"Is she pretty?"

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Invariably a man's first question! Yes, she's more than pretty. She's handsome. Tall, fine figure, dark eyes and hair, and a charming manner. But she's married." "Married!"

"Yes. Her husband has a consulate or something of that sort. They've come to stay, and I do hope they'll insist upon Mrs. Douglas's living with them."

It was so arranged. The day before we left, Mrs. Douglas's niece herself came to call on me. She was cordial and charming. She thanked me for what I had done for her aunt, and said she had persuaded her

to make her home with her henceforth. "We sha'n't keep her too close, you know," she said in conclusion. "The old habit is too strong upon her; but we shall enjoy going over the ground with her."

"Oh, I am so glad," I cried enthusiastically. She said there was always a sympathy between you two, and I was sure it would bring you together again sometime."

"Yes, and now there is a new bond between us," she said smilingly, "for I, too, have married a Northern man."

I was so glad that without stopping to consider the shortness of our acquaintance, I just took her in my arms and hugged her. Lucretia M. Cheney.

The present effort of canal or ship railway across the Isthmus of the two Americas, calls to mind an incident which the writer, at the present juncture, feels tempted to commit to paper; not from any importance in itself, but as a something out of the ordinary beat of the world's march, and as of some little bye interest to that class of readers who delight in travels and such like light, wholesome literature.

In the rush to California on the opening of that El Dorado, one of the great difficulties was the want of means of transport across "dread Darien," and worse still, in California itself. Thousands, with pack, pick, and shovel, and so forth, had to trudge it, as best they could, over mountain, plain, and river.

The writer had, many years before, in early life, been a denizen of the Pacific slope, and traversed the wild from the Rockies to the ocean in the region or regions now mapped as the Pacific States and British Columbia. He had not been so far south as California, but the Hudson's Bay Company, of which, at the time, his father,

John McLeod, Senior, was a partner and chief trader, in charge of what is now British Columbia, had thoroughly equipped trade brigades, with from one to two hundred horses and half as many men, trappers and so forth, with their families, who in those primal, golden times of the fur trade used to sweep the country for furstrapping and buying all the way to the then new Mission of San Francisco.

In 1849 I had living temporarily with me. in Montreal a younger brother, my junior by about two years, by name John. He was of giant mould; gentle and brave; and with a spirit for adventure in travel that only drew inspiration from difficulty. He was a true Columbian; born in Astoria, then (A. D. 1823) called Fort George, at the mouth. of the Columbia River. Reading of the California developments of the day, he was smitten, like many others, with the "gold fever"-not for the gold's sake, for no one cared less for money-and was bent on the

venture.

As an officer for some years in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and a

trained hard traveler, where hard travel was the rule, by foot or paddle in the far wild north land, he was a splendid canoeman. He was six feet four inches in height as God made him, with shoulders and general frame upright as a tower, even large in proportion-a man with the strength of three

or more.

We had been summering together at Three Rivers on the St. Lawrence, and brought home to Hochelagu, where my home was at that time, a very serviceable, strong, well-made birch bark canoe, of the size called "fathom and a half," for hunting, made of the best bark, known as "winter bark," hard and close almost as sheet iron. I suggested to him to take it along with him. He, of course, did not at once grasp my proposition, but as he always took my words for gospel, he mutely looked at me for explanation. I told him my plan. It was simply to take the craft to pieces, by unwinding the "wattap" (the strips of young tamarac root) with which Indian handicraft, as so grapically described in Hiawatha

"Binds the whole together,

That the water may not enter;" then to cut, diagonally, the gunnels in two; make a roll, in one piece, of the bark; and put the whole, with the inner cedar lining, bars, etc., and the paddles (cut diagonally in two), into a box. For reconstruction (sewing), I suggested a piece of thin rawhide or parchment, to be cut into strips in place of wattap; and for gum, a gutta percha sole-incomparable gum! once seized the thing, and did accordingly. The dimensions of the box were: length, four feet; width and depth, fifteen inches; weight, with contents, about forty pounds.

He at

In another box, of like size, he put his rifle, double-barreled gun, and so forth; weight about fifty pounds. The idea was for mule. load across the Isthmus. Accustomed in the Northwest to carrying his own personal traps, he took a Northwest carrying strapa "collier" as the French voyageurs call it;

by means of which a load of from one hundred and eighty pounds upward to double that, can easily be carried, even over rough ground, by those with backbone and muscle enough for such work.

Thus equipped, he started in November for New York, there to take steamer for Aspinwall.

were

Arrived at Aspinwall, the crowd on board found the beginning of their troubles. The only means of transport across the miserable "dug-outs," and such like small craft, to be poled and paddled up the raging Chagres River, to the foot of the mountains; thence mule back-to the happy few who could command such "Pullman;" to the rest, it was "Shank's mare," and the Devil catch the hindmost--for it was a race for the steamer on the other side.

