cumbrous and inefficient mode of exploring soon had its end. One result was derived from it: a general knowledge of the whole country was obtained, which aided subsequent researches.

We come now to individual enterprizes. Our practical explorer, inured to hardships and at home in the woods, took to the bush alone, or accompanied by one packer, who acted as cook and man Friday.

Some central, quiet nook in the heart of the mineral region to be examined, was selected for a camp, always by the side of a running stream. Here in the solitary, trackless forest a wigwam was made of poles covered with cedar or birch bark, or with evergreen boughs. The hut was just big enough for two, with no guest chamber. A fire blazed in front night and day, for warmth, for cooking, and for protection against prowling wild animals, such as the gentle porcupine, the lynx, and the black bear. The little streams were all teeming with small brook trout which, caught with our pin hooks, garnished the morning and evening meal of hard-tack, pork, and tea. A porcupine stew was had on select occasions. The woods were full of partridges, almost as tame as barnyard fowls. These, when dressed, we cooked on sticks stuck in the ground and inclined toward the fire.

Our evenings, after a hard day's scramble through the woods, were happily spent reclining on our beds or carpet of sweet smelling pine or spruce, smoking pipes and exchanging song or story. When quite alone, as was often the case, when his man Friday was away after provisions, the solitary explorer found his evenings rather lonely. The quiet, the hush, the profound stillness of the deep, dark forest were somewhat awful. The imagination was quickened, and the fancy began to cut up terrible capers. The fall of a twig was almost a catastrophe, and the breaking of a branch out there in the darkness, was almost an earthquake, while the unexpected and unearthly yell, like the wail of a lost spirit, of a prowling lynx, would curdle the blood in one's veins and make every individual hair on one's head, stand on end. At times, when in certain moods, the impressive silence of the solemn woods. was too awful, and the oppressed soul must needs find relief in sobs!

The writer, however, spent many a happy and joyous day in the woods alone, in exploration. From May until August the mosquitoes and black flies interfered much with hisw ork, but after

they had lived out their blood-thirsty days, a season of peace and high enjoyment followed. Especially in the mellow October days, after the early frosts had burnished the forest panoply with a brush dipped in the rainbow, our delight was such as not to be forgotten now after the lapse of more than forty years.

Mounting some lofty knob, bare and bald as the writer's head, our explorer would throw himself upon the smooth, rain-washed rock, swept by the winds of a thousand years,-yea, of thousands upon thousands, with no account of the years it was buried under the old glacier a mile in thickness,-light his pipe, and dream. He sees over there in the south, stretching away to the horizon, mile upon mile, a forest of green and gold and purple and yellow and scarlet, a solid mass of foliage basking in the soft sunshine. This variegated carpet from Nature's great artistic loom, soft and pleasant to the eye as a Wilton, is only broken here and there by some protruding knob, or intervale through which winds, with many turns, a silver stream, now lashed into foam by envious rapids, now leaping over a precipice, but still seeking its way persistently to an outlet where it may hide itself in the bosom of the great lake.

Reversing his outlook, he beheld far off, and far below, the broad blue expanse of Lake Superior, the mother of lakes and streams gigantic, sleeping quietly, and gaining strength in repose, for the battle to come with winter elements. Not a ship or speck dots the silver expanse, and solitude seems to reign on the water as well as on land. Nature, without man and his busy ways and inventions, seems as lonely and incomplete as was the first man in the garden of Eden.

Now the summer fly, benumbed by last night's frost, drones lazily in the air; a soft breeze stirs the leaves; the pipe drops from our explorer's mouth, unheard upon the rock; sleep wraps all his senses in oblivion. But a short clap of thunder awakes him; the sky is overcast, and great rolling, swaying thunder-heads, bellowing in their anger, and shooting out zig-zag flames, are seen in the southwest, unmistakable warnings that he must speedily seek his camp for shelter. A rapid tramp down the steeps and through the woods brings him home none too soon. The rolling and crashing of thunder above the tree tops is appalling. The woods are pitchy dark; the trunks of the trees, revealed by the glaring lightning, look like spectres. The wind howls, and the aged tenants of the

forest go crashing down. Broken limbs fall to the ground dangerously near. At first, in the wild hubbub of nature, no rain seems to fall. The dense foliage arrests it; but too soon it comes pattering down, at first gently, then in floods. The rude wigwam is no defense against such a down-pour, and our explorer, without fire, without light, sits disconsolate, wrapped in his drenched blankets, wet to the skin. The storm soon passes, and the thunder is heard far off over Lake Superior. But our explorer cannot kindle a fire with wet sticks, so he wraps himself tighter in his wet blankets and says, philosophically, to himself, "I am in for the night."

Occasionally our surveyor in the midst of his labors is caught out in a snow storm. His miseries entailed by wading in the snow, handling rocks in the snow, building a fire in the snow, and sleeping in the snow, are such that he likes not to dwell upon them. He prefers always not to harbor the unpleasant things of this life in his bosom, but to let them "slide."

