"Et ego in Arcadia," she murmured to herself; "well, whatever else our exhibition has done or undone, it has made two hearts happy." When we look for other results, we find them more obscure. Perhaps the best is the Art Association, to whose successful career our own success gave the first impetus, and which

Fish is not particularly abundant in the markets of this city during the stormy winter months, as fishes, like human beings, take shelter in rough weather. While the former seek the cosy fireside, the latter withdraw to the deeper waters, where the temperature is unaffected by the cold or the wind of winter. By so doing they escape not only the inclement weather, but in many cases the nets and hooks of the fishermen also. Yet even in these months at least sixty-four kinds of fishes have been brought, in greater or less numbers, to the markets of San Francisco. Some of these varieties may be said to be only accidentally present. From their small size, their scarcity, or, more frequently, something in their aspect which has caused a prejudice against them, | many species are not habitually used as food by the white population; yet, mixed among other species or brought purposely for sale to the Chinese, they occasionally find their way to market.

The fish supply of San Francisco is not drawn exclusively from the bay, but from a considerable extent of coast-line-ranging from Bodega Bay to Monterey; from the Sacramento River and its tributaries; from Lake Tahoe; from the Farallone Islands; and occasionally even from Humboldt Bay. There was a time when the bay itself was the principal source of supply; but that time, like flush times in the mines, is past. The reckless destruction of the young of fishes which attain any considerable size; the fouling of the waters by the drainage of San Francisco, Oakland, and other places; the stirring of the surface by the paddles of the huge ferry-boats; and the colony of sea-lions outside the Golden Gate, have all contributed to depopulate our land-locked bay. Add to these causes the actual consumption of fish by the human species, and we need not wonder that the fishermen are compelled to resort to deeper waters and more distant fishing-grounds, or that Tomales, Monterey, and even Hum

boldt, are called upon to make good the deficiency.

Previous to the advent of the white man the sea-lions were less numerous, and the other causes of destruction enumerated did not exist at all; for man is a wasteful animal, who, defying the laws of nature, constantly works out his own starvation with earnestness and boldness. As regards the recklessness of the fishermen, I can not put it more forcibly than in the words of a dealer: "If those men could haul out of the bay and out of the Sacramento every fish there, old and young, at one big haul, and then have a good time, they would do it; and any attempt to give the fish a close time they look upon as an interference with their living."

So, as there is no armed force to cause the existing laws to be respected, salmon continue to be taken in the close season, and the young of large fishes are caught in small-meshed nets and thrown away on the beach, or dried and sacked for exportation to China. No wonder that the patient angler, standing all day on Long Bridge or Oakland Wharf, takes only a few sculpins and "shiners," with a few small "silver perch" and perhaps a rock-fish or two. He must be thankful for small mercies-probably in a few years he will have to be satisfied with the sculpins.

Some of the sixty-four species found in the markets during this month are of great importance as articles of food, and, even at the risk of being a little technical, must be mentioned here. Unfortunately the common species, although called by familiar names, are not, except in a very few cases, identical with the Atlantic forms to which those names were originally applied. Some are near relatives-species of the same genus or of an allied one but others are as distant from their Eastern namesakes as, being fishes at all, they possibly can be. Such totally misnamed fishes are the pike, cod or rock-cod, sea-trout, and eels of the

dealers, which have little in common with pike, cod, trout, or eel. The true pike is a highly carnivorous fish, with a plentiful supply of sharp teeth in the jaws, while the pike of our markets is a large fish of the carp family, with no teeth in the mouth. Not altogether tooth- | less, however, is the California pike. Most fishes have teeth in the pharynx, or upper part of the throat, on bones called pharyngeal bones, and in the carp family these pharyngeal teeth are the only ones. The cod and rockcod of the markets are nearer to the gurnards and sculpins than to the real cod-fish. The true cod has no spines upon the back, but has three dorsal fins formed of jointed or soft rays; the head is without spines, and the scales are smooth; while the rock-cod has a spinous fin, usually with thirteen spines, in advance of the soft-rayed dorsal fin; the head is armed with various spines on top and sides, and the scales are set with a comb-like row of little spines along their free edges.