Jack so I ever called him, for he was a veritable "Little John" of the greenwood -in pity for the mules, carried his own burden, viz. his two boxes, and baggage on top: just an ordinary load for a Canadian Nor'wester. With ease he thus clomb the mountain, and marched into Panama, not last, nor least, in the race.

Thus crossed the Isthmus the First of Ships-for, surely, a canoe may be called a "ship, as well as a camel..

It was not, however, the first to cross this continent. In 1828, Governor Simpson of the Hudson's Bay Company, with two "north canoes, and picked crews of eight in each, crossed from Hudson's Bay to the Pacific (at the mouth of the Fraser) via the Peace River Pass, which is a paddleable quiet waterway across and through the heart of the range of the Rockies. I was a witness of the unparalleled feat; and was the first to give to the world, in connection with the starting of the Canadian Pacific Railway, the account of it from the original journal, in my possession. It is the basis of a book, "Peace River," that I published in 1872. To continue my Argonaut story, however :

:

At Panama was literally a Babel-on the great tour Jew and Gentile on one great mission bent: Sacra fames auri!

Here, from inadequacy of shipping on the west side to take off the influx from the better shipped east, there was a congestion of fevered humanity.

For three weeks Jack and a few Canadian friends, who fraternized on the occasionfor misery is naturally gregarious were detained here. Soon they found they were fast eating their heads off at "mine inn." In their straits-as not unfrequently he had done in the wild north land when the wolf pressed hard on companions and self-Little John took bow and arrow (gun and rifle) to try the unaccustomed tropic forest. With some hardship, he managed to kill game enough to keep the pot boiling for himself and some dozen or so of starvelings on the way.

At last they ship, and in due course, as in a summer sea, though it was winter, arrive at the "Golden Horn "-cornucopia, then, of fancy's greediest dream. They cast anchor midst a forest of masts-with sails closely furled; dead ships; deserted; waiting their recreant crews, all off, for the nonce, to "The Mines."

On shore, the " Happy Valley a scene of singular aspects-presented itself: tents and tenements of very varied shape and stage, defying description. Men here and there, like ants, busy. Five hundred houses or more had already been erected. On the shore, and in the ships, timber"dimension "-all cut and dry ready for building, was lying about in quantity. Whence shipped quien sabe? Probably from Maine and Oregon. Beasts of burden were conspicuous by their absence: all off to the mines.

Jack and his comrade had, by this time, run out of their money. Banks were not then and there. As to the Ancient Mariner, to them, in their impecuniosity in the land of gold, it was

"Water, water everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.”

In the need of the moment, they took a job of carrying houses-i. e. the timber for -from shipboard to land, and up the bank. to building levels. Heavy work, heavy wages; and the kudoi came merrily in.

In a hurry-naturally-to see the "Delectable Mountains," they set to to construct the precious canoe. A canoe, like any other craft, requires an elaborate framing for proper construction. As a precious mummy with its consecrated wrappings, they unroll the unbroken bark and bathe it in the sweet sea close by. Ditto the pliant cedar ribs and lining. Ditto the rawhide for

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'wattap." Then mould, pin-ever with wood for, secundum artem, not a nail nor piece of iron should desecrate such woodman craft-sew up, gunnel, and bar the graceful thing, finishing off with a touch of the sole gum-the incomparable aforesaid. That done, the craft is steeped for a while. in her element: in baptism renewed for her new life. In the meantime, the paddles-Canadian maple-are re-spliced and made strong as ever, if not stronger.

Tested the fairy floats like a duck. They load her with their traps and good three hundred and fifty pounds of solid selves. This gives them a "free board" of barely two inches for their voyage across the hundred miles of inland sea between them and their destination, the Tuolumne of the San Joaquin. With light heart and utterly fearless, in the gaze of the wondering if not admiring throng of their fellow Argonauts of the time, with matchless skill and force in wield of paddle blade, they strike for their Euxine, the Bay of San Pablo. In tuneful, manly voice, deep toned and soft as the sough of the morning breeze, they chant a Canadian boat-song. And so, like urchins of the deep, or nautili, they skim the unwonted sea.

On starting in the morning, the outer bay -that of San Francisco-was comparatively

calm. When about half way across it, however, the usual afternoon breeze quickly raised a sea too free for their inches two; and bail for life was the word. In their trouble at length a sail appears a sloop or schooner on their track. They hail her; a hearty "Aye, aye!" a rope thrown; a quick grasp, and a "Steady, boys, steady!"

"And now they sail, with the gale,
Through the Bay of Pablo, Oh."

The Tuolumne was soon reached. There they landed, camped, dried their wettings; and enjoyed the scene and lucky escape immensely. aloft" gratefully thought of; for in all his wanderings, to his grave on the hillside, in that far off land of temples not made with hands, poor Jack-white-souled as the clouds above him-ever carried and cherished his Scotch Bible.

