The scenery was very beautiful. The pine trees were not too numerous to interrupt the view, and the ridge was occasionally so narrow that, on either hand, looking over the tops of the trees down below, there was a vast panorama of pine-clad mountains, on one side gradually diminishing, till, at a distance of forty or fifty miles, they merged imperceptibly into the plains, which, with the hazy heated atmosphere upon them, looked like a calm ocean; while, on the other side, one mountain ridge appeared above another, more barren as they became more lofty, till at last they faded away into a few hardly discernible snowy peaks. It was a pleasing change when sometimes a break occurred in the ridge, and the trail dipped into a dark shady hollow, and, winding its way through the dense mass of underwood, crossed a little stream of water, and, leading up the opposite bank, gained once more the open ground on the summit. I traveled about fifteen miles without meeting any one, and arrived at Slate Range House, a solitary cabin, so called from being situated at the spot where one begins to descend to Slate Range, a place where the banks of the river are composed of huge masses of slate. I dined here, and shortly afterwards overtook a little Englishman, whose English accent sounded very refreshing. He had been in the country since before the existence of gold was discovered; but from his own account he did not seem to have profited much in his gold-hunting exploits from having had such a good start. I stopped all night at Oak Valley, a small camp, consisting of three cabins and a hotel, and in the morning I resumed my journey in company with two miners, who had a pack-horse loaded with their mining tools, their pots and pans, their blankets, and all the rest of it. The horse, however, did not seem to approve of the arrangement, for, after having gone about a couple of miles, he wheeled round, and set off back again through the woods as hard as he could split, the pots and pans banging against his ribs, and making a fearful clatter. My companions started in chase of their goods and chattels; but thinking the pair of them quite a match for the old horse, and not caring how the race turned out, I left them to settle it among themselves, and went on my way. I met several trains of pack-mules, the jingling of the bell on the bell-horse, and the shouts of the Mexican muleteers, generally announcing their approach before they came in sight. They were returning to Marysville; and as they have no cargo to bring down from the mines, the mules were jogging along very cheerily; when loaded, they relieve their feelings by grunting and groaning at every step. The next place I came to was a ranch called the “Nigger Tent.” It was originally a small tent, kept by an enterprising nigger for the accommodation of travelers; but as his fortunes prospered, he had built a very comfortable cabin, which, however, retained the name of the old establishment.