"Dern my skin, but when I heered the brush a-crackin', I thought I had ketched that cow at last. How are ye, strangers-bound to Coos?" We replied, and after a brief interchange of news, we pursued our way. He pointed out, as we parted, the graves of five children who had been crushed by the falling of a tree some twelve months before.

After the discovery of the coal deposits, there was "a rush" of some wenty families to the mineral region, most of whom cleared and claimed, under the law of 1847, six hundred and forty acres of land each. To avoid the danger of falling trees, it is necessary to burn and fell all suspicious ones within a few hundred yards of the dwelling. One night the father heard an ominous crackling in the direction of a giant pine which had been steadily consuming under the action of fire for a week past. The family was asleep, but like lightning the danger flashed upon the settler, and arousing his wife, they seized two of the children, and hurried the bewildered little flock into the night air. But the warning had come too late. As they issued from the hut, the tree-a monstrous pillar of wood, little lower than the cross of Trinity Church in New York-toppled from its centre and fell to the earth. The cabin was directly in a line with its descent, and was smashed to atoms. A little mound, over which clamber a few blackberry vines, marks the lonely grave.

As we neared the edge of the forest, the regular strokes of an ax resounding in echoes through the shadowy silence, showed we were nearing our place of destination. The horses, now quite worn down with the wearisome route, pricked up their ears at the sound, and quickened their pace, we issued from the woods upon the banks of a beautiful and spacious bay, stretching some three miles directly beyond us, and about five to the right and left. The surrounding woods were clearly depicted in its glassy surface, while the swelling tide swept nobly up to the spot where we stood. It was the famous Coos Bay, of which some indistinct accounts had reached San Francisco, but which, passed over in the reconnoissance of the United States Coast Survey, had remained unexplored and almost unknown. Indeed, no maps or charts, save the one afterward made by myself from rough sketches, exist of this fine sheet of water.

To the right lay the little town of Empire City-every collection of dwellings in Oregon and California is a city-composed of some thirty houses, mostly of boards, and from the midst of which a half-finished wharf projected into the bay. A hasty glance at the scene sufficed; for our animals were already gazing wistfully at the place, with visions of corn or barley, doubtless, rising in the dim perspective. So with as brisk a gait as we could assume, we entered the town the entire population completely electrified by our arrival, and crowding around us as curious specimens of humanity, which, in truth, we were.

Our friend, Mr. Rogers, hastened out to meet us; and, rescuing his visitors from the crowd, hurried us into his store, where wo were not long in making ourselves at home.

Behold us now before a crackling fire of pine knots, alternately sipping the contents of a copions bowl of whisky-punch-and such whisky, shade of Bacchus !-and detailing to the attentive listeners the news from "Frisco," as San Francisco is here familiarly termed. The mail

facilities between Coos Bay and the great commercial metropolis of the Pacific are extremely uncertain and by no means regular, so our arrival was a matter of the greatest moment.

Mr. Rogers' store is the commercial and political head-quarters of Coos Bay. The stout proprietor himself, a rosy-cheeked, educated Vermonter, has held some of the most important offices in the gift of the people, and his hearty manners and good natured laugh have won for him the reputation of the most popular man at Coos. The store is the resort of the inhabitants for many miles around on Sundays; when, seated on the counter, they discuss the most important topics, and select goods from the assortment of our host. A glance around the shelves revealed the extent of his stock, which, as a racy informant remarked in answer to my look of inquiry, consisted of "green groceries "-i. e., black thread and vinegar!

As the fire lighted up the interior of the rough dwelling, and brought into bold relief the stalwart forms of men whose tastes and occupations had led them into this corner of the world for a livelihood, it was difficult to realize that four years ago the bare existence of such a place as Coos Bay was unknown.

