inlaid with shells, were here in
plenty; cases of buckskin, containing the conjuring-sticks or
gambling-kits of the Thlinkit medicine-men; loin-cloths, ornamented with
multitudes of rattling puffin-beaks; head-dresses of defunct warriors;
fantastic and horrible masks; huge spoons carved out of the horns of the
mountain-ibex; bead-work on leather; robes of many-colored skins quilted
together; images carved to resemble otters; fleecy robes of wild sheep
and goat; pipes cut with nude figures; antlers; stuffed animals;
white-breasted loons, and the like.

After a short stop for landing the mails, the vessel was soon traversing
Wrangel Strait, just under some splendid glaciers and snowy mountains,
the water perfectly smooth, though full of small icebergs, which
glittered in the sunshine and had broken off from the descending
ice-mass. Enormous rivers of ice flow down between these mountains and
debouch in the sea, their current mysteriously stayed by the low
temperature. We were particularly fortunate in having fine, clear
weather early in the morning, especially at this point, where we could
see the great Pattison Glacier. The ship entered the enchanted region
through a narrow passage, which one of us christened the "Silver Gates,"
the Beulah Mountains edging our Pilgrim's Progress in passionless white
as we zigzagged along the course.

A little later, the scenery on Frederic Sound became truly transcendent:
grand mountains, forms that would be awful but for the sunshine resting
on their heads, the lake-like sound, with its blue spits of land and
cameo-like promontories profiled against the sky, motionless
_glace-de-Venise_ water reflecting a thousand shades of azure and gray
and white, gulls resting on the water, with white bodies and black tips,
almost a complete circle of brilliant snow-banks peeping above the
clouds that hung to them amorously, and far-away vistas of blue-white
glaciers coming down to meet the water-margin.

Schools of spouting whales played in the distance, and the passengers
sent balls out of their pistols hissing on the water, but happily
hitting nothing. During the last trip two lovely antlered creatures came
swimming along in the water, trying to cross one of the channels to
another grazing-ground. They were taken on board, but one of them died.

The next landing-place was Killimoo, a little Indian village on an
island surrounded by dim-green heights and flickering, ever-changing
mountain-view