Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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*&HB SUMTER WATCHMAN, Kt-tablished Afcril, 1850. Consolidated Aug. 2, 1881.1 "Be Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thou Airzs't at, be thy Country's, thy G?d's ?sd Truth's THE SO?THROX, Established June, 1863 SUMTER, S. C., tfrEPffSSDAY. MAY 22, 1889. Sew Series-Vol. VIII. So. 4?. *?|e S?laicjjmaii w? ?mi^en -Publisiiod every Wednesday, BY *N. e. OSTEEN, SUMTER, S.-C. TERMS : ^Two DoUatrs- pi?r sGrjuon-in advance. ??ADTKKTISS1?UT8. ?ee'-S'qn&re, first insertion.u.$1 00 ".?Every subsequent insertion.*.. 50 Contracts for three mon His, or longer will ?.be mide arreheced rates. *?llco'm'mnnicatioas which subserve private "iatftceets will becharged for as advertisements. Obituaries and tributes of respect will be charged for. POWDER Absolutely Pure. This Jpowder never varies. A marvel of ?purity, strength and wholesomeness. More ' economical than the ordinary kinds, and can? not be soJd in competition with the multitude ..of low test,?rhort weightv alum or phosphate powdeis. Sold only in cans. ROYAL BAK? ING POWDSfc CO., 106 Wa?Sst., N". Y. CHIPMANS TOXIC FOR THE BLOOD. 'She Best Tonic :>and Vitalizer, -will increase your appe? tite, purify your .?Iood, and cure DYSPEPSIA. ' * Sold by all druggists. March 27-3m CATARRH Ely's Cream Balm Cleanses the Kasai Passages. Al? lays Irr?ammation. Heals the Sores. Bestores the Senses of Taste, Smell and Hearing. A particle i? applied into each nostril and Ss agreeable. Price 50c. at DrusKiftts or by . ?XYBROTT??niS,56 "?Vcirrc:: St^New York. Lr S i ll T> **nre cost Ivones th<? mettiez-?'? 'vist be inors titan :? pnrs;::i^o. ?? i>e JUT i!Kuic::{, it must c*^>:t3<t.ta Tonic, Alterative and Cathartic Properties Tnlt's PUN .????.??es* then?-- qwulitivs in ?*u emiuexil Ucuree, and Speedily Hsstore fo the beTveln their nat ur. I peristaltic . motion, so essential to recalar? ty Sold Sverywfcere. If any dealer says bo has the W. L. Dou glas ?boes without name and price ?tumpeu on the bottom, ?>ut him down as a fraud. W= L. DOUGLAS $3 SHOE FOR GENTLEMEN. Best rn the world. Examine hi? S5.0O GENUINE HAND-SEWED SHOE. .4.00 HAND-SEWED WELT SHOE. . S3.50 POLICE AND FARMERS' SHOE. ?2.SO EXTRA VALVE CALF SHOE. ?2.25 WORKINGMAN'S SHOE. S2.0O and ?1.75 BOYS' SCHOOL SHOES AU made in Congress, Button and Lace. W. L. DOUGLAS S3 SHOE LAEHES. Beat Material. Beat Strle. Beat Pittiu?. i If not sold by your dealer, write W. L. DOUGLAS, LOCKTON. M ASF Examine W. L. Douglas ?2.00 Shoes for gentlemen and ladle*. FOR SALE BY J. Byttenberg & Sons, Agents, i Jan. 16 SUMTER, S. C. ! fis rafJ5??Tfr? . W.AVER & SON. our sutiorize'i Men* THE BANK OF CALIFORNIA BY PRENTICE MULFORD. TCOPTKICHTED BT THE ACTKOR. ALL RIOHT8 RE? SERVED. I Y name is John Holder I was born and bred in East port, a seaport town once of great repute in the whale fish? ery. My I father, when I was eighteen, failed first in business, next in health, and finally died. My mother then ''kept boarders*' .. to support the family, and I kept her in a rack of anxiety until I was twenty-one, since she saw me growing up without trade or profession, and idling j away my tune with no apparent anxiety to be anything but a l>oy. In some respects this was true. I did wish that boyhood and youth could remain for? ever, since all the manhood, or rather ma? turity, about- me seemed a .humdrum affair, full of care and vexation, and the older people j grew the less ''fun" they had in the world, j I wished, and even for a time thought, that ! things would always 1 emain 'as they were, | ? that the "old men* of my youth would al- j F ways remain about so old and no older, and j I when I heard that William "Loper, the first j j playmate of my infancy, was engaged to be I married to Fannie Lugar, it seemed to me a j piece of audacity as well as a serious innova j tion on the established order of things. I Gradually it dawned upon me that I must ' -cut loose from tops, marbles, kites and quail ! traps, march out into the world and do some ! thing for a living. I did so grudgingly. In j deed. I held on to my boyish ways and sports ' years after my companions had laid them ? ; aside forever, donned frock coat-?, high stand? ing collars, gaudy neckties, tight boots, and deemed themselves proper little men-as they were. I commenced "doing for myself1 with a series of resolves to be something great, if not good. I was one week a general, the next an actor, the tliird an orator, fina?y a sea captain. I awoke from these dreams to find myself still in status quo, eating the bread of idleness?, parent and sundry rela? tives meantime broadly hinting that it was high time I should do something. I applied to certain solid men of the village : as to The choice of a profession. I thought it ? might raise me in their estimation so to con? sult them. They might 'S^e that I was in earnest to set seriously to work about life's business. I knew that my reputation already was none of the best, because I was one of a set. perhaps the leader, whose pranks at night had gained with the staid villagers an un? favorable notoriety. -We rang door bells, changed store signs, impounded stray horses in impromptu stables, built