Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1884-08-14
A Wonderful Land.

Probably no other group in the wide
world carry more curiosities, natural
and artificial, than Queen Charlotte
Island; few, think, have as many in
the same extent of country. The geol-
ogist, the mineralogist, the botanist
the artist, and the agriculturist NAV
each of them find here wide field for
research, while the antiquarian. the
theologist and others of the ilk would
be highly interested.
In their strange and wonderful sea
margins, in their not less wonderful
caverns, in which natures works in long
ages are written as plainly as on the
pages of book; in their rocks. whose
volcanic contortions smite the beholder
with mute amazement; in their shells.
which as fossils are found deep down
IN the seams of its anthracite coal. while
near Cape Ball the same sort are found
alive in the sands of the sea shore-of
these a geologist could write volumes.
In their quartz lodges, which have
been traced from shore to shore, in
which gold is plainly visible, in coal
measures and other minerals, a wide
field may yet be found for the mineral
ologist.
The various kinds of plants belong
ing to these islands, the tiny flowers in
their natural beauty peeping out from
behind the melting snowdrift on the
lonely mountains; the modest lupins
and the luscious Strawberries, natures
gift to man, and even the broad-leaved
bush grass-all these, as they follow in
the wake of the receding waters of
Queen Charlotte's stormy seas, would
yield an ample store for the botanist.
Among their snow-clad mountains.
by the wild torrent and the gentle
river, by the lights and shades, reflected
by their sunset hills, in autumn's
shortening days, boundless range is
offered for the pencils magic skill,
while the broad acres of rich alluyial
bottoms and the unlimited extent of
lands whose nutritious grasses waving
in the breeze would lead the farmer to
say, "Ohl if these lands were mine.
and my fiocks and herds ranged over
the luxuriant plenty they afford;" to
the antiquarian, the ethnologist, and
other scientists, the rich carvings on
the columns and the quaint old legends
they depict, and the legendary lore of
the people, would afford a vast untrod-
den field. Even the conchologist
would feel at home on the abalone
shell-covered shores of Pillon Bay, and
on the rocks Of North Island.
To the piscatorial disciples of Izaak
Walton an unlimited amount of sport
is furnished by the streams. In them
they can find the silver salmon and the
dainty little trout of the mountain rill.
Ii tired of these, and wishing larger
sport, let him go to the greater depths
of ocean, down to where the stormy
winds OF winter are never felt, to
where, deep in oceans cave, he will
find myriad throng of these denizens
Of the deep, the black cod
On these islands even the moralist
will find something in his line. Let
him seek the deserted villages, and
Enger in their ruined halls, and study
the works now crumbling to ruin left
behind by their ancient inhabitants,
the tall carved columns pointing
heavenward, with their mystical hero
glyphics from bottom to top. Here is
one whose elaborate carvings bear the
image of man on top wearing stored
head-dress. 1t is three circles in height;
and each circle is twelve inches above
the other; these circles show the ruins
to have been the dwelling of chief.
Let him force his way to the door of
the house through the grass and alder
trees which hide the ancient PATHWAYS.
Having reached the house, let him de-
scend the haIf-rotton stair, down to the
body of the house, among the intrusive
alder bushes, and there note what he
sees. Piled in one corner is heap Of
iron remains of some unfortunate ship.
What are these boxes, widowed and
moss-coverod, piled in yonder corner?
These are the family boxes. Some held
the oil and other food they used, while
others held their clothes These things
he will find, but where are the peoplel
Where are the women Capt. Dixon
writes of as fair, when washed, as En-
glish milkmaids? Where are they or
their descendants? Call them. and
echo, through their ruined halls, in
wailing, wonderful numbers, replies,
"All are gone. Ask the Indians, who
may be along with you, and their an
swer is, "All are dead" Look among
the empty bottles in large numbers,
scattered all over the floors of the de-
serted houses, among the long grass,
and to the boxes on posts among the
green bushes, and you will find the
mumified remains of all that is left of
these people. Fictorja (B. CD Col
o1ljSt