The evening wore away with songs and stories; jolly great pipes of tobacco, black as "sooty Acheron," were smoked and refilled; more logs were piled upon the fire, and rough jokes flew around the merry circle. At last, weary with the ride, and perhaps a little overcome by the hospi tality of our entertainers, we were shown to a species of shed, the sign over the door of which read thus:

and denoted the sole public house of Empire City. Here we addressed ourselves to sleep, and, after a round twelve hours, came out on the following day, brisk as larks and prepared to see the lions.

Coos Bay is about twenty miles in length and from three to four in width. It is entered from the ocean- -or, rather, the ocean discharges into it, as the inhabitants affirm-by a narrow channel, perhaps half mile wide from land to land. The navigation is somewhat intricate, but not dangerous. There is depth of water for vessels loaded to ten or twelve feet, and numerous cargoes of coal have been taken to San Francisco- a distance of about four hundred miles. The mines are some twenty miles from the bar or entrance, and facilities already exist for the rapid loading of vessels. The coal, which extends over a country some thirty miles by twenty, is abundant, accessible, and of good quality. As yet only a few banks have been opened.

During our four months' stay at Coos and vicinity, we took frequent advantage of the numerous offers of our acquaintance to make excursions across and up the bay-sometimes to join in the excitement of the chase, salmon-fishing, or surveying the interesting country about us. The scenery around the bay is made up of deep, silent pine and fir forests, often relieved with the gayer-tinted foliage of the birch and maple. Toward the ocean, where the northwest winds prevailing in the summer

months have heaped up symmetrical mounds of sand, all traces of vegetation disappear, and a desolate expanse of white mingles in the horizon with the blue line of the sea. An incessant roar, mellowed by the distance into a hoarse murmur, marks where the surf chafes among the rocks skirting the entrance to the bay.

Days and weeks may pass away, and if you go beyond the small circle of civilization around the town, you will meet with no living thing but the passive Indian squaw dragging her load of fish to the cabin, or some startled wild beast, quickly darting out of sight into the depth of the woods.

Early one morning I was roused out by appointment, to join in a tramp to the South Heads in search of otter. This trade has already assumed an importance among the whites of Lower Oregon, who purchase these and other peltries of the Indians. We made a party of three, and taking a narrow path, which to me became utterly lost in five minutes, we were soon traversing a dense mass of woods, in which the crinkling of our steps among the leaves were the only disturbing sounds. An hour's walk brought us out upon the coast, which here makes into numerous tiny inlets and bayous, formed by the large rocks around, and among which the sea lashes with resistless fury. Beyond us the surf made out in high successive banks of foam, any one of which would have proved the death-warrant of the stoutest ship afloat. A stiff breeze blew from seaward, and as the roaring walls of water toppled inland before the increasing gale, I could scarcely imagine how otter or any other living creature could be shot, much less captured in such wild commotion. My companions, among whom was an Indian known as Chu-wally, bid me have my rifle in readiness. Cautiously descending toward a battlement of dripping rocks, serving to break the force of the sea, but still streaming with thousands of milk-white rivulets of foam, we halted, while Chu-wally, stripping himself to the buff, crawled to the ledge and looked over into the little calm space of water under the lee of the rocks. For some moments he remained motionless, and then, without changing his position, raised his hand in signal to us. "Down! close down!" whispered Billy Romanes, the best rifle-shot in the country, as we moved silently toward the spot. Slowly we crept up the steep crags, the booming surf wetting us to the skin as we ascended.

We reached the summit, and peering over the brink, gazed down upor four beautiful otter sporting in the little nook beneath. A single unguarded motion would have alarmed these timid creatures, and the utmost caution was necessary; for while the deafening roar of the ocean is a noise they are accustomed to, the click of a lock, or the bungling hitting of a rifle-stock against a rock, sends them out of sight in an instant. There were apparently two old females, each with a young one, though the difference in size was scarcely perceptible to a novice. At times, in the long smooth swell of the cove, they would gracefully throw their entire forms out of the water; but this is rare, and the hunter is only too glad to get a moment's sight at the head above the surface. These appeared to be in a frolicsome mood, chasing each other about, now swimming rapidly on their backs, and disappearing to shoot up again in another