in the middle of '< the street at night-of empty dry good* boxes, raisea false ala nus of fire, and did- many other things (in cases amounting to outrages on property) which boys at a certain period confider it remarkably clever to do, and " whicii may bc the only means of venting their surplus energy. In so applying to the influential men of the ' Tillage' I- had also a fond hope the}' might i help me to a situation. My father had been ' their peer in business. I was not a stranger. My family and theirs had long dwelt in the same town. The hop?; was natural. But there was no proffer of the help I craved. They talked well and wisely, gave me much good advice in a general way, and seemed to think rhat any occupation or" railing I might adopt would be well ffor-ane if 1 ".stuck it." ' I had then sud: a profound respect for the judgment <>f the.se men that I deemed th?;y had. in telling me nothing, told me **o-ue thing valuable, and that L Imd done a godd t Juing in consulting them. But. practically, I found myself exactly where I was before j my interviews, to wit : nowhere. In the midst of my tribulations a* to the choice of a profession, the California gold ! fever of broke out. The problem was j solved. I would go to California and . be como a gold digger. There was something ! fascinating in the idea of dicing for gold, j J much more <?o than digging potatoes, i though the difference between the two is not i worth mentioning. i The fever seized most of the village youth ; of my own age. A ship was fitted out, a ! former whaling vessel, it was not so much of an undertaking for our people to make ! the long, dreary voyage around Cape Horn I to California Two-thirds of the crew aud passengers of the Ann Mary Aim had made ' the trip before. Seventy, all told, were to sail in that ship. ! Matured men. young men and boys, takei. t all together, constituting cte flower of the i village. ' The Sunday >>efore sailing the panter of \ the Presbyterian church preached us a fare? well sermon. The church was crowded. The seventy about to sail felt themse'ves the at- | tractions of the hour, as they were. The younger men and boys came in a body : and occupied pews by themselves. We went : full of excitement and anticipation We : were the nove?ties of the hour. We could I give but a moment's flitting thought to the -sadness of he grieving mothers we were to leave behind. We neither realized nor ap preciat^l their many little daily cares foros We bustled aixnit with ail the importance of fledglings, proud of our pin feathers, and re- . garding them quite as ?rood ros matured plum- : age. It wa* an impressive occasion-not so much to me then, but as I set' it now-sadly, ! solemnly impressive, since it was for so many j the final departure, not merely from homes, 1 relatives, friends and associations, but also j in so man}" eases from our interest in them ! and their interest in us-a hard saving, but true. Gone a week, and memory is fresh j with tho?; who leave and those who are left; ~e month, and the raw, bleeding wounds--of separation and Wring asunder barely com? mence to heal: six mcnths^ and new events, situations associations, circumstances cora menee the process of deadening grief; a year, ' and we wonder where is the heart hunger of a twelvemonth past; two years, and our Lri^nd is a memory; -five years, a dream, with possibly half a dozen new personalities standing betweec us and her or him. Boys sat in those pews who were to return gray headed, battered and worn from a rough encounter with the world of the farthest west- who at their next, attendance in that church would look in vain for the deacons or prominent church members now standing erect during prayer time, after the fashion which still lingered in the rural Presbyterian churches <>f that <fav Other boys of that gathering, and of these the majority, were never i'? return. Their let? ters home, at first voluminous, wen: to les ? .sen in size, while the lapses of time between eaeh would increase. Marching for time ever receding further in the distance, they were to wander and become entirely lost to hime and friends in the remoter regions of the weit. Then unknown, unnamed, un thought of. discouraged, reckless, weary, their pride and spirit, broken, they wero to fill nameless graves on lone b?hs'des thou? sands of miles away, or else hurriedly buried in th?> crowded city, their bones would bo as hurriedly turned t:paf??w years after as the population extended its limits and dug and plowed its way tlirough waste land and cemetery. I. in company with several of my associ? ates, were grouped that evening alKmf the Seftons' front door. There were three of the Sefton sisters- Blanche, the eldest; Mary aud Phoebe. The Seftons' was a favorite resort for our '"set" of young folk. The parent?: were plain, '"easy-going" people, and allowed us more privileges at their house than we could fifid elsewhere. The sisters were always **at home" for company, and the old j>eopJe allowed them pretty much their own way. Other parents were not so accommodating. ; Socially their houses were colder, and if we called "Ma" generally came and sat in the parlor while we were present, and "Ma,*' in j the estimation of at least-ore perron, if rjot