wooden houses situated at some little distance from Sierra-Névada. This town was formerly the market which supplied certain rich diggings of the neighbourhood, long since exhausted. Instead, however, of being consequently deserted, Shasta City still flourishes in virtue of its situation. It is a halting-place for stage-coaches, and a station for the sale or hire of mules, without which it would be impossible to traverse the dangerous bridle-paths of the Rocky Mountains. Passing through this city, we beheld one of those great social disasters so common to California. Even at the moment of our arrival a great fire broke out, and in less than an hour the greater part of the city was consumed. Still more melancholy was it, towards evening, to see the unhappy inhabitants wandering amid the smoking ruins in search of the friends and fortunes they had lost.

Leaving Shasta City, and turning towards the north, as if bound for Oregon, the traveller passes through a mountainous country infested with enormous tawny bears, one of which alarmed me as I never wish to be alarmed again. I was riding somewhat in the rear of my companions. My mule was jogging slowly on, and, what with the fatigue of perpetual travelling, and the extreme heat of the day, I was more than half asleep. All at once, about twenty feet in advance, I beheld a huge bear peeping out at me from a cleft in the rocks, and swaying his head to and fro with the most tranquil and self-possessed air imaginable. The reins fell from my hands; the colour rushed to my face; I was paralyzed with terror, and had no voice to cry for help. The bear, however, content with the impression he had made, amused himself by rolling over and over in the middle of the road, without taking any notice of either me or my mule. A turn in the road now luckily brought me in sight of my companions. Their presence gave me courage, and, unwilling to prolong this exciting téte-à-téte, I put spurs to my mule, galloped rapidly on, and in another moment was indulging in a glowing description of the dangers through which I had passed.

Not far from Weaverville, where it was our intention to halt, we came upon Trinity River, on the banks of which many bloody battles have been fought between the Indians and Americans. Kneeling on the backs of our mules, we forded the stream, and landed among the rich pastures which clothe the table-lands all round about the city. Weaverville is the most northerly city of California, and lies amid a circle of mountains, the summits of which are covered with perpetual snow. Grouped together at the feet of these pine-clad mountains, the pretty wooden houses of Weaverville have a certain tranquil and pastoral effect, not unlike many an Alpine village. The air here is pure, fevers are unknown, and the whole place presents a delightful contrast to the unhealthy activity of San Francisco and Sacramento. The transport of letters and gold is carried on by an express postal service; and the auriferous riches of the district attract a considerable influx of visitors.

We sojourned for some time in this peaceful locality, which seemed as if it had never been visited by adversity or sorrow. Strolling one day in the outskirts of the town, I came upon a desolate-looking spot, in the midst of which stood two black crosses, such as are seen in the French cemeteries. They occupied the very spot upon which the foundations of a building were yet visible. Naturally curious, I hastened to enquire the history of these funereal emblems, and heard in reply the following narrative:—

During the first or second year which followed the discovery of gold in California, there existed no form of regular government. Those miners, therefore, who first penetrated into the regions of Weaverville, were obliged, in a measure, to take the law into their own hands, and protect themselves and their property. Here they lived in a state of the most complete independence, subject to no taxation, and relying for safety upon their own courage and fire-arms. Soon the American Government recognized the necessity of organizing a political jurisdiction for the greater safety of those masses which were crowding, day by day, to the gold-fields of the new State. A system of taxation was forthwith imposed upon all the cities of California, and, amongst other measures, it was decreed that every digger should purchase the right of exercising his vocation. These new laws met, of course, with much opposition, and the sheriff who was despatched from San Francisco to Weaverville, found his office by no means safe or pleasant.

Amongst some of the first gold-seekers who penetrated to these mountainous districts, was an Irishman, who had here built his house, and established himself and family. Being summoned to open his door, in order that the sheriff might take an inventory of his goods, he declared himself ready to defend his domestic liberties with his life, and refused to admit any law-officer whatever, without some more convincing guarantee of his authority. Exasperated by this resistance, the sheriff, who was a man of savage temper and indomitable energy, and who had served in many an expedition against the Indians, replied only by a shot from his revolver. The unhappy gold-digger fell dead across the threshold of his door, and his wife, in trying to defend him, shared his fate. Henceforth, the new taxes were raised and paid without opposition. As for the Irishman's house, it was razed to the ground, and those two black crosses serve to perpetuate the spot where the victims were buried.

The greater proportion of Californian gold-diggers is Irish; and, at a distance of about three miles from Weaverville, there lies a little town called Sidney, which is exclusively colonized by these people.

During my stay in this district, I took advantage of an opportunity to visit some Indian prisoners, who had not long since been taken, and who were kept upon a piece of waste ground at some little distance from the city. Here they had built themselves huts, and dwelt as they might have dwelt in their native forests. They had been captured during an expedition which was lately undertaken to avenge the murder of an American merchant, and were here expiating the crimes of others. Amongst them was one man so old and decrepit, that it seemed as if he could scarcely live from one day to another. Turning slowly towards me, he uncovered his chest, and displayed a large and deep wound, from which the ball had not yet been extracted. Some few steps farther on lay a young Indian woman. A thick blanket was wrapped about the upper part of her body, and she wore a petticoat of fine matting, beyond which her lovely little feet alone were visible. Her wrist was broken by a pistol shot. Prostrate and motionless, she lay like a dead creature. Her face alone glowed with a kind of savage heroism, and her great black glittering eyes met mine steadily and coldly, as if she were insensible to pain.

Two savage dogs, of the species called coyotes, had followed the prisoners into captivity. These dogs live, like the Indians, in wild and wandering bands. They have short legs, smooth tan-coloured skins, and muzzles fringed like that of the fox. They abound in the desert country round about Oregon, and, unless impelled by hunger, rarely venture in the neighbourhood of the towns. Timid by nature, they fly at sight of man. Amongst the prisoners I observed several women, who were attending to their children, and cooking their food, after the manner of civilized nations. The men of these nomadic tribes leave all household matters to the women.

The children were playing happily together amid their sorrowful elders. The heads of two of the number had been lately shaved, in