Ten kinds of fish, all called by the common name of cod or rock-cod, have been in the market during February, and three or four others occur occasionally. Two or three of these fishes are much less spinous than the others, and are sometimes called sea-trout, but their relationship to trout is about the same as that between China tea and Hamburg tea.

The so-called eels are never numerous in the market, and are scarcer in spring than in autumn. Nine species, widely differing in appearance and structure, but agreeing in the possession of a gracefully attenuated figure, are known as eels, and if any other elongated fish appears it will doubtless be another eel. The largest of these "eels" grows to a length of eight or ten feet, and has a large head, with heavy, massive bones, and very strong teeth. Those brought to market are usually about five feet long. The strong teeth are necessary to divide the calcareous tests of the "cake urchins," on which this fish feeds. Another "eel" has a crest along the top of its head, is of olive tint, and grows to a length of about two feet. But whether called "eels" or "blennies," which would be better, or whether some new name be invented for them, all the eels are in high repute as food fishes. I can give my personal testimony to the excellence of two species, one of which (Leurynnis paucidens) I propose to call "cod-eel," while the other (Ophidium taylori) may, as it lives in the sand, be called "sand-eel." These fishes, together with several others, have only recently been introduced into the markets, and their presence is to be accounted for by the greater range now fished over.

Out of thirteen kinds of flat-fish which are brought here in the course of the year, nine have occurred in February. These are the young of the Monterey or bastard halibut, the flounder, the turbot, and the bastard turbot, five species which are all sold as "sole." The adult Monterey halibut weighs some fifty or sixty pounds, and is in season in autumn; the "flounder" may be known by the stripes of black upon its fins; the "turbot" by the dark-olive tint of the colored side, and the bright-yellow around the mouth. But the "turbot" is not the turbot of the Atlantic, the Monterey halibut is not the true halibut, which, however, occurs to the northward, and is sometimes brought here in ice from Puget Sound; and the "flounder," though unquestionably a flounder, is not the species to which the name is given on the Atlantic coast, and is no more a flounder than are all the others, for, though eight kinds are called "sole," they are all really flounders.

Professor Jordan has found one of the sole family at San Diego, the first known on the Pacific coast. Three of the flounders called soles were unknown to science until last year, and two of them, which in structure and delicacy are nearest the true soles, were unknown in the markets until about two years ago, when a fishery was started at Point Reyes.

As there is a great difference in flavor between the various species thrown together on the stalls, and sold at the same price under the same name, it would be worth the while of the gastronomical lover of fishes to know them apart. The two which come from Point Reyes may be known by their much elongated form, and by the black dots which stud the uncolored side, and the better of the two has the pectoral or side fin of the colored side of the body excessively long and narrow. These two kinds are not now in the market, and are always scarce; but another species, which the dealers distinguish very well, and consider to be the best of those now to be found, is present at all times of the year in greater or less abundance, and may be known by the smallness of the eyes, and the shape of the dorsal fin, the first few rays of which are longer than those immediately following.

It must be remembered that in the flat-fishes the colored side is not the back, as is the case in other fishes, but one side, usually the right, but sometimes the left. Both the eyes are upon the colored side, but it has been found that the young, when first hatched, have the eyes placed in their usual positions. Very soon after hatching, the hereditary instinct of the tribe comes into play, and the young fishes commence to turn over upon one side, seeking the bottom of the

water. If the eye upon the side that is turned downward remained upon that side, it would of course be useless, but the tissues, even the bones, of the young fish are exceedingly soft and yielding, and the eye of the lower side, obeying the efforts of the animal to employ it in vision, just as the fingers of a young child gradually learn to obey its efforts to employ them, moves slowly toward the top of the head, and finally appears upon the upper side. The two changes, that of the position of the fish, and that of the eye, take place side by side-the eye commencing to move when the fish commences to turn over on its side. In some cases, it has been observed by those who have carefully watched the development of the young, the eye does not pass over the back of the head, but takes a shorter route by passing through it. In consequence of the position occupied by these fishes, the upper side, exposed to light, becomes colored, while the lower is uncolored, or nearly

so.