I two. at Mich tmies was very much out of place. The Sefton girls' parlor in winter and ^h?ir front door .'stoop'*'in summer were fa? vorite resorts'for all the girls of our "sets'" who, if they could not see their youthful ad? mirers at home, were pretty sure of doing so at thc Seftons1 There was a bit of frout yaixl, shaded by tall sycamores, and fronting the door was a big unhewn stone, serving as its single step and worn smooth by the tread of generations o' Seftons. The little hallway and that stone often feeld large audiences on summer evenings-protracted meetings even unto the going down of the full or bed moon at eleven, twelve, aye, one o clock in the morning, of nntil Mother Sefton's night capped head was seen end her good-humored voice from an upper window hean!, saying; "You young folks: it's time for you all to be home and abed." Said Harv Sefton to me: "Now don't you he away iive years, like Jerry Black." Jerry Black had sought fortune in China, and at the expiration of a five years* sojourn had returned without it. Our people were always drifting to the ends of the earth seek? ing wealth. A sea port is an open door to foreign lands, and so influences the young to venture out earlier and oftener than from places more inland. Three years was the longest most of our company expected to remain in California. The current idea then regarding the country ran thus: "Some of us will dig gold: some jff?l go into trade. The profits will go into one common purse. At the end of' a yew or two there will be a dividend. We shall' re? ceive some thousands each. "With this we may return home, marry and settle down." I do not say this was my dream. On the whole. I do not think I had then any plans for the future. I was going away because it seemed to me everybody who cared for me at all cared most that I should go away. This being an opportunity, I embraced it. The current had come to me end sucked me in. I had not goue'to it. The world would bustle nie about with it. I wished it would let me alone. CHAPTER IL BLANCHE. Blanche and I strolled about the door yard. The gate was half ojx-n-it? normal condition -and a proper one as indicative of the easy, happy-go-lucky disposition of the parent Sef? tons. Capt. Tommy, the father, ran a sloop to "New York. His real home was on that craft, atJG it W?^S a -sayi-g among the vil? lagers that he could pilot her through Long Island sound and the East river with his eyes shut. His daughters made frequent trips with him to the cit}'. The "cid man" was most at home when it blew, and blew hard, to the consternation- of Mary - and Phcebe. who would implore him at such times to put in-at some of the sound harbors on the uoith shore of Ix>ng Island. But no wind blew too hard for Blanche, though so far as outward seeming went, her's was an equal placidity in storm or calm. As a boy, I had looked upon Blanche as one of the >4older girls"-girls already -treading the shore of womanhood, and girls soon to con? summate the great aim and end of life-as life was regarded in our village-matri? mony. Pvecently, I kad timidiv ventured Blanche some attentions, and was pleased and sur? prised to find that she had accepted them with apparent pleasure. She had a queenly vay with her. In my own private col? loquies, which I never talked to any one, I called her the .'Empress:" and often, as I saw her walking the street, did I lament that such a face and form should ever In? come wora and wasted with the labors and cares of the every-day commonplace lite about us. ''Blanche is the mum of our family," was Mother Sefton's frequent remark. She seemed to stand in some avre of This daugh? ter. Blanche was not imperious or arrogant: yet something" about her kept every one at the distance she desired to keep them. It was not so much what she said or did. bur something -she. made you feel: and rebel j against it-^much a> von might, von could ! not break through the barriers she chose to put up at any distance she pleased. For this reason Blanche was not a gen- | eral favorite. People said she was "stuck ! up" and "nut on airs." Her real offense lay in lier keeping her'Own counsel She did j not tell ad she knew regularly every day to j half a dozen friends, leaving with each ono | the idea that they were honored with her special confidence. I had admire?! this girl all my life. When ! I say "all my life," I mean the life of a boy ! who worships a queen at o distance-the boy I ? of fifteen, who sees that queen surrounded by ! older courtiers. This I had seen-felt is the j better word-when 1 was navigating mud j puddles barefooted and barelegged. Her j world seemed as one never to be reached by me. Yet within the last year an unpremeditated acquaintance and friendship had grown up j between myself and Blanche Sefton. How it commenced I could hardly tell. I found my? self talking with her on subjects which |l seemed of little interest to my other com- ! panions. I was surprised to find that I could i talk with her at all. I had imagined that the : thought and conversation of these "grown-up : young women" lay on topics I could not com prehend. All women over a certain age j seemed as possessors of some secret not yet ! revealed to me. We walked for some time in silence