Our explorer is reminded by his conscience just here, that it might be the wish of his hearers that he would attend a little closer to the business in hand. Bowing to the admonition, he will now show you his way of exploring.

The first aim of the explorer was to make preliminary examinations of the particular tracts. If the section lines had been marked, his work was easier. He had only to find a corner, and assume one of the lines as his base. Pacing south, say twenty rods, he would stop to hack a tree, then start due east by compass, pacing the distance as he advanced. The writer's practice was to take short easy steps of two feet, and as he went on, keep count in his mind of every step. This mental effort soon became automatic, not hindering the use of eyes or hands. A note-book was carried, in which the topography was sketched, with full notes of every ridge, depression, outcrop, or stream, as well as the character of the rocks seen. When any outcrop demanded more than a passing examination, a pause was made, a tree in line notched with the pick, and distance from starting point noted down; a divergence was then made right and left, and a careful examination of the rocks for valuable minerals was made. Returning to the hacked tree, our explorer resumed his east and west line, keeping his eyes open to anything of importance. The mental tally for a mile. having closed, he would look out for the section line. After long practice, he rarely failed to find the line at once. The next step

was pacing down the line twenty rods, then going west in the same manner as before, repeating the operation until the whole. section was thoroughly gone over.

Such full notes were obtained that when he reached camp, or the office, he could plot them, and obtain a topographical sketch, including the geology and mineralogy of the section. Should any vein or lode have been discovered, its position was fixed so as to be readily found at some future time.

A more general survey was made by starting from known points in a township; and by compass line and pacing, and checking upon corners, a reconnaissance was made of prominent ranges and outcrops. Where the country was not subdivided, connection by compass and chain, with some prominent point on the lake shore, as a bay, mouth of river, etc., had to be made.

After much practice, our explorer became quite expert, not only in woods-craft, but in finding valuable mineral deposits. He acquired much of the skill possessed by an Indian in following traces and indications. The deep drift and soil overlying the rocks in places, called for the exercise of much patience and ingenuity. He must know the character of any rock found on the surface, and whether it was likely that it belonged to the hidden beds; or whether as a traveled bowlder it had come from a distance. If a bowlder, he must understand how it came there, as, also, the direction it had come from. Observation as to glacial scoremarks on denuded surfaces, give the general course of the ice currents. If the interesting bowlder, or "float," has been torn from copper-bearing rocks, like amygdaloid trap or conglomerate in place, he decides that it is a vein rock. Should some speck of metal be found, after chipping or breaking the "float" with the exploring hammer, the interest is greatly increased. The next question to be solved is, How far has this bowlder traveled? If it is hard, smooth, and rounded, the conclusion is that it has come from a distance, no one knows how far. But if the rock breaks easily under the hammer, is angular, and little worn, then the conclusion is that the mother vein or lode is not far away. The explorer now pulls out his compass, and ascertains which way northeast is from his position. He follows this course slowly, like a hound, turning over with his pick, and critically examining every stone in his path. As he proceeds, the number of stones multiply, vein-matter is more abundant, and is richer in copper. Finally a little further on, the whole.

forest go crashing down. Broken limbs fall to the ground dangerously near. At first, in the wild hubbub of nature, no rain seems to fall. The dense foliage arrests it; but too soon it comes pattering down, at first gently, then in floods. The rude wigwam is no defense against such a down-pour, and our explorer, without fire, without light, sits disconsolate, wrapped in his drenched blankets, wet to the skin. The storm soon passes, and the thunder is heard far off over Lake Superior. But our explorer cannot kindle a fire with wet sticks, so he wraps himself tighter in his wet blankets and says, philosophically, to himself, "I am in for the night."

Occasionally our surveyor in the midst of his labors is caught out in a snow storm. His miseries entailed by wading in the snow, handling rocks in the snow, building a fire in the snow, and sleeping in the snow, are such that he likes not to dwell upon them. He prefers always not to harbor the unpleasant things of this life in his bosom, but to let them "slide."

Our explorer is reminded by his conscience just here, that it might be the wish of his hearers that he would attend a little closer to the business in hand. Bowing to the admonition, he will now show you his way of exploring.

The first aim of the explorer was to make preliminary examinations of the particular tracts. If the section lines had been marked, his work was easier. He had only to find a corner, and assume one of the lines as his base. Pacing south, say twenty rods, he would stop to hack a tree, then start due east by compass, pacing the distance as he advanced. The writer's practice was to take short easy steps of two feet, and as he went on, keep count in his mind of every step. This mental effort soon became automatic, not hindering the use of eyes or hands. A note-book was carried, in which the topography was sketched, with full notes of every ridge, depression, outcrop, or stream, as well as the character of the rocks seen. When any outcrop demanded more than a passing examination, a pause was made, a tree in line notched with the pick, and distance from starting point noted down; a divergence was then made right and left, and a careful examination of the rocks for valuable minerals was made. Returning to the hacked tree, our explorer resumed his east and west line, keeping his eyes open to anything of importance. The mental tally for a mile having closed, he would look out for the section line. After long practice, he rarely failed to find the line at once. The next step