Descending once more, we come upon
more furnaces ; more dangerous, one would
imagine, than fifty Fawkeses. The place
is like the Black Country about
Wolverhampton, full of sudden roaring flames
and black stokers. One such furnace is
celebrated, we are told, as the place where
dinner for nothing may be obtained. On
nearing it we speedily find the reason why.
This furnace serves to ventilate the kitchen,
and draws the air from that important
region loaded with a strong smell of
cooking ; strong enough, almost, to be cut
with a knife, and tinned off like Australian
mutton, for exportation.

Up-stairs, down-stairs, everywhere but
in my lady's chamber, we find all sorts of
odd nooks and corners where the searchers
should look if they look at all. There is
plenty of evidence of the perfunctory nature
of the ceremony just concluded. The vaults
and roofs are practically in the occupation
of the ventilating department, and are
traversed at all hours of the night and day
by busy workmen. So long as Æolus and
his satellites remain true to their country,
there is little need of any formal looking for
Guy Fawkes, and it is difficult to see why
the absurdity is kept up. But perhaps
there are fees payable to somebody on the
occasion? That would go a long way to
account for the search. There is
wonderful vitality in all official ceremonies that
are nourished upon fees.

       THE AVENGERS.

I WAS riding one splendid autumn day
across the region which lies between the
Rocky Mountains and the Cascades,
returning from the treaty ground where one
of the interminable covenants of "eternal
peace and amity" had been concluded
between the whites and the Indians; only to
be broken when a favourable opportunity
presented itself. I was not then in any
official capacity; I was only the guest of
the United States' Indian Commissioners.
We were approaching the foot hills of the
Cascades, and riding through the beautiful
green valleys strewn with brilliant flowers
only known in our gardens, and with graceful
pines and fragrant junipers. With our
spirits elated by the prospect of once more
tasting the delights of civilisation, we were
inclined to look with a couleur de rose
aspect on all things. Troops of gaily decked
Indians galloped and curvetted through
the prairies; racing and chasing, laughing
and shouting, as we spurred along. There
seemed no care on their minds. Here
they joined, and there, as a little glen
opened in among the mountains, they left
us for their home by the banks of some
beautiful stream, the gurgle of whose
waterfalls we could hear echoing away
among the hills. Gradually they all left
us, and we were alone. We were now entering
the country of the friendly Indians,
and before long would be within the
advanced outposts of frontier civilisation : so
we dismissed the troop of soldiers which
had hitherto escorted us, and camped all
alone that night. We rather missed the
gay troop of motley soldiers and Indian
warriors who had been our daily
companions for weeks together, and naturally
fell a-talking about the rude and easy
independence of the Indian of this region.
He is troubled with no house rent, nor is
the honour of an assessment roll before
him. His home is in the sage-brush, and
when he mounts his horse at dawn of day
he has all his possessions under his eye,
and at night rolls himself up in his
blanket with no fears of an hotel bill or
livery stable charges in the morning. He
lights his fire with two flints (ignorant of
that mystical but indispensable internal
revenue stamp which troubles his paler-faced
brethren in these countries). His supper is
a piece of juicy antelope steak, or perhaps
he has killed a grouse, or caught some
trout ; or, if not— who cares !— he swallows
a handful of grasshoppers, and in the
summer his larder is all around him. The
whites are his drovers and his merchants,
and he is a thorough believer in might being
right, and in the good old plan
           That he shall take who has the power,
            And they shall keep who can.

An Indian came down to the river side
where I was drinking, and asked me to
pour a little water into his cup of parched
pond-lily seed. He stirred it up with his
finger, remarking as he washed it down,
"Hyas kloosh muk-a-muk" — very good
food! Quarrels they have among
themselves, and bitter quarrels too, over the
divisions of their plunder, and the certain
misdemeanours of their spouses; but
they are not alone in this. " Chivalrous"
they are, forsooth, as chivalry goes now-a-days
—dirty, ragged, and not over honourable
like certain brothers over the Rocky
Mountains; and, moreover (venial offence
as it may be in these latter days), they are
rather given unto loot.

Politics they have, and though in the good