j through thc main street of the village, its >? sidewalks shaded by the great sycamore's, fe reached the outskirts, crossed the bridge I leading over Pond creek, and reached a j wooded promontory jutthrg into the Cove. ' The moon she?! a glittering, tremulous mark '. far ov^r the beautiful expanse of water, and i the katydids were filling the warm August ; night with their calls, lt was one of the eu- i chanted nights'of our North American sum- j mer. "Well, John," said Blanc he, "you are go- ; ing away with the rest. What are i,ou going ; for;" i "I dont know," I replied, '.and I dou't : care." "Do you rcrlly want to go?" she asked. "I do and 1 don't. There's no hom? for I me here. That's why I leave it." "Fut you will come homo rich and take care of your mother, and marry-" "Marry, marry, marry!" 1 exclaimed im? patiently. "It seems to me that's all people think of in This world." She laughed in her own pleasant way and said. "Why, John, you take a gloomy view of things to-night. You need cheering up. What a pity i'm not going bo California with you." ? "What a pity yotr-aro not."! ventured at i last t<> say. and I said ir very seriously: I had little idea of badinage- or saying daring things in a sportive way. Finally I added, "WouH you go if you could.'" "I would," she. replied derisively. Her manner and bealing seemed suddenly to change. "What! all by yourself in ihe Ann Mary Ann. with seventy men on Imard?" 'Td go all by myself in the Ann Mary Ann with ooo men <>n lioard." "Why. what do yon want to po for:" "To see the world," sh- replied. "Wasn't it made for women as well n> men.'" "I suppose, so," was my rather doubtful reply. "But what would you do in Cali? fornia:" "I'd lind something to do. See hero, John," said she. WIT h an access <>f energy; "here's thousands of men and 1-oys going therefrom all parts of tho country. Don't you think you'll nee?! women? Who's to do your cor ?king and washing ?nd mending? Its.just ihe mistake you ie ail making not taking women along with you. Why. women will be worth their weight tn gold out there. Do youthink you can li vu without them ? If I was able Pd send out two or three <>n -hares myself, just as Jurie;" Gardner is sending that thick-headed Bill Boper, with the idea that Hoper will ever send, a cent back. Now, if J had my way [VI iii out Louisa Bird and Marv Talmadge arid Sophronia Stebbins, bright, lively girls, who have hands to work with and wits in their heads, and I'd go my? self alonp: with them." "Well," said I, after a pause, "I think, Blanche, that you and I ought to change places. You to go, I to stay behind." "John. I certainly think we ought. Any? way, I wish I had your chance. I've got the fever as bad as any of you-much worse than you. I plan it all out in nay mind, Bometimeo, how m disguise myself aa a man '-aboy. rather-aud serv?1 as cabin boy ou some ship bound out there. But tTrsre are other ways of getting there.'' added she. re? flectively. Then, resuming her former tone, she added: "I'd go tu take care of you. too," accompanying the remark with one of her smiles, which left- one in complete doubt as to the sentiment which prompted it. "You thin!:, then, I need some one to take "car?*cf me'"' T asked. "Yes; I do. indeed. You're fit how only for a victim. You trust everybody who smiles on you, believe . everybody who speaks fair, and would give your head awav, if vou could, to any one who asked "for it,7 . '.Well,'' I said, showing possibly in my tone some annoyance, "you're frank enough, anyway. "Why don't you call me a goose and 'be done with it?" "Forgive'ruo. John,'" said the girl, her man? ner suddenly snarling to tenderness. "I know it's not pleasant for you to hear this. I don't want to pain you. But you're going away going out in the world among men, hard, cold, merciless men-yes. and women, too wolves who'll devour you alive." She advanced and laid her hand on my shoulder. The movement seemed almost un? consciously done, nor had I ever before seen her show such feeling. For a moment her re . serve and habitual control vanished. She con? tinued: "John, tha real reason I said this is because : it was forced out of me. It is because you are going away from me, perhaps forever, and 1^-.' Then she did what none had ever before seen grown-up Blanche Sefton do. She turned aside. I knew she was weeping. Here was a pretty go. "Why, the girl loved me! And, of course, I loved her-had j loved her for years, had looked on her1 as j among the impossibles, un'conquerables. ?n- I attainable?. Here was" the"'"Empress," the j majestic iceberg, melted into tears. Here j was the heaven I had never dared aspire come to earth-my earth. Here was thc last drop in the cup of bliss tc make Eastport more desirable than ever to me-and the Ann Marv* Ann to sail to-morrow morning, my traps all on board, my chest stewed with clothes, and tho interstices filled with tracts and devoti mal books, gifts from my numer? ous aunts-I was wealthy in aunts then-all of whom were glad I was going away. Wff'I \W$ viii ? J: ! ?11 7>r> " You are going away from me, perhaps forever" I did not act iu the conventional lover style. There was no kissing nor clasping. I was astonished-more, I had sense enough to respect thc girl's emotion. I felt intuitively that she had herself never dreamed of being betrayed into such an avowal. There seem times, conditions, circmiistances occasionally coming into combination to more human natures in deeper -end lower depths than those who are moved ever dream exist in them. Blanche's hand had dropped f rom my shoul? der. We stood a little apart. I felt I must say something, and so I made that stupid and commonplace remarie: "Why, Blanche!" The tcai*s were being forced back, and 1 could feel the Blanchs of old also coming again aud resuming b'T former self, and sway over sr-if. "John, let's go home.'' said she. She Took my arm. We walked back through the now quiet and deserted street in silence, and passed through the ever half-opened gate. We halted ?