"What a magnificent prospect!" said Rollo.
Rollo, as he said this, was looking down at the more near and distinctly detailed objects which were to be seen directly below him at the bottom of the hill, towards the right—such as the hotels, the gardens, the roads, the pier, the steamboats, and the town. The attention of Mr. George, however, was attracted by the more grand and sublime features of the view which were to be seen in the other direction—the lake, the forests, and the mountains. The mountains that were near were darkened by the groves of evergreens that clothed their sides, and some of them were made more sombre still by the shadows of floating clouds; while over these there towered the glittering summits of more distant ranges, white with everlasting snow.
"How cold they look!" said Mr. George; "how icy cold!"
"How little they look! how very little! See, uncle George," said Rollo, pointing; "they are really good large steamboats, and you would think they were only playthings."
"There are some men walking along the road," continued Rollo, "just like little dots."
"See the banks of snow on that mountain, Rollo!" said Mr. George. "They look like drifts of dry, light snow, as they shine in the sun on a bitter cold winter day."
"Why doesn't it melt?" asked Rollo.
"Because it is up so high," said Mr. George. "As you go up in the air from the surface of the earth the air grows colder and colder, until at last, when you get up to a certain height, it is cold enough to freeze."
"Is it so every where?" asked Rollo.
"Yes," said Mr. George. "If you were to put some water into a vial and tie it to the tail of a kite, and send it up into the air high enough, the water would freeze, and when it came down you would find the water turned into ice."