above the falls of the Missouri. These sounds seemed to come from the north-west. ‘Since our arrival at the falls,’ says the narrative, ‘we have repeatedly heard a strange noise coming from the mountains, a little to the north of west. It is heard at different periods of the day and night: sometimes when the air is perfectly still and unclouded, and consists of one stroke only, or of five or six discharges in quick succession. It is loud, and resembles precisely the sound of a six pounder at the distance of three miles. The Indians had before mentioned this noise like thunder, but we had paid no attention to it. The watermen also of the party say, that the Pawnees and Ricaras give the same account of a similar noise made in the Black Mountains, to the westward of them.’ Again, near the same place, it is afterwards said: ‘They heard, about sunset, two discharges of the tremendous mountain artillery.’ Not a word more occurs upon the subject; but we know that similar explosions take place among the mountains near the head of the Washita, and among the mountains of Namhi, near the sources of the Red river.

In our present state of ignorance respecting these mountains, it is impossible to give a solution of this phenomenon, though it may proceed from some distant volcano, which, like Stromboli, may be in a state of constant activity, but more irregularly. It is well known that the sounds of volcanoes are heard at very great distances, as at Guatimala, where the sound of the volcano of Cotopaxi was distinctly heard, though more than two hundred and twenty miles distant. Some indications of volcanoes had been seen by the American party, when ascending the river, about sixty miles below the mouth of the Little Missouri, where they passed several very high bluffs on the south side, one of which had been lately a burning volcano, as the pumice stones lay very thick around it, and emitted a strong sulphureous smell. Similar appearances are mentioned by Mackenzie, as taking place among the Rocky Mountains on their eastern side, in north latitude fifty-six and one hundred and twenty degrees west longitude. ‘Mr.Mackay,’ says he, ‘informed me, that in passing over the mountains, he observed several chasms in the earth that emitted heat and smoke, which diffused a strong sulphureous stench.’ From all these circumstances combined, it is natural to infer that the sound proceeds from some very distant and unknown volcano.

On the west side of the Mississippi, and about midway between the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies, lies a broad range of mountains, called the Ozarks, six or seven hundred miles in length, about one hundred broad, and having an elevation varying from one to two thousand feet above the sea. This range of low mountains, which is penetrated by two branches of the Mississippi, the Arkansas and Red river, was nearly altogether unknown till within these few years. It is parallel with the range of the Alleghanies, making an angle of about forty degrees with the great range of the Andes. As far as the Ozarks have yet been explored, the granites and older primitive rocks are found at the lowest part, being surmounted by those of more recent formation. The reverse of this is observed in the Rocky Mountains. Asimilar range of broken and hilly country commences on the Ouisconsin river and extends north to Lake Superior. It is called the Wisconsin or Ouisconsin Hills.