The two eyes are upon the same side, and the one originally belonging to the other side may be known by its approximation to the dorsal fin, which runs along one margin of the colored side. The bones of the head in these fishes are greatly distorted and unequally developed, the cheek-bones of the blind side are very large, covering the space where, so to speak, the eye should be, while the bones of the colored side are small and crowded. Even the mouth, in many cases, partakes of the distortion; but, as the prey of the creatures lives upon the bottom, and the lower side of the mouth is most used in prehension, it is the lower side, in this instance, that is the more developed.

One of the species brought to our markets (at this season very common) is colored, and bears its eyes upon the left side; the flounder, with striped fins, has the eyes and color sometimes on the right and sometimes on the left side; the Monterey halibut has the same peculiarity a circumstance which led to its descrip

tion under two different names; but all the other kinds are colored on the right side. The kind known as "bastard turbot" has very large eyes; and the dorsal fin, leaving the margin of the fish, is continued along the blind side of the head till it reaches the angle of the jaw.

Perhaps the most singular fishes found on this coast are those commonly called "perch Of course they are not perch; but, as they have acquired the name, we must call them sa

distinguishing them from real perch by prefixing the adjective "viviparous," to indicate the great characteristic of the family, which is that, instead of depositing ova like most other fishes, they bring forth their young alive.

Most fishes bear an immense number of ova which they lay upon the bottom of the river, lake, or sea they inhabit, and then leave "te providence." Other fishes immediately begin to eat the spawn, and the parents not unfre quently assist in the operation. Thus very few, even of the fertilized ova, become fish at all; and of those which do, the greater proportion are gobbled up in their babyhood.

As the young of the viviparous perch, Ebiotocida naturalists call them, are guarded from the dangers which beset the unhatched offspring of other fish, the species can be kept up by the development of a much smaller number of ova, and accordingly, instead of hundreds of thousands, we find only a few dozen These ova hatch within the body of the parent. and when they begin life on their own account are perfectly formed, and able to swim and catch food like other fishes. Eight or nine species of this family have been in the markets during an early spring month, and several other kinds are known. One species is found in freshwater, but all the others are marine. A single species of the tribe occurs in Japan, and is the only one that does not inhabit the western coast of North America.

W. N. LOCKINGTON.

In a cozy nook on the western bank of the Winnemame, or McCloud River, in Shasta County, California, about a mile below the United States Fishery Reservation, and two miles above the mouth of the McCloud where it empties into the Pitt, some two hundred or more Wintün Indians had put up their branch shelters, one August, gathered a few stones for

each family camp-fire, hung up their bows and arrows on the leafy walls, gathered willow twigs for beds, unrolled their blankets-in fact, settled themselves for their annual picnic. It was a holiday season that was to combine pleasure and profit, for they took care to settle near the salmon fishery, that they might dry and pack, for winter, their favorite food; while Grizzly

Bear Cañon, just east of Mount Persephone, and, for that matter, the whole river valley, gave them an abundant supply of bear-meat and venison. They had gathered from miles up and down the river. No lovelier spot could be found than that bend of the McCloud, with Mount Persephone and the Red Rocks rising abruptly some thirty-five hundred feet on the eastern bank, while to the southeast tower Iron Mountain and Katie's Peak. The western bank was less abrupt, but each elevation reached a height where the winter sun said good-night at three in the afternoon, and hardly deigned to look over Persephone until long after nine on any morning. These Wintüns guard their beautiful river so jealously that danger attends each new settler. They are used to the fishery settlement now, as they find that those white men take nothing from them, but, on the contrary, increase the supply of fish, and remain only a short part of each year.

