er, near the hecad of Lake
Superior. The heat all day had been very great, and it was refreshing to
get out of the dusty car, even though the shanties, in which eating,
drinking, and sleeping were supposed to be carried on, were of the very
lowest description. I had made the acquaintance of the express agent, a
gentleman connected with the baggage department of the train, and during
the journey he had taken me somewhat into his confidence on the matter of
the lodging and entertainment which were to be found in the shanties.
"The food ain't bad," he said, "but that there shanty of Tom's licks
creation for bugs." This terse and forcibly expressed opinion made me
select the interior of a wagon, and some fresh hay, as a place of rest,
where, in spite of vast numbers of mosquitoes, I slept the sleep of the
weary.

The construction train started from Moose City at six o'clock a.m., and
as the stage, which was supposed to connect with the passenger train and
carry forward its human freight to Superior City was filled to
overflowing, I determined to take advantage of the construction train,
and travel on it as far as it would take me. A very motley group of
lumberers, navvies, and speculators assembled for breakfast at five
o'clock a.m. at Tom's table, and although I cannot quite confirm the
favourable opinion of my friend the express agent as to the quality of
the viands which graced it, I can at least testify to the vigour with
which the "guests" disposed of the pork and beans, the molasses and
dried apples which Tom, with foul fingers, had set before them. Seated on
the floor of a waggon in the construction train, in the midst of navvies
of all countries and ages, I reached the end of the track while the
morning sun was yet low in the east. I had struck up a kind of
partnership for the journey with a pedlar Jew and an Ohio man, both going
to Duluth, and as we had a march of eighteen miles to get through
between the end of the track and the town of Fond-du-Lac, it became
necessary to push on before the sun had reached his midday level; so,
shouldering our baggage, we left the busy scene of track-laying and
struck out along the graded line for the Dalles of the St. Louis. Up to
this point the line had been fully levelled, and the walking was easy
enough, but when the much-talked of Dalles were reached a complete
change took place, and the toil became excessive. The St. Louis River,
which in reality forms the headwater of the g