black masses around them. He, who could paint the infinite variety of
creation, can alone give an adequate idea of this marvellous region.
As you pass along, you hear the roar of invisible waterfalls; and at
the foot of the slope, the river Styx lies before you, deep and black,
overarched with rock. The first glimpse of it brings to mind, the
descent of Ulysses into hell,

"Where the dark rock o'erhangs the infernal lake,
And mingling streams eternal murmurs make."

Across (or rather down) these unearthly waters, the guide can convey
but four passengers at once. The lamps are fastened to the prow; the
images of which, are reflected in the dismal pool. If you are
impatient of delay, or eager for new adventures, you can leave your
companions lingering about the shore, and cross the Styx by a
dangerous bridge of precipices overhead. In order to do this, you must
ascend a steep cliff, and enter a cave above, 300 yards long, from an
egress of which, you find yourself on the bank of the river, eighty
feet above its surface, commanding a view of those in the boat, and
those waiting on the shore. Seen from this height, the lamps in the
canoe glare like fiery eye-balls; and the passengers, sitting there so
hushed and motionless, look like shadows. The scene is so strangely
funereal and spectral, that it seems as if the Greeks must have
witnessed it, before they imagined Charon conveying ghosts to the dim
regions of Pluto. Your companions thus seen, do indeed--

"Skim along the dusky glades,
Thin airy souls, and visionary shades."

If you turn your eyes from the canoe to the parties of men and women