"The Indians have gone over the mountains on a bear hunt" was the latest news that interested a party at the fishery; "and, if they are successful, they will give a Chil-chu-na, or bear-dance. The old chief, Con-choo-loo-loo, invites you to be present."

Eyes in the back of the head are necessary to watch an Indian; one never knows how they come or when they go. But we could all imagine how the dark forms looked, gliding over the mountain in the early dawn, with bows or guns in their hands, and the deer-skin quivers over the shoulders, filled with arrows. Their method of hunting is peculiar. They take a long rope, with which an enclosure is formed in a valley by stretching the rope around an outer circle of trees. From mountain-side and valley the animals are driven toward this enclosure by shouts and noises, and there killed. That the hunters were successful, and the palefaces sure of some original kind of entertainment, might have been gathered from the stragglers that stumbled along that wild mountain stage-road one dark night in August, bound for the Indian encampment, to witness a "beardance." For more than a mile we followed the windings of the river. This is the only spot where the California and Oregon stage-road touches the McCloud. It is one continous scene of wild grandeur, from Pitt River ferry -some two miles below where the McCloud empties into the Pitt-to Sisson's, or Berry Vale, some sixty miles further north. It was so dark and the turns so sudden that our guide with the lantern was out of sight most of the time. A mountain road is not the easiest pathway on a dark night, although better than an Indian trail. There were eight of us, besides

our Indian guide, his ugly, fat squaw, and two children, Sarah, the chief's daughter, "Jeff," her man, and two little pappooses. There was plenty of time to fancy all kinds of romantic and dangerous incidents. Among them came the thought that here we were, twenty-two miles from a white settlement, in a country full of Indians. One of the party suggested that we reverse the position, and fancy for a moment that we were flying from the savages, as so many poor souls have been doing in Oregon. It wasn't an enlivening thought, and we glanced with a shudder at the many great rocks and trees from behind which an arrow might fly, and were glad that the Wintüns were friendly that night.

Here and there, as we advanced, were seen twinkling lights among the trees; now they grow larger and nearer, flickering around us in all directions. Then we see figures; and now, just across the river, one could imagine he saw the mouth of a great cavern, with a fire blazing at the opening. Around the blaze were many figures moving. It was a weird, fantastic picture. A smouldering log lies just at our feet as we turn a corner, near which a family have wrapped their blankets around them for the night. There is no mistaking that smell. It is inseparable from an Indian settlement. A fence runs along the little elevation above us, enclosing the wigwams on the rancheria of Ki-e-cha, one of the chiefs.

On we go; will we never get there? Mr. Harrow's log-house looms up, a square, dark blotch, just over the river. How the dogs bark! Ahead of us shines what we take to be one great bonfire, and in a few minutes we are among our hosts for the evening. The one big fire has resolved itself into innumerable family hearths, with the "bear-log," as it is called-the one around which they dance-blazing at the entrance to the encampment, quite near the road. Con-choo-loo-loo, the chief, and a large number of sleepy-looking braves, were gathered around the big fire, just back of which was an upright frame, one pole being a young pine-tree, with a few twigs left on the top. On this was stretched the bear-skin (and a great cinnamon coat the old fellow lost that day), securely tied on either side with willow withes, and one, through the nose, was attached to the horizontal bar. After a few words with the chief, and some others that we recognized, we wandered among the trees to make observations. The first group around the fire was composed of old Wi-kot-ti, smoking his straight pipe, the bowl extending in the same direction as the mouth-piece, obliging him to elevate his chin at an uncomfortable angle in order to keep the tobacco in the bowl; and such

smelling stuff! He was smoking the dried leaves of the wild tobacco, a plant that grows near at hand in profusion. Near him sat his squaw, and his pretty daughter, the wife of old, ugly, lame, Num-dal-muk. We had occasion to remember this group before the evening was over. "Don't fall, don't speak very loud, don't step on the dogs, and don't tumble over that roll of blankets, for there is an Indian inside of it," we are warned. Their fire has gone out, and the sleepers are as thick as acorns.

