escape.

The only accident to any of our party during the sojourn, befel a highly respected mule attached to the Topographical Engineers Corps. One day as the party passed along the east side of Dutton Cliff, progress seemed almost blocked by high precipices. A point was found overlooking a yawning chasm, where a large tree had fallen and lodged. By throwing in stones and brush, a sort of trail was made to terra firma beyond the backbone of the mountain. Over this the pack train was passed safely, except a mule that was blind in one eye. He bore a reputation for dignity and sobriety that any well-to-do mule might envy. However, when just at the point which, above all others, should have received his undivided attention, he became gay and festive, and as a consequence, fell part way over the precipice. By dint of hard labor, he was drawn back, but little the worse for wear, his pack was removed and he again started across. Again, however, he became frisky, and pitched head-long over a rocky precipice five hundred feet high. As his limbs mixed with those of the trees below, the thoughts of the spectators above were: "There goes all that is mortal of Croppy, who climbed to the top of Mt. Shasta, but died in a lonely canyon, by his own hand in a fit of temporary insanity. Let him R.I.P."

One day while at work on the lake, my attention was called to what seemed to be a tall, full-bearded man standing on the southern portion of Llao Rock's summit. One foot was placed a little forward of the other and the knee bent slightly but naturally, while before him stood a gun. His hands were clasped over the muzzle as he gazed intently to the north. Just behind him stood a boy, apparently about fifteen years of age. They seemed entirely too natural not to be flesh and blood, and yet, persons at that distance would not be visible to the naked eye, as we were two miles out on the lake. Day after day, as our work progressed, their position remained the same, and, in the absence of a better explanation, we decided them to be trees.

Crater Lake is but a striking memento of a dread past. Imagine a vast mountain, six by seven miles through, at an elevation of eight thousand feet, with the top removed and the inside hollowed out, then filled with the clearest water in the world, to within two thousand feet of the top, then place a round island in one end eight hundred and forty-five feet high, then dig a circular hole tapering to the center, like a funnel, one hundred feet deep and four hundred and seventy-five feet in diameter, and you have a perfect representation of Crater Lake.

It is hard to comprehend what an immense affair it is. To those living in New York City, I would say, Crater Lake is large enough to have Manhattan, Randall's, Ward's and Blackwell's Islands dropped into it, side by side without touching the walls, or, Chicago or Washington City might do the same. Our own fair city of Portland with all her suburbs, from the City Park to Mount Tabor, and from Albina to Sellwood inclusive, could find ample room on the bottom of the lake. On the other hand, if it were possible to place the lake, at its present elevation, above either of these cities, it would be over a mile up to the surface of the water, and a mile and three-quarters to the top of Llao Rock. Of this distance, the ascent would be through water for two thousand feet. To those living in New Hampshire, it might be said, the surface of the water is twenty-three feet higher than the summit of Mt. Washington.