We turned the nose of Sally Ann toward the northwest and sailed slowly before the very light wind. We passed Crane Island lying upon the right—a sort of lying-in hospital and nursery strictly sacred to the use of Cranes only, whose occupancy dates back of the earliest settlement of the country, and whose title has been secured to them by an act of the legislature, against the claims of all featherless bipeds. Further on, upon the mainland, is the hermitage and just in front of it the grave of Halsted, who many years ago, lost his life in the lake so sadly and mysteriously. A short distance beyond the hermitage, I pointed out the place where the survey left the shore of the main lake and cut across to Halsteds bay. We concluded to go on to the strait leading into that bay and sail around to its south shore. To reach the strait involved sailing north a mile and then over half a mile west. As the wind was still favorable this was soon accomplished. But when we reached the strait, we could no longer use the sail, and were obliged to have recourse to the oars. Inside the bay there was but little wind, and that was against us, as our route now lay due south. A little over a mile of rowing brought us to the south shore of the bay. Here the bluff covered with timber and underbrush slopes down to the water’s edge. Along the foot of this slope, I pointed out to Ocheltree the position of the narrow gauge survey. “It is a wonderfully romantic place for a pleasure road,” said he. It was now considerably past noon, and our exercise had begun to tell on us both somewhat and to suggest a rest and something to eat. Accordingly we pulled the boat up on the beach, and got out some cooking utensils and provisions. I started off to collect some dry sticks to make a fire and Allan took a pail and proceeded along the shore to find a deep place or a boulder from which he could dip up clear water for our coffee. We happened to go together for a few rods, when glancing up the slope a short distance, I discovered a stake sticking in the ground. I gave an exclamation of surprise and quickly ran to secure it. It proved to be what I suspected, one of the stakes of the narrow gauge survey. “What have you found, old fellow?” Allan asked. I told him, and it seemed surprising to both of us that that frail bit of a pine stick should have survived the storms and accidents of thirteen years. We had used for stakes on those surveys common plastering lath; one lath four feet long being cut in the middle made two stakes. This was such a stake, an inch and a half wide and three-eighths of an inch thick. It owed its exceptional preservation to the fact that it was full of pitch and to its protected position. It had been driven in a slanting position, partly under the body of a large fallen tree, that lay over the point where the stake should have been set. The number of the stake had been written with red chalk, on the side that had happened to come underneath and so