A Cruise in the Cassiar 



studies it matters little where you go, or how often to 

 the same place. Wherever you chance to be always 

 seems at the moment of all places the best; and you 

 feel that there can be no happiness in this world or in 

 any other for those who may not be happy here. The 

 bright hours were spent in making notes and sketches 

 and getting more of the wonderful region into memory. 

 In particular a second view of the mountains made me 

 raise my first estimate of their height. Some of them 

 must be seven or eight thousand feet at the least. 

 Also the glaciers seemed larger and more numerous. I 

 counted nearly a hundred, large and small, between a 

 point ten or fifteen miles to the north of Cape Fan- 

 shawe and the mouth of the Stickeen River. We 

 made no more landings, however, until we had passed 

 through the Wrangell Narrows and dropped anchor 

 for the night in a small sequestered bay. This was 

 about sunset, and I eagerly seized the opportunity to 

 go ashore in the canoe and see what I could learn. It 

 is here only a step from the marine algae to terrestrial 

 vegetation of almost tropical luxuriance. Parting the 

 alders and huckleberry bushes and the crooked stems 

 of the prickly panax, I made my way into the woods, 

 and lingered in the twilight doing nothing in particular, 

 only measuring a few of the trees, listening to learn 

 what birds and animals might be about, and gazing 

 along the dusky aisles. 



In the mean time another excursion was being in- 

 vented, one of small size and price. We might have 

 reached Fort Wrangell this evening instead of anchor- 

 ing here; but the owners of the Cassiar would then 



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