>n the old door stone but for a moment Her eyes and mine met, but in a half-averted glance. I took her hand, and, venturing a timid pressure, said : "Good night. Blanche." "Good night, John." I passed out of the gate, and in the thick foliage above rung the incessant affirmation .end conUvujJciion: "Katy di?>?aty didn't;" CHAPTER III. SEPARATION. All Eastport was astir next morning to see ihe Ann Mary Ann off. Eastport's singla long wharf was crowded with relatives and friends of those departing-relatives is the most proper term, for this was a long settled community, dating its first planting but twenty years after the lauding at Plymouth. The names of the first settlers were still the predom nant ones, both in our village and the "towns," as we called the exclusively agricultural villages a few miles back in ths eoectry Eestport was the harbor for th? se. their commercial city on a very small scale. Every old family c mid trace soma decree of consanguinity mo:e or less remote with every other family through marriage, per? haps, in this century or the one preceding. It was no idle throng uj>ou that wharf, at? tracted by mere curiosity. There were fathers and mothers, sisters and brothel's, aunts and uncles, first, second and third cousins, grand? fathers and grandmothers, sweethearts and wives. The sailing of a whaler w-.th a score of townspeople on board ws.s no new thing, but tho mission of those leaving in this case was different, atul the seventy on board rep? resented, as to Iii"?' iifil enterprise, the very elite of the place, mrts excepted, I had shipped before the*mast, "and coming on board about nine in the morning, dressed in m> best, had been immediately pounced upon by'Mr. Pell, our second mate, and or? dered to "take off them duds and turn to in my working toggery.** So I buried my broad? cloth suit in my chest, bade iL adieu, and, making my appearance on deck in white duck trousers and a flaming red dannel shirt, was ordered by Mr. Pell to catch the ship's pig. roaming then at will about decks, and "clap him in his pen." Mr. Pell was a tall, gaunt, tough, hard? ened man, with ono eye. and a hand and arni fanned by exposure, to tropic MU?S to the eolor'of mahogany. Tie seemed all hones working l>mes. and the one impossible thing for Mr. I'rll.to rio. while awake, was to sit still, and th" next impossibility with him was toallow others to sit still, if il was in his power to prevent them. Mr. Pell lielougod to one of our scoond class families. There were first and second class families in and alxmt Hast 1 M ?rt, aud a certain unnamed, untalked distinction al? ways exis1?*d lietween them, and had so 1 hmo j for generations. More than one of iii.-oidor j families could produce well attested evidences of lineage with thc aristocracy of tito it. other- I land, and no change of fort mw or -station j could ever rid them of a wrfr'.in Ijcariiig suv- 1 oringof blood ar.-: pedigree. They might go 1 liefore the mast, servi1 as Ijont st corers, learn j the trade of cooper, the principal mechanical J calling of the place, but the manner ever j clung to them. Now Mr. Pell wm not one of these. Ho ? prided himself on being a rnmmo?i mau- a very common ui.*'n. Anyt^;,,? ?n the ]c;ist degree besvaking '"^nttin' on airs." as Mr. 1 Vii pnpre:-s?>d it. was wry repugnant to him. The Polls had always lived in an unpainted frame house on tho "back street." and in j their sandy back yard "pig weed" stvme?l to j gr? w mort- lu ;nnnntly than elsewhere. Tlie . sh.':-" ?Vilsfished J: i-l dug clams for :i living. . The sea Polls would rise to the position of j second mate, seldom any higher. As boys ? the J'? -ils learned almost in their infancy to ! chow tolwco. At the districe s*?fe<H?*>. ""they : rci-eivd the hardest whippings with iii*?, Ino,: 'JUeom'fTU. '?"his was Sam Pell, second mateof the Ann ! Marv Ann. ari l I was out? of the ancient I houso of Holder<. scami?ering under his ' ciders after an obst?nate jig. and all this in \ full vie--1- ci various members cf th? froud Holder family-find not only tue tioiaers. ' 'but the Talrnadgos, thu Osbornes, the Wester j b?c-s. the Hilders, the Carys, the Wickhams and the Rysams! I caught the brute at last by the hind legs, which he worked to and fro / caught thc hrxde at Inst. ?with foe vigor an 1 regularity of a pistccr-ir? setting up at t?? .?ame time a squealing thar rose far above the rest'ef the clamor ami di? rected every eye upon myself. Mr. Pell. I think, enjoyed this, and to prolong it took no notice of me and sent no one to my assist? ance, though a saort time previous h.? had found time aDd opportunity every few min utos to give additional directions regarding this marine boar chase. In the midst of this ridiculous situation my eye fell on Blanche Sefton, standing by a wharf post, a little apart from the crowd. Her face wore an expression of sadness. There was some laughing and guffawing among the crowd, and occasionally mock directions were cried out to me in nautical phraseology regarding the proper navigation of the unruly animal. On** ancient salt ad? vised nie to "luff,"" another "to put her holm hard down.