gorge; for some friends of mine who followed this road two days behind me saw a deer quietly browsing in a little open glade beside the stream. They might easily have shot it; but deer are too plentiful in that region to squander a day in getting to the bottom of a canyon after one.

It was quite dark when I reached the summit of the divide, and I was afraid of missing the trail that branched off from the main thoroughfare somewhere in that vicinity; so I camped there and finished the trip of three miles up the steep sides of Mt. Mazama to the rim of the lake next morning. At ten o'clock I pitched camp on the grassy plateau along the south rim of the lake, so the trip of one hundred and twenty miles had occupied me nearly five days. I might have done just as well with a pack-horse, but I could certainly not have done better with the expectation that he would last three months.

I spent a week at the lake and in the vicinity. If ever I go there again I hope that I may be able to spend a whole season where I can look out upon the indescribably beautiful waters of this unique bit of wonderland. Not less than a season would be sufficient to visit all the points of interest and really see Crater Lake; yet it would require a volume to describe all that I saw during that week.

The

Mt. Mazama is a long extinct volcano whose height, when in its prime, prob. ably outranked that of Rainier, the present king of the range. But the top of Mt. Mazama was blown off, or swallowed up, and now it's altitude at the highest point is only eight thousand two hundred feet. The lake occupies an eliptical hole in the top of the mountain, about six miles long by five miles wide. water is of a deep ultramarine color except in some places along the shore where it is quite shallow; there it blends off to a delicate, pale green. Some of the soundings made by the Geological Survey showed a depth of nearly two thousand feet, and the walls that surround the lake tower an equal height above the surface of the water. It is safe to assume that the great caldron was originally not less than a mile in depth.

When I left the lake I expected to find the remainder of the trip tame and uninteresting by contrast; but before the second day was past I had almost forgotten the solemn grandeur of the lake, in aumiration of the roaring cataracts, foaming rapids, and tumbling cascades of the Rogue River.

First came the long narrow gorge called The Dalles, through which the seething water rushes to leap over the Upper Falls,-one hundred and ninety feet in height. A few miles farther one comes to the natural bridge, where the water plunges under a wall of basalt to reappear a few rods below. Then at Prospect, where one again touches civilization, the road crosses the river at the head of a series of cascades called the Lower Falls. Here in wild confusion one cascade succeeds another; and in about half a mile the water is carried down to the bottom of a canyon hundreds of feet in depth. At the lower end of the cascades, as if to show Rogue river how the trick ought to be done, Mill Creek leaps from the plateau above to the bottom of the canyon at a single bound.

At Prospect the somber forests of sugar pine, with it's noble trees towering two hundred and fifty feet overhead, is left behind and the road passes through forests of mixed timber; while at every mile the farm houses are more frequently seen.

Ten miles below the road again crosses the river at a point where the latter flows quietly and peacefully over a bed of smooth round cobble-stones at the bottom of a deep narrow valley. On both sides of this valley, (or canyon if you cnoose to call it such), the road is too steep to ride up or coast down; and at that season, the early part of August, I found the pumice dust so deep that it came over my shoe tops. Beyond there however, there was a good hard road leading along a comparatively level divide. I was just beginning to make good time when one of my tires, (not the one I had tinkered so much however), gave way and left me a tear three inches long in both inner and outer tube. It took me some time to repair the dam

age; but that evening I managed to reach Big Butte Creek, where I left all the picturesque scenery behind.

Next day I expected to ride fifty miles to Grant's Pass; but I was able to make only about half of that distance. I nad been told that the roads were good; but people always lie to me; and that was not the exception that proves the rule. For some time the road led through rolling sand hills; then across a chaparral desert, past the homes of moss-backs, and through the haunts of razor-back hogs; until it reached a beautiful little valley where the orchards and gardens reminded me of my California home.

The road was good there and I was beginning to put more weight on the pedals when a bump-ity-bump told me that for the third time that day, the tire of my rear wheel was flat. I dismounted and tried the pump, but the tire would not inflate. Then I hailed a passing farmer, and when I learned that it was only four miles to the railroad at Central Point I concluded to walk that distance. I reached the little flag station just about dark, and some time between midnight and morning the North-bound passenger train carried me on to Grant's Pass. (To be continued.)

HE was a dear young thing with peachesand-cream complexion, fluffy hair and a pink shirtwaist.

