confidingly, with sentiments of respectful
expectation.

"I rather think—" began Mr. Munder.

"Yes?" said the housekeeper, eagerly.

Before another word could be spoken, the
maid-servant entered the room to lay the
cloth for Mrs. Pentreath's dinner.

"There, there! never mind now, Betsey,"
said the housekeeper, impatiently. "Don't
lay the cloth till I ring for you. Mr. Munder
and I have something very important to talk
about, and we can't be interrupted just yet."

She had hardly said the word, before an
interruption of the most unexpected kind
happened. The door-bell rang. This was a
very unusual occurrence at Porthgenna
Tower. The few persons who had any
occasion to come to the house on domestic
business, always entered by a small side gate,
which was left on the latch in the daytime.

"Who in the world can that be!" exclaimed
Mrs. Pentreath, hastening to the
window, which commanded a side view of
the lower door steps.

The first object that met her eye when she
looked out, was a lady standing on the lowest
step—a lady dressed very neatly in quiet,
dark colours.

"Good Heavens, Mr. Munder!" cried the
housekeeper, hurrying back to the table, and
snatching up Mrs. Frankland's letter, which
she had left on it. "There is a stranger
waiting at the door at this very moment! a
lady! or, at least, a woman—and dressed
neatly, dressed in dark colours! You might
knock me down, Mr. Munder, with a feather!
Stop, Betsey;—stop where you are!"

"I was only going, ma'am, to answer
the door," said Betsey, in amazement.

"Stop where you are," reiterated Mrs.
Pentreath, composing herself by a great
effort. "I happen to have certain reasons,
on this particular occasion, for descending out
of my own place and putting myself into
yours. Stand out of the way, you staring
fool! I am going up-stairs myself to answer
that ring at the door."

ACROSS COUNTRY.

Across country to Utah. Many make the
trip; for, of the Mormon population at the
Great Salt Lake, nine persons in ten have
come out of Great Britain or Ireland. There
is even said to be a Welsh colony in those
parts, dating from before the days of the
prophet Smith—a village of white men living
in houses without doors, and entering at their
first-floor windows by ladders; as if, when
they first settled as a lonely band in the
great wilderness, they feared the savages by
whom they were environed. But the beaten
Mormon track to the Great Salt Lake city is
less perilous than that short cut across the
country which we just now purpose to
describe, following in our description the report
of an American artist, Mr. S. N. Carvalho,
who accompanied as painter and photographer
one of Colonel Fremont's adventurous
exploring journeys.

We consider this traveller to be entitled
to especial praise for his sincerity. He
never magnifies his prowess, or professes
that he has prowess to magnify. He sets out
on a perilous excursion, trusting in his guide;
but he goes forth confessedly as a man used
to dwell in towns and to lead a sedentary life
—a creature with quick home affections (he
has the daguerreotypes of mother, wife, and
children, in his pocket), with a stomach easily
turned by bad meat, a heart not of the kind
to leap with pleasure at the near sound of
the war-whoop, and legs unaccustomed to
bestride a prancing horse. Nevertheless, he
sets out, having full faith in Colonel Fremont's
wisdom, and a strong determination
to do all that must be done, and to distinguish
himself by the zealous discharge of
his duties. It is to be observed that it is
one thing to make hand-pictures or sun-
pictures in a warm room, another thing to use
colours, or to buff, coat, and mercurialise
plates, on the top of the Rocky Mountains,
standing up to one's middle in snow. Heavy
cases of instruments had to be carried out;
and, when the painter came with them to the
stage by which he and they were to be
conveyed to the rendezvous of the whole party
at St. Louis, the proprietor of the stage
refused to have the conveyance loaded with
them. All prayers and remonstrances were
vain; till by chance Colonel Fremont's name
was mentioned. Then, said the lord of the
coach, "Are those cases Fremont's? "Answer:
Yes. Decision: Boy, harness up an extra
team of horses. Stow away the boxes. I
will put them through for Fremont without
a cent. expense. I was with him on one of
his journeys, and a nobler sort of man don't
live about these parts."

The artist having reached St.Louis, Colonel
Fremont started on the same afternoon with
his whole party by steamer to Kansas, landed
baggage, and established for a little time a
camp near Westport, a few miles distant
from the river. Then mules were bought;
messengers were despatched to purchase India-
rubber blankets; arms and ammunition
were distributed—to every man a rifle and a
Colt's revolver. Ten Delaware braves, some
of whom had been with the Colonel before,
were selected as the Indian comrades. These
were to join the white men near the Kansas
river, a hundred miles more to the west.
Horses and mules also were branded, and
to each its duty was allotted: to the painter
was confided for his own use an Indian
pony, recommended as a first-rate hunter of
buffaloes. To this pony he was to be groom
as well as rider; he was to catch him on
the prairie every day, saddle him, ride him
twice to water, and so forth. The new way
of living was begun.