The final change to the perfect or winged state is most curious, and well worth careful attention. The pupa-case splits from end to end; and, looking moist and miserable, with crumpled wings, the little fly floats on its previous home, an exquisite canoe of Nature’s own contriving. A breeze of wind sufficient to ripple the water is fatal to it now, as shipwreck is inevitable; but if all is calm and conducive to safety, the little fly dries, the wings expand, it inhales the air, and along with it strength and power to fly; then bidding goodbye to the frail barque, wings its way to the land, and begins a war of persecution. Mosquitos never venture far over the water after once quitting their skin-canoe: this fact the wily savage has taken advantage of. During ‘the reign of terror’ the Indians never come on shore if they can help it; and if they do, they take good care to flog every intruder out of the canoes before reaching the stage. These stages, each with a family of Indians living on them, have a most picturesque appearance. The little fleet of canoes are moored to the poles, and the platform reached by a ladder made of twisted cedar-bark. Often have I slept on these stages among the savages, to avoid being devoured. But I am not quite sure if one gains very much by the change: in the first place, if you are restless, and roll about in your sleep, you stand a very good chance of finding yourself soused in the lake. The perfumes—varied but abundant—that regale your nose are not such as are wafted from ‘tropic isles’ or ‘Araby the blest.’ I shall not shock my fair readers with any comparison—you must imagine it is not agreeable. Dogs also live on these platforms; for the Indian dog is always with his master, sharing bed as well as board. These canine favourites are not exempt from persecutors; like the giant of old, they at once ‘smell the blood of an Englishman,’ and will have some; but, after all, the night steals away, you know not how, until the dawn, blushing over the eastern hilltops, rouses all the dreaming world—except mosquitos, that never sleep. On the eastern side of the Cascades the scenery and general physical condition of the country materially changes, and the _Tabanus_ and burning-fly become the ruling persecutors. _Lagomys minimus_ (Lord, sp. nov.)—The Commissioner, myself, a few men, and a small train of pack-mules, set out to visit some of the stations on the Boundary-line, east of the Cascades. Our route lay along the valley of the Shimilkameen river, to strike Ashtnolow, a tributary that led up into the mountains, the course of which we were to follow as far as practicable. We had a delightful trip, through a district indescribably lovely. There is a wild and massive grandeur about the eastern side of the Cascades, unlike the scenery of the west or coast slope, which is densely wooded. Here it was like riding through a succession of parks, covered with grass and flowers of varied species.