strong decoction of lye, and is hard to get rid of without a subsequent application of fresh water. I think it would extract all the flesh, blood, and muscular tissue out of the human body, and form the usual calcareous deposit over the bones in a very short time. Its buoyant properties are even more remarkable than those of the Dead Sea. To sink in it requires the strongest efforts of a strong swimBut one might almost as well sink as float in a case of wreck; for in either event his chance of life would be slender. mer. There are two islands situated a few miles from the northern shore, one of which is about two miles in length by one and a half in width; the other is smaller. Detached rocks extend around these for some distance into the water. The larger island has a singular volcano in the interior, from which issues hot water and steam. Within a few yards of the boiling spring, the water of which is bitter, a spring of pure fresh water gushes out of the rocks. This is justly regarded as the greatest natural wonder of the lake. Fresh water bursting up from the very depths of a volcanic pile, surrounded by a sea of soda and borax, is surely one of the most striking anomalies of which we have any record. MONO LAKE. The smaller island is evidently an extinct | In some parts of the main island the open spaces crater. Lava formations abound upon it. No between the rocks are so thickly covered with springs, either hot or cold, are found upon this island. Immense swarms of gulls visit these islands during the spring of the year and deposit their eggs on every available spot. Myriads upon myriads of them hover over the rocks from morning till night, deafening the ear with their wild screams, and the water is literally covered by them for a circle of many miles. It is a common practice for the settlers to go over in their boats, and in the course of a few hours gather as many eggs as they can carry home. eggs that the pedestrian is at a loss to find a vacant spot for his foot. The Indians, until recently, derived a considerable portion of their subsistence from this source; but the white man, having a better right, of which gunpowder is the proof, has ordered the aboriginal egghunters to keep away. I have heard that a Yankee speculator now monopolizes the trade. The eggs are strong in flavor, but good for hotels and restaurants, like those of the Farraleones. A few go a long way in giving flavor to an omelette. The miners seem to relish them. During the winter months the waters of the lake are literally covered with swans, geese, brant, ducks, and smaller aquatic fowl. It is incredible the numbers of these birds that appear after the first rains. Sportsmen find it a laborious job to carry home their game. A regular gunning expedition in this region results in nothing short of wholesale slaughter. Twenty or thirty teal duck at a single shot is nothing unusual. Frequent and violent storms visit the lake in autumn and winter; and during the summer the sudden gusts of wind from the mountains render navigation in a small boat somewhat perilous. A visit to the islands is attended by considerable risk and uncertainty. Only a few small skiffs have yet been built, and these are generally in a dilapidated condition. The tourist must calculate upon spending a night on the bare rocks, and go well prepared with blankets and provisions, otherwise he may suffer more than he bargains for. I would suggest June, July, and August as the best months in which to make the trip. At the southern extremity of the lake are three remarkable volcanic peaks, of a conical form, the sides of which are covered with loose pumice-stone and obsidian. Regular craters are found in these peaks, showing signs of volcanic eruptions at no very remote date. The highest is 1500 feet above the level of the lake. It is extremely difficult to ascend, owing to the loose stratum by which it is covered; but there is a consolation in the facility with which the descent is made. At the base the ground is covered with various specimens of lava, of the most fanciful shapes and beautiful colors. I saw some that would be an ornament to any cabinet of curiosities in the Atlantic States. Unfortunately I had no convenient way of packing them on my horse. There are some twenty settlers living on the shores of Lake Mono, most of whom are engaged in stock-raising and hay-cutting. The best ranches and farms are owned by Mr. Lundy, Mr. Van Read, and Mr. Lawrence. Most of the lands available for cultivation have been taken up. These are timbered, or adjacent to timber, and are well watered by springs. A saw-mill has recently been erected, and now that there is a chance of getting lumber it is probable a number of new houses will be built during the next summer. The country is not strictly agricultural. The amount of arable land is small; but the mountains abound in mineral veins, and gold mining and prospecting for gold occupy considerable attention. Within a year or two when the facilities for crossing the Sierra Nevadas are increased, visitors from the Yo Semite Falls will doubtless pay their respects to