FAR AND NEAR 



us from just back of the town, the highest point in 

 its rim at an altitude of twenty-three hundred feet, 

 • — how our legs tingled to climb it ! and the green 

 vale below, where the birds were singing and many 

 rare wild flowers blooming; and the broad, gentle 

 height to the north, threaded by a grassy lane, where 

 groves of low, fragrant spruces promised a taste 

 of the blended sylvan and pastoral ; or the smooth, 

 rounded island opposite, over which the sea threw 

 blue glances; or the curving line of water sweeping 

 away to the south toward a rugged mountain- 

 wall, streaked with snow; or the peaceful, quaint 

 old village itself, strung upon paths and grassy lanes, 

 with its chickens and geese and children, and two or 

 three cows cropping the grass or ruminating by the 

 wayside, — surely, here was a tempting field to ship- 

 bound voyagers from the chilly and savage north. 

 The town itself had a population of seven or eight 

 hundred people, Indians, half-breeds, and Russians, 

 with a sprinkling of Americans, living in comfort- 

 able frame cottages, generally with a bit of garden 

 attached. The people fish, hunt the sea-otter, and 

 work for the Alaska Commercial Company. We 

 met here an old Vermonter, a refined, scholarly 

 looking man, with a patriarchal beard, who had 

 married a native woman and had a family of young 

 children growing up around him. He Hked the cli- 

 mate better than that of New England. The winters 

 were not very cold, never below zero, and the sum- 



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