did not find it improved by some minutes’ immersion in the frying-pan of hot lard from which our rations of pork had just been turned out; but others of more experience liked it much.  The pork of the Plains is generally poor, composed of the lightly-salted and half-smoked sides of shotes who had evidently little personal knowledge of corn.  The coffee I did not drink; but, in the absence of milk, and often of sugar also, and in view of its manufacture by the rudest and rawest of masculine cooks, I judge that the temptation to excessive indulgence in this beverage was not irresistible.  Most of the water of the Plains, unlike that of the Great Basin, is pretty good; but as you near the Rocky Mountains, ‘alkali’ becomes a terror to man and beast.

The present Buffalo range will, doubtless, in time, be covered with civilized herdsmen and their stock; but beyond that to the fairly watered and timbered vicinity of the Rocky Mountains, settlers will be few and far between for many generations.  What the Plains universally need is a plant that defies intense protracted drouth, and will propagate itself rapidly and widely by the aid of winds and streams alone.  I do not know that the Canada thistle could be made to serve a good purpose here, but I suspect it might.  Let the plains be well covered by some such deep-rooting, drouth-defying plant, and the most of their soil would be gradually arrested, the quality of that which remains, meliorated, and other plants encouraged and enabled to attain maturity under its protection.  Shrubs would follow, then trees; until the region would become once more, as I doubt not it already has been, hospitable and inviting to man.  At present, I can only commend it as very healthful, with a cooling, non-putrefying atmosphere; and, while I advise no man to take lodgings under the open sky, still, I say that if one must sleep with the blue arch for his counterpane and the stars for its embellishments, I know no other region where an out-door roll in a Mackinaw blanket for a night’s rest is less perilous or more comfortable.

* * * * *

SEVEN DEVILS: 

A REMEMBRANCE OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Once upon a time—­see the Arabian Nights Entertainments—­as the Caliph Haroun Alraschid—­blessed be his memory!—­walked, disguised, as was his wont, through the streets of Bagdad, he observed a young man lashing furiously a beautiful, snow-white mare to the very verge of cruelty.  Coming every day to the same place, and finding the spectacle repeated, the curiosity of the humane Caliph, was excited to learn the cause of such treatment.  Mr. Rarey had not yet been born; but the Arab knows, and always has known, how to subdue and to control his steed with equal skill, without resort to severity.  The explanation of this afterwards appears in that wonderful book.