Coming safely out of this gloom, we hasten on to familiar faces around a bright fire, and find Ki-e-cha's altar-squaws, pappooses, old men and women, white hairs, rags and dirt, bright shawls and gay red handkerchiefs, great necklaces of beads or shells, and faces painted black, on the chin, cheeks, or eyebrows, as sorrow or a taste for beauty dictated. The chief attraction here was a poor little sick baby, rocked back and forth in its mother's arms, and, as far as that wretched woman knew how, attended with all the love and devotion of a mother's heart. A few days after, the little one died, and was buried in the old Indian burial mound, at the foot of Con-choo-loo-loo's hill. Not caring to penetrate further into the mysteries of Indian houses, we looked around us, and discovered two figures under a tree, watching some fish cooking in a dirty tin can. No one speaks or seems to notice us, unless we ask a question; then one will grunt out an answer as short as possible. So we form all kinds of fancies about the groups squatting around the fires, that look like numberless winking eyes seen through the trees. After a while we turn toward the big log by the stage-road, where we feel a little safer from being near the highway that leads to civilization. There we sit on the ground, and, while waiting for the spirit to move the dancers, we look at some of the dandies of the tribe, who have gathered in a little group near by. Each wears a white shirt, adorned with what looks like a gold stud; a red handkerchief around the neck; coarse gray pantaloons; gray brigand hats, encircled with a band of green ribbon, and a feather stuck in. They wrap their blankets around them à l'Espagnole. Their thick, black hair is cut straight around just below the ears. For mourning, the women shear the head and smear it with tar; at other times they let it hang, plaited in two braids, and tied at the ends with strips of fur. The little basket cap is worn for a tramp. A bright handkerchief, rolled cornerways, and bound around the forehead after the manner of the Grecian fillet, is worn for a dance. After a while, Con-choo-loo-loo raised his voice and gave some orders that seemed to

have a stirring effect, for gradually the Indians came, one at a time, until a crowd surrounded the fire. Then a woman came up to the skin with some sprigs of pine, and began brushing off the fur side, which was away from the fire -all the time hopping from one foot to the other. By a peculiar way of drawing in the under lip she made a blowing noise through her teeth. Two men now took sticks and began beating and rubbing the flesh side, which was exposed to the fire. Four more men seated themselves on a log between the fire and skin, some with a small piece of wood in each hand, others with a larger piece to beat on a block or big stick. This was accompanied by the most monotonous humming. Five women stood near 1 with pine twigs in their hands, waving them over their heads and swaying the body to and fro, meanwhile continually hopping and blowing through the teeth. Sometimes a number of men and women would join the ugly old hag on the fur side of the skin, and help brush it off. Occasionally the chief gave an order; then the tune changed-by close attention we discovered an air to the music-and other men dressed the skin. So they changed about all night, keeping the fire well up, to help in the drying. This process of beating, rubbing, and drying renders the skin so soft that women wear deer-skins as jackets.

All this was getting rather monotonous, when the Oregon stage came tearing along, and drew up that the passengers might have a momentary glimpse of savage customs. A relieved look flashed over many faces as the driver whistled to the leaders, and off they dashed We were thinking of going home and coming down in the early morning to see them take the skin down, put it on one of the old men, and so finish the dance with a semblance of the bear dancing at his own funeral—when we were startled by the Indian, Num-dal-muk, rushing into our midst by the fire, his clothing and face covered with blood. Neither music nor dancing ceased. No one paid the slightest attention to him, beyond a few words and the disappearance of the friends of his victim, to find the extent of the injury. A stabbing affray, we thought; but found afterward that he had only pounded his antagonist on the head with a stone. Rather a serious ending of a joke played on him by some of the younger fellows, who knew how jealous he was of his pretty young squaw.

When the party started homeward the old fellow had vanished. He turned up a few days after, some five miles up the river, where he rendered good service at the time of a dreadful accident. Con-choo-loo-loo promised not