of rivers found along the line of the Pacific Railroad are smooth and transparent. They are called the ‘Cheyenne brown agate,’ ‘ Granger-water agate,’ ‘Church Buttes light-blue agate,’ and the ‘ Sweet- water agate.’ ‘ There are great quantities of them near ‘Church Butte and Grarger stations,’ nearly 900 miles west of Missouri River. You have to poke among cobble- stones, &c., to find them, and when a person comes upon a handsome specimen he will shout, as did a minister from Chicago, one day, with me, when he picked up a nice one as large as an egye,—‘Glory! hallelujah !? It is like searching for gold and silver,—very excit- ing, and far more pleasurable than fishing or hunting. A friend here has about sixty pounds of agates, for which he was offered by a lapidary in New York five dollars a pound. A handsome stone for a ring or pin is worth, when cut into shape, from three to five dollars. The lapidary cuts them with a steel wheel, about eight inches in diameter, using oil and diamond- dust in cutting and polishing. A YOUNG ‘BRAVE. At Chug Station I meta frontiersman named Phil- lips, of long experience, who told me in his new adobe house of an old chief who had lost five sons, and when the first was slain he cut off a piece of his thumb, next of his forefinger, and so on, till five told of his boys killed. The last was a brave, and sup- posed no ball could hit him, wearing, he supposed, ‘a charmed life” He came to the Chug and dared them to shoot. As he and three or four more had killed a white man and wounded others, the people all turned out, and Phillips shot the bold young fel- low, and wounded the rest of the party so that they died. The body of the young Indian lay by the road- side for several weeks, till the wolves and ravens had picked his bones, and I picked up his skull, pierced through with several balls, to bring back and present to the post-surgeon. This grinning skull was lying on the grass which covered the roadside, and almost beneath towering monuments or bluffs of sandstone, which jut out at several points on the road, running al: ng for great distances, and towering up several hundred feet high. We passed soon after several of these projections, whick: look like fortifications and baronial castles of some knights of the olden time. ‘ Chimney Rock’ is well known to travellers as a series of tuted columns, and standing solitary, as sentinels in the desert, they look solemn, lonely, and sublime. Old George, the stage-driver, has passed them twice a-week for many years, and the wonder is he has not. lost his scalp. Sometimes the chiefs and old Indians will cut slits in their cheeks and rub ashes in them, sitting over the fire and bemoaning the loss of their déad children. They present a horrid appearance to one who looks at they pagan mode of bewailing the departed. Arrived at Fort, Laramie on the third day, we were courteously welcomed by Colonel F. F. Flint, of the 4th Infantry, commandant of the post. Delicacy dictates that we forbear to speak of the charming family which surrounds him; but the rarity of Chris- tian households in the army made our visit there like to an Oasis in the desert. To visit the Indian graves surrounding the post was a prominent object before us in going. Lieutenant Theodore F. True, with an orderly, two mules, and a horse saddled, found us fording the Laramie River to inspect the grave—if such it can be called—where the body was dried up like a mummy, and nothing else but fragments of a buffalo-robe dangling in the wind was to be seen. Relic-hunters had carried away every- thing in the shape of bow aud arrow, wampum, &c. We moralised over this beautiful feature of Indian superstition, wherein they are certainly free from the horrid thought that any one is ever buried alive! Next we sought the place where the remains of Mon-i-ca, daughter of Zin-ta-gah-lat-skah, was placed, by her request, in the white man’s cemetery, and alongside of the body of her uncle Sho-ta,—‘ Old Smoke,’—an old warrior. ‘The coffin was made at the post, and elevated on posts about ten feet high. They cover these coffins with handsome red broadcloth, and deposit in each all the trinkets and valuables belong- ing to the departed. One other grave there the Indians visit annualiy, and mourn over with their lamentations,—that of a Frenchman named Sublette, who brought them down and directed them how to vanquish their enemies, the Pawnees, in a great battle. CHEERFULNESS. ce honest heart, whose thoughts are clear From fraud, disguise, and guile, > Needs neither Fortune’s frowning fear Nor court her fickle smile. The greatness that would make us grave Is but an empty thing: What more than mirth would mortals have 2— The cheerful man’s a king! BICKERSTAFF. BOLDNESS OF A VIXEN FOX. "ESTERDAY I was going my rounds, having a small broken-haired ter- rier dog with me, very harmless, but good for rabbits. Passing through a covert culled Harbour Field, my little dog started from my heels in pursuit of a rabbit that jumped up in the ride that runs through the wood. In a minute or so the little dog shrieked out, and I stopped to see what was the matter. ‘The dog came running towards me, followed by a fox, which chased it to my heels, when I suddenly holloaed out, and in an instant the fox glided into the bushes, and kept running back- wards and forwards within a few yards of me while i stopped. I passed on through the wood to the far end, and, to my astonishment, the fox was following my dog a second time, close at my heels. When I had a full view of her I saw that she was suckling cubs; and no doubt it was her mother-instinct, fearing harm to her offspring, that made her so bold.— W. P. (Gamekeeper, the Ash, near Derby.)