their camp, occasionally handed bread and
meat to his friends who stood around, and
after dinner filled his plate with good things
which he handed round for them. On a
subsequent occasion he went so far as to strip
the table, leaving nothing for the cook and
servant of the honourable Commissioners.
Much to his own surprise he was not again
asked to stop and dine. Francisco being
civilised knew the potency of whiskey. He
had got whiskey from emigrants, and he
desired whiskey from Mr. Bartlett and his
friends, who were determined never to give
intoxicating drink to any Indians. Not
having it as a gift, Mr. Dukey hoped to come
upon it as a treasure trove, and tried every
junk bottle he saw about the tents or waggons.
Once he got lemon syrup, then he got vinegar,
another time he took a pull at a mixture for
diarrhoea. After that he was satisfied, and
tried no more. Dr. Webb, attached to the
Commission, was collecting specimens of the
natural history of the districts visited, and
the Indians were much edified and amused
by the contents of his bottles, and the dried
objects hanging about the tent. It was suggested,
therefore that the boys of the village
should go out to collect any curious insects,
lizards or snakes they could find, and that
they should be rewarded for so doing. Instead
of letting the boys go. the men, for
hope of reward, marched out themselves, and
in a few hours came with a few grasshoppers
and crickets. Although useless, Dr. Webb
received them graciously, encouraging the
captors to make further zoological research.
About an hour afterwards half-a-dozen sturdy
men marched to the camp in single file, every
man swelling with importance. The leader
advanced with a grand air, and the Doctor
got his bottles ready. Space was made on a
table for the prizes, and the Indian then laid
upon it two small and very common lizards
without their tails, those having been broken
off in the catching. For this contribution to
science, the six men required a shirt a-piece.

After a stay of some days with the Maricopas,
camp was broken up, and, after a short
expedition up a tributary river to inspect
some houses of Montezuma, we went in
direction of some of the Pimo villages. By
the way, one evening the camp was visited
by a fishing-party of young men, jolly dogs
of Indians, who danced and sang while they
remained, and were informed when they
left, that a few fish for breakfast would be
most acceptable. They promised to bring
some in the morning; but at midnight they
came back, arousing every body with their
noise; and nothing would suit them but that
everybody must get up, and a bargain be
struck forthwith. The pile of fish brought
by them for a breakfast it would have taken
the whole camp a week to eat.

The appearance of the travellers as they
approached in a long single file startled the
men of the Pimo village, the sentinels in
the outskirts gave the alarm, " Apaches!
Apaches! " and the Pimos, mounted with
their bows and arrows, were soon scampering
at the supposed foe. When they discovered
their mistake they laughed cheerily, and
helped to fix the camp. Camp being fixed,
a friendly message was dispatched to the
chief, Cola Azul (blue-tail), who was working
in the fields. He soon appeared with his
interpreter, and came in state wearing several
shirts, a blue overcoat, felt hat and pantaloons.
The burden of his state was much too heavy
for him, the thermometer then standing at a
hundred and twenty. It was a relief to hear
that he was seen presently afterwards not
far from the camp, sitting under a tree in
none but the clothes Nature gave him, with
his dignity at his side tied up in a bundle.

The religion of these tribes is not very comforting.
They believe that after death their
souls will go to the home of their ancestors,
and live in the great sandhills on the banks
of the Rio Colorado. The souls of their
enemies, the Yumas, will go to the same
place, and the fighting shall continue evermore
between the hostile races. The limbs
of every man's body are to be transformed
into wolves, bats and owls.

CONSCRIPT SONS.

THERE is a critical period in the life of
every Frenchman, of which we in England
know nothing. As soon as he arrives on the
threshold of manhood, he is compelled by the
laws of his country to draw in a great lottery,
that chance may decide whether he shall
pursue the career which his birth, his education,
and his aptitude have marked out, or shall
pass the seven most important years of his
life in red pantaloons, with a knapsack, and a
musket. There is no exception to the rule.
The son of the oldest noble, the wealthiest
banker, the neediest professional man, the
poorest peasant, all are compelled to pass
through the same ordeal. Wealth, it is true,
has its consolations. The impost of blood is
not exacted with republican rigidity. All
incur apparently the same risk; but some
are able to purchase immunity.

It is difficult to express the influence which
the existence of the law of conscription has
upon the forms of French society, and the
habits of French thought. It assists in producing
that state of mind— so remarkable in
many instances, but more or less perceptible
everywhere—which can only be compared to
the fever of the gambler, and which at particular
periods renders the whole nation ready
to stake its fortunes on the hazard of a die. The
French youth is brought up in the knowledge
that at a definite period he is to gamble for his
own destiny to draw it forth, white or black,
from the bottom of an urn or an old hat. Unless
he is quite certain that the price of a man
cannot rise above his means, he never knows
whether, at twenty-one years of age, he will