to the French claims in Shanghai. Since our policy in China has been, by our own selfeffacement, formed for us by the action of other Powers, it is always well to take notice of the views held by those Powers,

In this connection there is a significant despatch in the Bluebook from the Foreign Office to the Ambassador in Berlin, dated 13th May. Lord Salisbury, reporting an interview with the German Ambassador with regard to co-operation in railway schemes in China, says: "His Excellency maintained that Germany, by her occupation of Kiao-chau, and her agreement with China respecting Shantung, has acquired a special position in that province, which consequently is not unreservedly open to

British enterprise; whereas Great Britain not having occupied any place in the Yangtse region, that region is still unreservedly open to German enterprise : consequently, my suggestions did not contain any element of reciprocity."

Although Lord Salisbury was "unable to assent" to this proposition, it is well to know the view that Germany takes of

our rights in China. And it is especially important to observe that Germany is acting on her view to our detriment, while we are not acting on ours. As we have said over and over again, it is not by protocols and treaties that we shall secure the enjoyment of our rights, but by the only authority which is now universally recognised, effective occupation. So far we have done little more than turn the vessel's head to the current; we have yet to make headway against it, and recover by strenuous exertion the ground we have lost.

There is a pathetic side to this voluminous blue-book. When we consider the labour of statesmen and diplomatists embodied in these 360 pages, the strain of relations with other Powers, the jarring, friction, and commotion all round, and reflect that all this is but a laborious effort to recover some portion of the ground which was lost through inadvertence, -we may applaud the effort, but cannot help holding it up as a warning against easy optimism and a policy of drift in the future. The blue-book is a public confession of failure containing the germ of amendment.

THE goldfields of the Klondike are now well known, yet it is little more than a year since the first news of these Arctic discoveries was being circulated through the press. In this country we are slow to give credence to extraordinary rumours, and rightly is it so; but in America the most improbable tales gain an gain an easy hearing, and the newspapers were dedicated almost entirely to the booming of the northern goldfields, which were then believed to be in American territory. The New York World' and other papers of standing devoted whole pages to the subject, while on the west coast the newspapers of Seattle, the outfitting port for Alaskan miners, advised

VOL. CLXV.—NO. MIII.

all and sundry, old and young, to proceed to the frozen Eldorado without delay. I had gone to Montana for the purpose of experimenting with the refractory ores of that district, but, like many others, was seized by an irresistible impulse to prospect the much-talked-of country, and soon found myself, with two companions, sailing for Dyea on one of the coasting steamers that had been hastily requisitioned for the Klondike traffic. My companions were both Scotch: the one, familiarly called Mac, was a middle-aged man of much travelling experience, great muscular strength, and dogged determination; the other, named Stewart, was a very different type of person, not over thirty, tall, lithe, and

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strong as a horse. I could hardly have chosen two men more eminently suitable for the country. Their strength and courage stood the party in good stead on many occasions during our hazardous campaign. Be

fore leaving Seattle we acquired an addition to our party in the shape of a large black mastiff, with enormous mouth and big intelligent eyes. I purchased him from an old Hudson Bay trapper who had recently come out of the country, and as Dave -that was his name had been accustomed to sleigh-work all his life, I considered that he would be very useful to us, and I was not mistaken.

After being buffeted about by wind and weather for the best part of a fortnight in the steamer Rosalie, a transformed sailing vessel fitted with miniature engines, that succeeded in keeping afloat mainly by the mercy of Providence, we arrived at the Indian village of Dyea, which is at the extreme end of the Lynn Canal, and a thousand miles from civilisation. The water is very shallow in the vicinity of Dyea, and as our boat could not get within four miles of the village, all goods and passengers were transferred into a flat-bottomed scow, which was then towed slowly landwards by a tiny shallow-draught tug. The scow grounded fully half a mile from shore, and we were informed that we should have to wait for six hours before the tide would leave us on even comparatively dry land. This idea did not please in the least, so we donned our long gum-boots

and dropped over the side of our stationary craft, and, after much careful manoeuvring, succeeded in reaching the barren shore of the Indian encampment-the first outpost on the mountain trail.

Dyea, or Ty-a as the Indians pronounce it, was then a very small village, consisting of a few Indian dwellings, some loghuts inhabited by teamsters, and one store. It was well sheltered by fine forests of pinetrees, but since then it has grown to be a small town, and all the timber has been used for logging purposes, with the result that Dyea now stands bleak and bare, exposed to the full fury of the fearful winds that periodically blow up the Chilcoot valley. We arrived at this Klondike outpost towards the beginning of autumn, and immediately started to make investigations regarding the method of getting our outfit over the pass. I was surprised to find that even at that early season the winter had practically commenced, and all the prospective Klondikers had given up the idea of proceeding onward until the following spring. Evidently the danger to be feared was not altogether the crossing of the Chilcoot, but the risk of being frozen in on the main river when, perhaps, midway between Dawson City and the coast. I announced my intention of going forward, nevertheless, and chancing the dangers; but locomotion was no easy matter, as we had a heavy load of provisions to take along with us. We at last got a teamster to take our

goods by waggon to Finnigan's Camp, a point on the Dyea river four miles from the village; and having paid him (dearly enough) for the service, we saw ourselves next day at

our new camping-ground with our stores, well pleased at having got even that short distance on the way, but in blissful ignorance as to how our next stage was to be accomplished.

