The guide warns you off the crust in certain places, lest you at the same moment be drowned and boiled.

Here an egg cooks hard in three minutes.
The whole scene is unique and incomparable.

The Yosemite makes us think of the Alps; San Francisco reminds us of Chicago; Foss, the stage driver, hurling his passengers down the mountain at break-neck speed, suggests the driver of an Alpine diligence; Hutchings' mountain horse, that stumbled and fell flat upon us, suggested our mule-back experiences in Tete Noir Pass of Switzerland; but the geysers remind us of nothing that we ever saw, or ever expect to see.

They have a voice, a bubble, a smoke, a death-rattle, peculiar to themselves.

No photographist can picture them, no words describe them, no fancy sketch them.
You may visit them by either of two routes; but do not take the advice of Foss, the celebrated stage driver.