The traditional "cherub

For a few days they lingered about: exploring their new domain; diving into the tulé marshes, teeming with bird life; a perfect paradise for these two most enthusiastic of fowl shooters-especially Jack, facile princeps in that line of work and glory. To him, ducks, snipe, plover, et hoc genus omne, were of infinitely more consequence than the "accursed yellow of the mine." For days the welkin rang with the "right and lefts" in quick succession, of the death dealing Manton in his remorseless hand, till the game palled.

In the meantime, they chose for "At Home," a lovely place for good shooting, and in the manner of the country at the time-"First come, first served" by Adam's title of primal possession "jumped" a plot of land; marking in some taboo fashion their lordship, till their hoped for return, in the fall, when the ducks would be strong enough on the wing for sport. The locality was near the mouth of the Tuolumne, with Stockton as the nearest "city." With difficulty getting some sort of a horse to carry their heaviest impedimenta, after most carefully making cache of the precious canoe amongst

the friendly tulés, they at last started for the mountains-a gold hunting. At the start half a dozen or more fellow Canadians had got together. They selected "Little John" captain, probably because he was the biggest footer of the lot. And so they trudged and scrambled along the Nevada in rather perfunctory digging for gold. functory digging for gold. However, gold

-some-they did find, but never enough to detain them long at any one place. They roved, for roving's sake. The vagabond life roughing it in the rocks-had its charms. There must have been something attractive about them. Canadians they happened to come across, spontaneously joined them; always acknowledging the leadership-the most silent man of the lot, but most deedful, and ever equal to the occasion, fearing not the face of clay, and ready ever for bear or bully.

After on the whole-a successful season, with more knowledge of "good and likely places" than dust, they broke up towards the fall, and prepared for wintering in the valley. Some took quarters in a stranded deserted vessel. Jack and a chosen few, a half dozen or so-his guests for the nonce, and for as long as they chose to stay, (for that is how we old Nor' westers and Hudson's Bay people used to treat our friends,) resumed life in the old cot by the river and the marsh. People called it, par excellence, the Canadian Rancho.

Making themselves comfortable by an enlargement of quarters, and with enough in hand to buy their simple wants, they laid themselves out for a regular campaign on the ducks and other water fowl there abounding.

The canoe was uncached, and found as good as ever. Day by day, by the dead shot that paddled it-for in shooting Jack preferred to be alone--it was filled with

water game. They lived like "fighting cocks," did these Argosian gentlemen, and had abundance to spare. Some of them suggested selling what they could not eat.

A whale boat was bought-cheap, comparatively to take the stock to the market, viz: to the hungry on the way, who, notwithstanding their sacra fames auri, were not above ducks. The venture paid. They went where snipe sold for almost their weight in silver. In all this outside specu- · lation Jack had no heart nor part. Sport, pure and simple, was his life. Now and then he would receive a challenge from some passing boat crew, to race with his canoe. Invariably, he beat them-paddling alone his own canoe. In that particular mystery, the paddle and the bark, we were never beaten, though often tried, by boat and bark.

Soon the little bark got a name. The magic of its peerless speed, when thus plied, brought its price. One hundred dollars in gold was offered for it. Priceless to him, and loved exceedingly as the canoe was, the owner promptly refused the offer. The

"swift Cheemaun for sailing,

That shall float upon the river,

Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,

Like a yellow water lily"—

was, to him, precious indeed. Material; yet full of associations about it, that made him prize it beyond rubies. How much in that the writer had share-for our mutual love passed that of woman-it would be vain to tell; nor is it for tongue to express. At last, the end came.

The dreadful endemic malarial fever of those tulé flats-against which I had particularly warned him—struck giant Jack and his friends to the ground. They scattered in their misery; some to die. Himself was left alone

by the river side in his tent, as dead or dying. Recovering as from a trance, after several days of living death, he found his canoe gone. Lost to him for ever.

His boat, he found, had been taken by a fellow, and was being used for a ferry, most profitably. Weak though he was, he grappled his own, and made living of it for the time.

Thus came and passed away the first and probably only craft that has yet crossed the Isthmus, (Or possibly ever will.)

Malcolm McLeod.

IN 1879 I became a student at the School of Design on Pine Street, but not without difficulty, as Mr. Williams then opposed my admission, on the ground of my deafness. He seemed to have entertained a prejudice against deaf-mutes, as may be judged from his remark in after years, when our relations as teacher and pupil had softened into a genuine friendship: "You know there are very few mutes who have your education and intelligence. It is a pleasure to teach you. You comprehend everything so readily and appreciate so highly everything I do for you. But I am afraid that there are few like you." He maintained that it was impossible to

teach a deafmute; but when I, through the help of Messrs. Bradford, Perry, and Wilkinson, at last succeeded in having the doors of the school opened to me, Mr. Williams did not persist in any small-minded and piqued way of clinging to a prejudice, but at once took me in tow, though my condition necessarily entailed on him extra work very irritating to a man of his temper.

Our only communication was through paper and pen, as he could never master the hand alphabet. After I had been about half a year at the school, the idea occurred to me of saving scraps of paper on which he wrote and copying them into a note-book; and in that way the accumulated material,