*' while a third told me to "hau' aft the spanker, wear ship and run' for the caboose." The climax was roached when a jovial mariner raised the whaleman's heart stirring cry. "There she blows!" Th? boys brod in F.astpoit were in a ser-.-s? half'sailors, without haviug'rver been to sea. Thc atmosphere and sentiment of a sea life penetrated every family;and permeated every .life. "None of us wore in the strictest sense ''greenhorns." We came to "know the ropes'* sometimes earlier then we could read. Our principal sport was that' of going aloft on the ships as they lay at the wharf. We knew also of the strictness of the sea dis? cipline, and that from the moment the fore? mast hand went over the vessel's side he was the slave of the officers. I knew this full well. Indeed, I was afraid ci Sam Pell. I had heard stories of his hard? ness and cruelty to sailors. He was one of your "knock down and drag out" matee.'anet he reveled in this reputation. I felt in his present treatment of me a fore? taste of what was in store during the- voyage. He might not beat me. but an officer who is "down on"1 a sailor can make his life uncom? fortable in a hundred ways; and I felt-that Pell was "down on me." Mr. Pell on this occasion had, it seemed to me, heaped the cup of indignity upon me to overflowing. Thee is. from my point of view. From that of a sailor and an officer the case was entirely different. As to mari? time law, custom, usage, all the right lay on his side. It-was his piece' t~.r% order, mino to obey. ' I was iu'a temper-not tho temper*f cool bravery, which, having counted all costs, determines what to do and adheres to such determination. Mine was the temper of'a lunatic. I let go tho pig's legs arid walked toward tlie gang plank. "Go back to your duty!"* roared Pell. All Eastport was looking at mo. In theatrical parlance. I had the whole stage to myself. I said nothing and stepped upon the gang plank. "Go back to your duty.*' aer-ain roared PeU. He ?tejTped between mi? and the gangway nnd laid his hand on my shoulder. I brushed it off contemptuously. He grablnxl my hair and swung me half round. I struck him in the face. Mr. Pell -knocked me down. At that moment Capt Lauring came out of tho Cal ?in. "?What's all this about.'" he demanded, as Lis ev?s foll on the situation then preswtL'ir XML Mr. Pell had been struck a pretty hard blow. It was now to hlj experience to bo struck by a foremast band. He was as much aston isl ied as angered. ' "Tbat whelp there," said ho, "refuses duty and has struck ire.'' "What! Refuse duty and strike an officer before the ship's clear of the dockr" erie I the captain. "Holder, take your chest and traps ashore. You can't go on tkis ship." "Ay?*.'-:.fv?urAt<.." was my reply. "No words back, young man. so long as you're on this deck," replied the captain. "Mr. Pell, seo that this mans things are put on the wh;%-f directly." I walked ashore ?.nd my luggage soon fol? lowed me. So I loft the Ann Mn ry Ann. in full view of my townspeopln. | did not remain upon ' 'thc wharf. I walked and kept on walking. I knew not, cared not. whither. I left tho j village and wont into tho forest, with which Eastport is thickly surrounded. I found myself going past the two beautiful lakes our skating ?K>uds in winter-then over a salt water crock errsssed by a bit of bridge. ""Milo after mile so I traveled on. reckless, angry, ashamed, discouraged, despairing, flitting from mood to mood, from resolution to r?solution. ' Oh. if I could but live in these woo-ls-live on v -ilnuts. bark, loaves, any? thing-sleep under the trees without disoom fort, tb;* t-! wore not fett ore I an! a slave to a house, a table, three meals a day and tho j thousand necessities with which man has burdened himself. That I wore as inde :r.omde-nt of these people about mo as were tho ducks I startled from tho salt water ponds near t he beach. I found myself up">n a high point of land at tho harbor's outrance-full six milos from ! the wharf (in my unnoted wanderings and turning. I must have traveled twelve.) I looked np. The Ann Mary Ann was before me. about half a mile distant in the main j channel, with every sail set that would draw, i and .-ts th" watch "bowsed away" on themain tack ? heard coming over the water the strains ?; of the old s?-a song with which 1 was familiar: j * i ?h. the budy bn&?h a conda*. Don't you hear her sails a hummin".M The Ami Marv Ann was a pretty sight in I her cloud of wittie cvtxivas, and the lib*, ant- j marion ais; j-joy.v.isness apparent on hoard might have rraoeked me. but for a thought j which fo.ddeuly flushed upon me. 1 said j aloud-to the departing vessel: "I'll be there j before you, my lino fellows,'* and I knew I .hould. But how? CHA PT F R IV. SURPKISE. "Well, what are yon fcoing U~ d' m>w.'