which gives the name to the railway scheme lately successfully opposed by the Canadian Pacific Company. The first town we came to in the morning was James Town, a town built out upon the plain prairie grass, as I have seen many villages in Russia; and thence, as before, we continued our course through vast tracks of corn and wheat country, and through Dalrymple's 87,000 acres, and Ryan's 120,000. "Elevators," or warehouses of two or three stories, and flat warehouses, were seen everywhere, containing stores of wheat and corn, etc.; and while these testified to the wealth of the growths, the cheap wooden huts, one or two half dug in the ground, with a low roof peering out, showed what mere squatters were the workmen. Bismark, the capital of Dacota, appeared at a certain distance from its station, and displayed, as its principal building, a large gaol. But this did not, of course, prove that it was either full or needful. A large alkaline lake looked ugly, and much baked prairie air and prairie dust conspired to oppress us.

Our second day (our second night having been got rid of) continued hot and dusty, and showed us an Indian camp, with the strange-looking, red-skinned, straight-haired, and curiously decked people belonging to it. We also realized live and riding "cowboys." One was standing at a station, and afterwards others were seen galloping along the plains; and as we advanced towards Livingston the snowy peaks of the Rockies stretched out in line to our left. It is on

the western boundary of Dacota that the line traverses a district that is called "Bad Lands," the remarkable features of which (highly interesting to geologists) are not to be realized by a rapid run through them, and to very few could it be worth while to stay for a separate excursion. Where we saw them from the line, they presented vast ugly masses of what looked like terra cotta, with spaces of fine grass between where cattle were feeding; and many spots were smoking, being actually on fire, said to be produced by underlying layers of lignite. This strange process of smouldering heat is supposed to have been going on for some thousand years. Their full title is, “The Bad Lands of the Little Missouri."

Soon after one o'clock on the afternoon of Thursday, the 15th of July, we arrived at Livingston Station, whence we were to take the railway to the south, for fifty-one miles, to a place called Cinnabar; and thence we were to go eight miles by coaches to the first station of the Yellow Stone National Park. We had heard enough of it on the railway from the Union News people with their books; besides which the Company had distributed a brightly coloured map of the district, with a brightly illustrated description. This description was given in the form. of a very long letter, written by "Alice" to her "Dearest Edith ;" and the title to the outside was "Alice in the New Wonderland," with a charming (or intended so to be) portrait of "Alice," in gay costume, and with a fine head of hair, and a binocular in

hand. Rocks and trees made up the background, and all the capital letters were duly twisted and twirled, so as to harmonize with Wonderland.

Somehow I could not bring myself to understand what sort of sights we were going to see. Alice's descriptions were, of course, enchanting; but then, we were not to be with Alice, and perhaps did not possess so enthusiastic a mind as she. Other descriptions were no doubt grand, and an extract from one of them I must not fail to transcribe. It almost vies with that about Daniel and the lions singing the Hallelujah Chorus on Nature's pipes at Niagara. "This realm of mighty marvels, within whose boundaries Nature, in frenzied mood, has wreaked her most appalling freaks and wildest phantasies, will never cease to attract thousands of yearly tourists and wonder-seekers from all parts of the world." In short, every inducement to pay a visit was prominently put forward before the "trave-ler," and who, therefore, could refuse to stop at Livingston with a railway to Cinnabar ?

I had begun a cross-questioning about it all with a very intelligent railway servant at Livingston, who was not quite so enthusiastic as charming "Alice," when he presently said-

"You should ask that gentleman standing there; he has returned only this morning."

Accordingly, while we were waiting for our train, I found occasion to broach the subject. He was still in his twenties, I should say, and therefore open to

the influence of novelty; but his first observation

was not exciting

"It is very fatiguing; you have a long way to go for everything you have to see."

That was not a good start; nor was the next step much better; for, on asking whether the Park was not as beautiful as "Alice" said it was, it became evident he did not think it was.

"Well, then," said I, “do you really, after all, think the place is worth going to see, with all the fatigue involved?"

"Um-m-m-m-m-yes," said he, in reply; "oh yes; oh! it's certainly worth going to see, and particularly as you have come so far.”

And with this impression I got into the Cinnabar train.

I was not quite alone, for in the course of my yesterday's journey I had made the acquaintance of a pleasant American traveller, Mr. Foss by name, who was out for a run, and was equally bound for the Park; and we kept companionship till our return to Livingston.

This line of railway follows up the banks of the Yellow Stone River. The Northern Pacific line, it should be observed, had already run for several miles along this river, which is the most important of the tributaries of the Missouri. After leaving Livingston, you presently find yourself among the mountains, but of no very remarkable character. The chief among them is called the Electric Peak, which rises