Mono Lake by the way of the Bloody Cañon. A rough trail now crosses from that point by which the falls of Yo Semite may be reached in something less than two days I have known the trip to be made in thirty hours on a good mule. In this isolated region, abounding in grand primeval forests, magnificent scenery, natural curiosities of the most remarkable kind; deer, sage-hens, quail, rabbits, and water-fowl; a fine bracing climate, and entire exemption from the petty annoyances of crowded communities, how peacefully and contentedly life might be passed! And yet the settlers have their troubles, their quarrels about land-marks and cattle, and the usual bickerings of frontier communities. I suppose man is born to trouble every where as the sparks fly upward. My friend Lawrence was very anxious that I should spend a month with him, and make a detailed exploration of the country. He offered to get up his horses and travel with me entirely round the lake; through Bloody Cañon, across to Yo Semite, any where for variety and adventure. Pleasant as the prospect was, I was compelled to decline it. My time was limited. I had the Walker River County to visit, and the season was getting advanced. IT must be evident to the meanest capacity | not always quite particular enough with the that this is Miss Pink, and that she is looking at her "back hair." Fact is, she is not quite sure that this new coiffure is becoming. It is delightfully big and high, you know, and has seven frizettes of sorts and sizes disposed in its various rolls and bows; and it is utterly unlike any thing in nature, so it must be correct-but query becoming? Miss Pink always remains a few minutes in her room after Louise has gone to fasten Madame's gown. She says she must get her fan and put on her gloves, but in reality she takes a good look at her sweet self in the long glass. "One must be tidy, you see;" and Louise is pins. "Above all things, be tidy," was one of Fitz's special advices. Not that one cares what Fitz says-now, after his extraordinary. not to say abominable behavior since one came to town; having been such a darling in the country, saying all sorts of nice things about meeting one again in town, and dancing with one, and so on, and then! not even giving himself the trouble to come to five o'clock tea. Not that Miss Pink cares-oh no-she has plenty, plenty of other people to talk to and plenty of people to dance with, for the matter of that; only he needn't have chosen to ask one for the waltz one had just given to the long plunger with the eye-glass, and then go away altogether | by obtaining fresh air, but that her three stout and not ask one again. Oh, goodness! mamma daughters may help her to keep the sashes closed. is calling. Down go the gloves; and the fan, The dear old thing is rheumatic, and can not rustle, rustle-gown catches on a nail. Miss bear a draught. A battle goes on, as might be Pink would swear if she knew how; catches her anticipated, between the oppressed dancers and dress all up in a bundle and rushes down stairs. her ladyship for the right of way to the atmosThere is a plunge, a struggle; John, the stoic, phere, and one road to victory alone is open. breathes hard with the responsibility of piloting Let there partners be found brave enough to the flounces past the wheels, and of causing the risk their toes with the daughters, and let anunwilling door to close on the crinolines. other hero entice the mamma to regions of lob"Dear mamma-so sorry to have kept you ster salad and Champagne-then-then only may waiting." "the casement be thrown wide." Alas! as yet the solution of that great problem, "whether any one can be found to dance with those patient graces" has not yet come off. Monotony characterizes their part of the even "What were you doing?" says mamma, rather cross; "you dawdle so dreadfully at night." "Mamma's gown is a trifle tight to-night;" Louise has insinuated that "Madame s'engraisse," which is a deadly offense; so she re-ing's proceedings-monotony, diversified by fear lieves her feelings by bestowing a sort of rumbling dubation on her daughter on an accumulated score of small peccadilloes. There is considerable jolting and rumbling, and much hoarse yelling of names in Hill Street, so a disjointed and mangled edition of the lecture only reaches Pinkina's ears, and she is less awed and subdued than might be expected. "Remember," says mamma, to wind up, "that I will not allow you to dance more than once with any one whosoever-it is one of my rules." Whereto Miss Pink replies meekly, "Yes, mamma." Wondering, meanwhile, what it can possibly signify when they are all so exactly alike, she never can tell one from the other; and she dances as gladly with Frizzle and Foozle as with Fritter and Twitter. Miss Pink has a hundred and twelve partners, and she does not know their names; she does not ever expect to know them; but there is one who has earned her eternal gratitude by wearing a little curly beard, and she always remembers his dance. And there is another, who has such very red hair that one can not mistake him. What a pity they don't each