*' asked my mother with that expression which , 'to ic" said so fer?-il??y: "' >h, this impractical, ; inefficient son rn" mine." "I am {toing t?' New iYcrk. bag arid bag- j ? tZr.ip . to morrow."*' 1 said. "Don't I ie alarmed. ; I shan't hau.^ nbout h?uiv.\ and 1 shan't trouble von foi- ninny n year to come." I intended going to New York with the gen- ; oral pnipose of escaping Eastport, uhiehnow ' was for mc unendurable. Whir, dctUlit*'1", ? ? should do when there. 1 know ?ot-save that , in some way 1 should sot to V?,.i?orma. Of j mon -, my store lVas very slender. I was casi'-..; :;iys( ;;' on tho broad uncertain sea of . chou'-e, I A bov came to the house with c TI ot*? for me. It read: ; "Meet nie to-ui#ftt**n.ft*,!"dart wh re v. e ?hst j talked. BLANCH *? SKKTO.V." ? .-Ml dav 1 kept aloof from the village. At night I ?eut th. her. The girl was lhere now all herself, calm and self-possess? !. . .b.hn." said she, "I nm goiu : to ask of you a favor a g?vai favor. Will you graut it "Anything yon ask." 1 said; impulsively. ! "Anvtlnn^ isa big word. What I a-k of you mny not be *o easy to grant as you imagine. I nt to put something in your; tea*}* W?ct y; <i ?:r< :i'-t I VT know until yo? ; have left rh? ^iife^? for i f' -i that you will j leave, and that very What, you receive from me 1 ?van* you to us* a> I direct. That it al', Cai'i uromise me that:" I 1 wa* cage,- .enough to promis". Th? though! of BI an., fa? Se?tcaa asking of mc c favor-something apparently ot more tuan ordinary importance, the reflection thai she deemed me worthy of a serious trust-com? pensated for all I had recently suffered. She put in my hands ?L s?e led packet: "Re. member." said she. "not to l?e opened until you are in New York, and when opened its directions to be implicitly obeyed." "I promise." was my reply ''That's a good boy." she said. ''Now, let me kiss you " A til she did so. " That's a good boy,"' sJ?e said. Kissing among the young people was in Eastport a regular business. At their par? ties all the plays had kissing as their grand aim and end. Indeed, the play seemed I merely as a pretence for the kissing. I had never looked with mu eh favor upon th*?s3 ! indiscriminate oscillatory melees, and when j forced by circumstances, I had taken part in ? them, it was always with a feeling of indif- ! ference-almost disgust. Still. I su ?posed i that it was the thing to do, since it was a j part of the life around 'ixte. I had noticed i that Blanche Sefton never participated lu | these '"plays.'' Blanche was not a .kisse.b'e 1 girl. I shall not attempt by any of the ?nmeroiis I hackneyed phrases to describe my sensations j. at that, moment. They would go astray of ? my "meaning. The time, the place, the cir-| cumstances. the withdrawal from, the in une- i di?te range of Eastport's petty gossippiug. ! meddlesome sphere, seemed to place me in j another world, whose standard bf life, action, motive and impulse were entirely different ! from this. In that kiss I seemed to feel '? Blanche's purity of soul and depth of affection-a nature luxuriant in every ! department of l>oing. capable of a tem- i pestucus abandonment, yet capable also of ? perfect control at any moment of ecstacv. j . Externally-it w-ss but -t-iv. pressure of a rich . pair of lips, but if there be within us other I" and liner senses than our material outs, these seemed ia that momentary contact to absorb and retain a portion of the intel? lectual and spiritual richness and nobility of tant girl's being. Nor did her ac: make me h dd or presuming. Ou the contrary it seer-ied to bring me a realization of respect almost amounting to reverence for Blanche Sefton, which 1 had never felt before, it seemed to me as an inspiration to become<> moro manly. mere courageous, more ener? getic- 'not the inspiration of a moment, but j one to remain by mo many a year after. Her caress, too. had in ir. something cf mottor hood. something I longed fer, bi t found not at homo, something which every man needs j as a pr-;tectivn^-protectio'n against degrada- j tion. I ..perhaps you think I'm very bold!" said I She. "I think I understand you.'' I replied. "I believe you do. Otherwise, 1 could not i do as I have done. You must feel yourself j very much complimented, too." she added, in i -a lighter tone, "for you are 'he first of. your ."sex I ever kissed in my lifo." Here I wanted much to say something very i polite and gallant. But al! the words coming into my mind for such expression seemed to , savor so much of the mawkish novel that I | felt it a profanation. I said, quite without ', premeditation: "I thank you." On the whole, j I think I said about the best thing ? could. j My tongue was not so tied afterward. } Hand in hand *we walked te and fro on a j level, grassy spa; ''lying along tho edge of I tho bluff overlooking thc Cove's waters. We talked- well, of tiing . b longing to our own world-as if we wore navigating together ! rivers, crocks and inlets, barred to the ma- ? jority. I know now she led the conversation j on these subjects ro divert my attention and j ease my mind or" tho strain to which it had j ? been recently subjected. '?The village clock struck two. "These are ! "unseemly hc-ur/for Eastport,*" sai i Blanche, j "Wc must go homo." . ? Wo waikod again to the half-opone-l gate, j and again parted, ao? without another kiss- j tbL- one mutua!. Between us passed neitherpleagc nor bond, j spoken *-v:*rferrc I. Wo parted as if but for j ft-day. Blanche's los* words were. ..Renient ! ber, now, your promise'" CHAPTER v. ' SURRENDER. My chest, which had been carted back to ! my mother's house. I had removed that von ! night to tho ferry boat which communicated I v*vir.h th<? termines of the railroad leading to j \NV,v York. I wem on tho l?oat in the morn? ing, before any other passengers came down. r^tndtf*fc?