Finnigan's Point is an excellent camping-ground-in fact, the best on the trail, as the soil is dry, and covered with a thick grass, while clumps of large trees form an effective shelter from the wind. We passed a day here deliberating as to how our next move was to be made; but the following morning we had the good fortune to meet a teamster with seven pack-horses on the way to Dyea from Sheep Camp, and after much consideration he offered to "pack our outfit" to Sheep Camp at 7 cents per lb., and to this arrangement we had to give in.

The summit of the Chilcoot is twenty miles distant from the coast, the rise beginning at Finnigan's Point and continuing gradually for three miles until the mouth of the cañon is reached; but then comes halfa-dozen miles of stiff ascent between that and Sheep Camp. Unfortunately for us the snow had begun to fall, and thus our progress was attended with great danger, especially on the precipitous parts of the route. Each horse's pack consisted of 250 lb., and, considering the nature of the trail, it appeared to be far too much. The trail roughly follows the valley of the Dyea river; but at the mouth of the cañon, which

stretches to a point near Sheep Camp, the real difficulties of the way began. The river could no longer be followed, and the horses had to strike a trail over the face of a precipitous mountain that flanks the valley. At this stage the dangerous nature of the journey was but too evident: one false step meant being dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks a hundred, sometimes even a thousand, feet beneath. Many horses had met their fate here: at one point I counted over fifty carcasses lying on the cruel rocks, where they had fallen some weeks before.

We got safely over, however, although it did appear to me miraculous that we succeeded in doing so without mishap. From time to time one of the horses would slip and recover itself by a supreme effort. We dared not lead them, but had to leave the sagacious animals to pick their own way; and this they did very carefully, sometimes pausing with one foot uplifted, or vainly pawing the slippery rocks to obtain a secure footing. The river flowed so deep between the cavernous rocks that it was for the most part invisible.

As we neared Sheep Camp the timber became more and

more sparsely scattered, and when we arrived at that picturesque mountain shelter, nothing but small scraggy brushwood could be seen: we were clearly at the timber limit.

Fortunately we had taken our tent-poles, and having paid the owner of the horse-team for his, or rather his horses' services, we were not long in rigging up our canvas home; and soon after Stewart, who attended to the culinary arrangements, announced that supper was ready. Sheep Camp is the last camping-ground on the coast side of the summit: beyond it no timber is to be found until the Chilcoot is crossed and many miles traversed on the other side. At the time of which I write the settlement consisted of about two dozen log-houses and one store, its population totalling not more than forty, all of whom were packers who, at exorbitant rates, contracted to carry loads over the summit. At this point the valley has narrowed considerably, and on each side the rugged and barren rocks rise almost perpendicularly. Right overhead hangs a huge glacier that for ever threatens destruction; and, when the storms blow, huge masses of it become detached and are hurled down into the midst of the camp, invariably causing great damage and loss of life. The ever-changing population do not seem to realise their danger until they are startled by the roar of the avalanche, and then it is too late. As I looked at the scene on the evening of our arrival, I had to acknowledge that it was

the most weirdly picturesque I had ever beheld. The enormous glacier glittered splendidly in the setting sun, and its reflected light somewhat relieved the intensity of the gloom beneath, while the great cleft mountains, rising to stately height, gave an impressive grandeur to the spectacle that awed one into a sense of insignificance.

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I lost no time in visiting the "Packers' Rest" to make arrangements for our further progress. This was a huge wooden structure built by the packers themselves as a sort of club in which to pass their spare evenings, and they did not seem at all pleased when, late in the evening, I intruded on their privacy. "It is suicide to attempt the crossing of the pass now," said one weatherbeaten veteran ; no one has dared it since the snowfall." "Better wait here till spring," advised a young man, with a strong nasal accent. "You won't get packers to take your stuff over," decisively spoke another, with an air of wisdom. "I'm your man for 15 cents per lb.," announced a quiet-looking and powerfully-built Canadian in the back of the room. he goes, I'll go too," shouted some one; and me," "and me," cried several from the region of the gambling-tables. In the end I managed to engage seventeen men at 15 cents per lb. The Canadian was evidently the leader, as they all showed their willingness to go after he had spoken. "Boys," I said, "we will start early, so as to allow plenty of time to get over this little mountain of yours before

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"If