girlish sensitiveness. I do not
see any picture of him that satisfies me, or does him justice. Newton
cannot paint a portrait, nor indeed can Leslie; and the result is, that
what we have foisted off upon us for portraits are only
misunderstandings.

A YEAR IN MONTANA.

Where the Wind River Chain of the Rocky Mountains stretches far away to
the east, and the Bitter Root Range far away to the northwest, like
giant arms holding in their embrace the fertile valleys whence the
myriad springs which form the two great rivers of the continent take
their rise,--on the northern border of the United States, and accessible
only through leagues of desert,--lie the gold fields of Montana. Four
years ago all this region was _terra incognita_. In 1805, Lewis and
Clarke passed through it; but beyond a liberal gift of geographical
inaccuracies, they have left only a few venerable half-breeds as relics
of their journey. Among the Indians, what they did and said has passed
into tradition; and the tribes of which they speak, the Ke-heet-sas,
Minnetarees, Hohilpoes, and Tus-he-pahs, are as extinct as the dodo.
Later explorers have added little to the scanty stock of information,
save interesting descriptions of rich valleys and rough mountain scenery
and severe hardships in the winters. For the most part, it was a country
unexplored and unknown, and held by the various Indian tribes in the
Northwest as a common hunting-ground.

One bright morning in August, 1864, after a brief rest at Salt Lake, we
left Brigham's seraglios for this new El Dorado. We had taken the long
trip of twelve hundred miles on the overland stage, which Mr. Bowles
describes in his admirable book "Across the Continent." But his was the
gala-day excursion of Speaker Colfax and his party, so full of studied
and constant attention as to lead Governor Bross to tell the good people
of Salt Lake, a little extravagantly, that the height of human happiness
was to live in one of Holladay's stages. This life loses its rose-color
when nine inside passengers, to fortune and to fame unknown, are viewed
as so much freight, and transported accordingly.

It is four hundred miles due north from Salt Lake City to Montana. The
low canvas-covered Concord hack, in which we travel, is constructed with
an eye rather to safety than comfort, and, like a city omnibus, is never
full. Still, our passengers look upon even their discomforts as a joke.
They are most of them old miners, har