"Yes," she said. "I write for the papers and I'm looking for Bohemia. That's what my story's going to be about, you know. I've climbed up Russian Hill-had an awful time, it's so horribly steep.

"Why did I go there? O well, I have a friend who told me he had read a story about chafing dishes and cigarettes on Russian Hill, so I thought that must surely be the place; but after I had climbed up there I saw nothing but common, everyday houses and a good view of e bay. I didn't think it was the right place; anyhow, it wasn't on my list.

"Now, where do you think I went next?" she asked assuming a profes. sional air as she paused.

"Can't imagine, unless you went to the Bohemian Club."

"No, I didn't go there. They're not really Bohemians-O, I beg pardon! Do you belong? But that's what my brother said, and he's an artist- does perfectly lovely crayon portraits. Well, I went down on Montgomery street, climbed two flights of rickety stairs in the awfulest old building, and was just going to knock when I saw some fish net and Chinese lanterns at the head of the next flight. Now, you know, I thought to myself, "This looks better; I won't knock; I'll go up there.'

"But I must have made some sort of noise, because the door opened before I could get away, and I saw the funniest man. He wasn't a man, either-looked more like a boy. His hair was long and bushy-I guess he didn't comb it any too

often and he wore an old red sweaterTM that sagged down at the neck, and

"What did he say? O yes-I told him who I was, and he asked me to step in and rest.

"I wasn't a bit afraid. He was only a boy, and besides, we newspaper women get used to such things, and I'm beginning to feel like an old hand now. You see, this is my third story.

"No; now wasn't that mean? They didn't use my story on the ten cent restaurants, either. The editor said it was just full of local color, but I hadn't quite got the newspaper swing yet.

"Well, I went into the room, and you should have seen it. It was dark and gloomy-walls all spotted and streaked and the floor fairly covered with papers,. old sketches and trash of every description. He said he was a sort of artist. There was a big black and white painting over by the window, but he wasn't working on it; said he had been trying but couldn't do anything to-day, so was glad I happened in to amuse him. Now wasn't that rude? I thought it was, and I told him so. I said monkeys and parrots were amusing but I-I was interesting. I didn't exactly say that, but I don't think I'm amusing; do you?

"I asked him, just for fun, if he had a chafing dish. You see, all the time I was thinking of my story. He said that in his circle frying pans were chafing dishes. I saw right away that I was wasting my time there, but he was kind of interesting-so funny, you know. Said he was going to be great some day. He wanted me to pose for him, and said I would make an excellent Diana. Say, was she pretty? My hair isn't red, is it?

"Well, we were getting along nicely when we were interrupted by a crowd

that sounded like a regiment coming up the stairs. They rushed in without knocking, five of them, two of them girls. "Now, of course it's none of my affair, but I don't think it was just right for them to be up there, do you? To be sure, they were nice and awfully jolly, but then it doesn't look right. Why, what would people think if they knew!

"They said they had seven big lake trout that Doctor Somebody had sent down from Tahoe, a gallon of paint,whatever that is-and six loaves of French. They were going to have a feast to celebrate the arrival of the fish. "One of the boys started to clean out the grate so they could build a fire, but it had been stopped up for no one knew how long. They didn't worry over it. One long-haired blonde fellow said he'd borrow an oil stove, and another went up stairs to get some knives and forks; the girls took off their jackets and one rolled up her sleeves and went to washing some dishes she found in a cupboard. I was just crazy to help, but I didn't know just what to do.

"Pretty soon I heard the pounding on the stairs again and the two boys came back, one carrying a little oil stove and a coffee pot and the other loaded with a lot of old dishes in addition to the knives and forks he had gone after. Another girl came in with them. She was kind of pretty, but I didn't like her nose. They introduced her as Clarisse, the greatest model living! Now you know that I am not one bit prudish, but I thought it was about time for me to go. If one is an artist, I suppose models are all right, to paint; but to talk with them and dine with them, never!

"When I told them that I was sorry, but that I should have to leave them, they all said that it was really too bad, and all that sort of thing-but, you know, I realized that if I wanted to find Bohemia I must stick to Bohemia and not idle away my time on things foreign to it.

comes next on my list, What do you know of chafing dishes, dreamy

"Your name so here I am. dull red lights, smoke-Bohemia?"