42 A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



giant pines of the Pacific coast at the newest 

 of new towns, Vancouver. Thence a pleasant 

 eight hours by steamer through still waters, set 

 with hundreds of pine-grown islands, and en- 

 livened by a surprising number of peculiarly 

 familiar whales, brought us to the haven of rest 

 from which I am dating this letter. Altogether 

 the journey can have no parallel, Lena, in the 

 world. Made when we made it, in the cars you 

 suffer neither from heat nor from cold. Your 

 only regret is that the scenery outside is so 

 superb, that you cannot devote enough attention 

 to your fellow-passengers, and your fellow- 

 passengers so amusing that they distract your 

 attention from the scenery. One of my friends 

 en route was a lady from Washington Territory, 

 going back after a visit to Lower Canada. 

 Years and years ago she had been one of the 

 passengers in an ' emigrant train ' (of waggons 

 drawn by mules) across the country of the 

 Blackfeet, a land in which she guessed 'your 

 back hair generally felt pretty loose.' She had 

 come to Washington Territory when quite young 

 (before it w r as a territory, I believe, if anywhere 

 in America is ever as young as that), ' to grow 

 up with the country.' And she had grown up 

 with it, but her ideas were somewhat conserva- 

 tive (and I thought sensible) for all that. Three 



