the Scott's and Trinity mountains, which, in point of difficulty and rugged wildness, surpass any mountain region it has ever been my lot to travel, from the Columbia to the Missouri River. Toll roads lead over both of these mountains; one connecting Yreka with Rogue River; and the other, Yreka with Shasta. The road over Scott's Mountain is about twenty miles long, and made at a cost not far from $200,000; and the other, eight miles, made at a cost of $16,000. The mind that conceived the road, and the hand that executed it, were not cast in Nature's ordinary mould; genius of a higher order was Nature's gift to them. Those who invested their capital (for they were both built by private enterprise) are now being well repaid; of this, the long line of wagons and pack trains, freighted from Red Bluff to the northern mines, furnish unmistakable evidence.
A ride over Scott's Mountain amply repays one for all the labor required to make it; and can be made by no one who will not appreciate that bold enterprise that is to-day leveling mountains, leveeing valleys, bridging torrents, and, by the sound of pick and drill, even arousing Nature from her lethargy sleep—deep down in the very bowels of the mountains—throughout the length and breadth of California.
Leaving Rogue River, we pass at once from an agricultural to a wild, mountainous region, which constitutes the mining section of northern California, of which Yreka may be considered the center. It is a place of much trade, built mostly of brick, and presents a bustling appearance. It supports two newspapers, three or four hotels; has a large post office, and, at present, is the northern terminus of the State telegraph line. A cemetery, well arranged in its plan, forms the northern entrance to the city; the number of graves it contains shows that here as elsewhere death has done its work. A day's
