The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1909-06-25
ROyIESkZlYC IN COWNCtz4X RIVER.
WNCOz/HER ELANO, &c.

cific slopes is the great Gate of the
mountains. 1t towers to heaven and
leans to hell, it is riven of valleys, it
gives back sound with a terrible voice,
1t Is ranged by the bear and Swallowed
by the lone eagle. I pass through
this gate with awe and the distress
of loneliness-from the livid grasses of
the prairie to the sunny orchards, the
bracken, the ivy and the pleasant
English voices of this little island on
the edge of the Pacific seas, writes
Mrs. George Gran in Madam.
From a desert of grass, of wheat,
of scrub-where the wolf-willow glim-
mers on the wind-bitten wold-from
the praires to this paradise is change
indeed. I wander curiously about the
streets Of Victoria; they are wide and
beautiful, just tilted from the level
of a sheer copy of the Old Country by
the Oriental bias. Here they are, the
little yellow men, with their quiet
busy ways, their ceaseless Industrious
coming and going. Their shops are
here, their names line the streets, they
are as much part of the social ma
chine as are these high-nosed, slim,
tall men and women who speak
army" from every pore and who are
Victoria. The gardens are fenced
from public view by clipped holly
hedges, ivy grows joyously, q welcome
sight, for it is never seen in Ontario
or on the prairies. Here is a garden
full of roses-the first since I left
England two months ago-I lean upon
the gate and feel happy, if homesick
I wander about, infinitely happy; this
island Of flowers and sweet scents
makes me envy the highnosed ones
who come to live here In the after
noon of life. At Oyster Cove in Es-
quimault harbor, Capt. Williams walks
in his big wading boots among the
apple trees and wax-berries telling of
all the dowdy things that can happen
to oysters If they are not nicely man.
aged. Wo Lung, whose long pigtail
Is wound round his head like a cap,
goes down to the cove to grapple some
up for me to taste; the captain goes
down, and shows me how they are
planted so that he can walk round
and turn them over whenever he
wants to. 1t is like sea garden, and
its summer-house is a wooden hut on
the raft where he sorts his oysters.
Wo Lung staggers away with a heavy
load, and I follow the captain up to
the apple-orchard once more, wonder
ing how many I am expected to
"taste"
Inland, happy as man must have
been when he first saw Eden, wan
der between splendid avenues of
balmy cedar that make luxury of
breathing; naples burn in crimson
and gold against the deep rich green
of the pines-brown and gold and
feel as if I were looking at Dante
Rossetti's palette. One Martin Van
nier drives me to Cowichan bay, and
l taste pure joy every inch of the way
The roads are wide and we'll kept,
edged with the picturesque snake
fences, that are almost hidden under
brown-gold bracken; here we pass a
rich orchard where the apples hang
among their leaves like little crimson
Chinese lanterns, where the sun
strikes them; the untouched bloom
CLOVIS like mauve velvet. Here is a
herd of red polls, fat and contented,
in pasture that looks like park land,
magnificently timbered. The blue
jays chatter as we pass, Mount Tzou-
halem rises leside us, burning noun
tain in its radiant garb of autumn foil
age. A funny mongrel with foxter-
rier head, a setter body and Pome-
ranian tail, attaches himself to our
rig and barks at every elderberry
bush-somebody must have given him
some to eat at one time. On the slope
of hill by Cowichan bay is pretty
house of wood that reveals itself as
Buena Vista hotel set in
trees that would grace the noblest
English park. We unhitch Jimmy. the
dapple grey, who has SHE'D industri-
ously at every blade of grass on the
road, and reward him with feed OF
oats. Men come and go for lunch, for
a drink, for a word with our host
and l watch them enviously-they all
have guns, they all have settlers, they