obtainable in town, that is
if you can afford to pay for them, for prices here are, at present,
ruinous. This is chiefly due to the almost prohibitive tariff imposed
upon everything, from machinery to cigars, by the Canadian Government.
During our stay much discontent also prevailed in consequence of the
vexatious gold-mining regulations which had lately come into operation
and which had already compelled many owners of valuable claims to sell
them at a loss and quit the country. An Englishman residing here told me
that so long as the present mining laws exist prospectors will do well
to avoid Canadian territory, and this I could well believe, for while we
were there, Dawson was, on this account, in a ferment of excitement
which threatened shortly to blaze into open rebellion unless the tension
was removed.

The natural charms of Dawson have hitherto been sadly neglected by
writers on Klondike, and yet it is in summer one of the prettiest places
imaginable. Viewed from a distance on a still July day, the clean bright
looking town and garden-girt villas dotting the green hills around are
more suggestive of a tropical country than of a bleak Arctic land. An
interesting landmark is the mighty landslip of rock and rubble which
defaces the side of a steep cliff overlooking the city, for this
avalanche of earth is said to have entombed some fifty or sixty Indians
many years ago, and is of course therefore, according to local
tradition, haunted. Notwithstanding its remoteness Dawson may almost be
called a gay place. Stroll down the principal street at mid-day and you
will find a well-dressed crowd of both sexes, some driving and cycling,
others inspecting the shops or seated at flower-bedecked tables in the
fashionable French "Restaurant du Louvre" with its white aproned
_garcons_ and central snowy altar of silver, fruit, and _hors-d'oeuvres_
all complete. Everything has a continental look, from the glittering
jewellers' shops to the flower and fruit stalls, where you may buy roses
or strawberries for a dollar apiece. I recollect discussing a meal of
somewhat rusty bacon and beans (or Alaska strawberries as they were then
called) when we landed for the first time amongst the Indians of
Thron-diuck, and it seemed like some weird dream when one sultry
afternoon during my recent stay I was invited by a party of smartly
dressed ladies to partake of ices in a gilded _cafe_ with red-striped
sun-blinds on the very same spot. But you