have a mark! Would not a cipher tatooed on the cheek be a brilliant idea? Or cut in the whiskers of such as have whiskers-as one sows a name in mustard and cress, you know! Rather a poetic idea, eh? On the whole, Miss Pink is not sure that she appreciates her cavaliers. She had visions of six-foot heroes-beautiful people, with long mustaches; while among her partners there is not a middle-sized mustache! or hope on the score of chicken and peaches toward midnight. "Will supper be attainable or not?" Not so with Miss Pink. She is in a tremendous state of mind at first, lest no one should dance with her, lest her nose should be red, lest her hair should be rough. Oh dear! lest mamma should stay in the great room-and then it is so hot, and Miss Pink feels utterly miserable, for precisely two seconds, at the end of which period she perceives three of her pet partners coming toward her; that Laura Finch has her old green gown on again; that Dulcibelle is not waltzing; and that Fitz, in his white waistcoat, is in the next room, looking as if he had lost his way. You Fitz always looks so: it is correct. should give the young lady, whose hand you are soliciting for a valse, the impression that you are a philosopher bent on the discovery of the most abstruse sciences-nonchalant and slightly melancholy. It is the Faust valse, and Miss Pink is lancée, sailing round the rooms, before the crash begins, with little Wiffles. Happy Wiffles! He did not expect to know a soul; had met and worshiped Pinkina last autumn. Was en guette by the door when she came in, and is for the present and future a triumphant Wiffles. Miss Pink fears no longer the fate of the Marygolds; she is specially popu lar to-night. Pinkina is as good as gold about coming back to mamma. You see she has no "little affair" going on yet. When the "object" comes-the gentleman with plaintive eyes, who has not yet been introduced there, because he has not quite finished breaking his heart for Dulcibella, the last year's beauty, but who means to begin breaking his heart for Pinkina next weekwhen, as we said, "the object" comes on the stage, it will be more difficult to find mamma after the quadrille. The crowd will become so Poor dear Miss Pink! Mamma puts all her grievances in her pocket as she goes up stairs, and smiling, bowing, and amiability in general goes on when that Rubicon, the narrow door, is passed. It is quite possible to speak to three people at once-to recognize the acquaint-intense at that end of the room, one must have ances and to mark the likeliest place for a seat. A chaperon (a stout one especially) must have her wits about her pretty much as a fox-hunter in a crowd before a big fence. No one so sharp as Mrs. Pink. She avoids good-tempered Mrs. Marygold, who is in her usual corner near the window, not for the supposed purpose of there some ice. It will be so "awfully hot inside." She will not find her memory so keenly retentive as to "next dances" as it is now. It will not be so easy to see Fritter and Twitter on the way to claim their waltzes. Miss Pink will be more easily tired, and will positively require a moment's repose in the little room, with chintz sofas, china shepherdesses, and gardinia plants. Apropos, what capital stories those little rooms might tell if they would! The soft, big sofa, whereon such snoozes were hoped for (not in vain) by the weary chaperon, and such awful twaddle spoken by the dancing men and their partners. Did not Finette sit a patient hour thereon, while her present husband hesitated to propose? Do not the photo-books, the antimaccassars, the house-maid's dusters, and my lady's worsted work, find refuge beneath its shadow till the festivities be overspread? And what sighs of agony have relieved the overtaxed feelings of Frizzle when those admirable boots of his became unbearable to his unhappy corns. Miss Pink has just been introduced to the "object," Frederick Vane, Esq. "She is so sorry she is engaged. Positively, not a dance to bestow." The man with the red hair is for the next galop. That horrible Foozle, who kicks one, and who gets so soon giddy, has the last waltz. "Could not Foozle be thrown over?" The "object" is making an impression; he has such sad eyes, and such good gloves. That dreadful Foozle! How she snubs him when his dance comes off. She begs him not to bump her so much against people. And she should prefer the other room. She will not have any supper. She does not know his friend Gossip, and quenches Foozle's intention of presenting the friend. Foozle is prostrated and fallen. Pinkina is quite ready to go home. The "object" is standing near the door, you see; looks like taking one to the carriage. "Wouldn't dear mamma like to go? must be so very tired?" Of course Fred Vane is waiting to take her down; and he is presented to mamma. He has a particularly good manner with mammas. "Will not Mrs. Pink have some supper?" So charming to rest while the carriage is being called! One forgets how one yawned last night when one had to wait, and how, but ten minutes ago, one's feet ached! "Will Pinkina give him one dance next time?" |