*f.t n:yseU" out of sight. My leave; raking with my mother was a brief affair, j Wo tod .'aten a si len-', comfortless breakfast. ? At its conclusion, raking my har. I said, ..Well, motlier, i'm o:*:' for go?) i ROW." '\ sriiaps it wa- -e. presentiment xhu\ my words were true tba? made the change in ber j manner. Wirb a softness unusual to her she ? said: "But. my sou. what ar you going to ; do.' Where are you going:" "Novo;* mind now,*' [said. "I've talked i enough before-c-f my plans. NOA- PH keep j silent. I've nahlea that talking things out; leads to had luck. Pm going c.vsy. that'd all. So goo bbv." She said nothing, took my hand and kissed 'irte. i.never recollected having been kiss *? by her before She may have .lone so when 1 was atv Infant. Favor.-, of that so: r are uot uapprc-ciatcil or remen il-ered .luring that ten? der period. This wa; no; from lack of fee'- j ing or affection. lt caaie of tli.it reserve and r?pression of all external sign-o : emotion 'bred in tho bone way back through I know not how many genera: iou-, of Puntan and": Roundhead anei-stry, until not only had o??r ward sign of emotion been considered :i bordering on au impropriety, bal the-very ability to manifest ii had l-een'd??strove 1. lt was a turning of ti ie softer .-ide o? human nature inward ami ii;?' harder outward, au 1 the-fruitage was harshness and austerity; m~i 'intenwe-nrjl. but the natural growth of un? natural live: 1 left the hons.?, wondering if it was in tho t natural order of events that proofs of atTe*- ? t-'on, parent.-.1 and otherwise. n;n>: como at , The last moment, lik** the l?--t .lisli ai dinner being placed before one for a I :>;y\ th*?ti snatched :i ?. ay. In a few hour- I was in Neu York. Taking a nxnn at ahotel 1 shut myself therein, and openedthc packet received from Biaivhe. lt contained bills to tho amount ot s."'..'.? and the following no*--: '1 do-ire ;. ,w ro a?vept*t?^s-i".o . y fr?.?:n tue ? > .'i loan, with interest at " percent.. iv>r three years, lids is business, you know. Pm (.dad for your sjike you did n-?; goon tho Ant Mirv Ann. You will go now ;<? California a fi gentleman should. Mind you take a .-abm pa-age. l'on"! go in thc steerage i-> save dollars. P doesn't save them at a?. There ; Prt'videti'-,. ju that pig. ami Pell, too pi-;s both- -to ink . yon out o? the ship. shut, up on board bf her for five or -ix months, eating their coarse food and lea i i ag their coarse life, would have pa' > .>u ba k as many vears. Wh?m you got to California you would probably have donea*- tivo-six*hs of them wit! do-srnko for th.? 1er !'-: and coarsi'St way of making 'i fortune, by digging and grubbing -rh* very way nor !<-> muk" i . If there is gold there, mind you. it's aol for those who dig for it. unless they dig with their brains and yon can't, dug wi:h your brains and work like a hod carrier ami liva on hod carrier's fare. So. my dear l oy. live like a gentleman and you will have a gentle? mans luck. BLANCHE." j So this ?a.- the promise I had made-to . accept a pecuiuary fa* or of a woman, ibo unwritten cooe or tn- um-* new uns as iiardly tte correct thing, un loss you married the woman, when evei-ythhig she had be? came yoars?, and the favor, ii such, creased almost to oe one. Blanche had a few years previous been "eft a few thousand dollars by an eccentric uncle, who. possihiy recognizing something of her independent spirit. sold, when closely questioned by sonic over-anxious rokttives a< to his reason for so doing, that he be? lieved B?snehc was a girl win; could use her ?wu money for horselr, and ii- wanted to give her a chance. He didn't think, he added, it was the fair thmg that, a girl's capital should lie salted"' do wu until some lazy loafer of a husband came atong to use . it. and gemsaliy los.* il. He didn't care ! what sh? did with her money, so that she > :ts?d it for her own pleasure in any and I .very possible way except that of hnudi.ne: I it over to a husband. "[ give it to you." j lie remarket!, "not to the mau who,- ?bt | content with robbing you of your name-, j ' wants your irl/hi-y 'along with ir F-end : it spend it. scatter it. do anything with irj? j except bring it. like a g^d little girl, to j the chuckle-head who wants to mairv voa * for it.'" Uncle John Sefton was v. rrndes/rior in j opinion, and seemed to tcJce pleasure ia hold- I ing none that were popular. Ile had beena .nrivateers?nan-some said also a slav.?:-, and ': others a*pi ra te-carried a btrtiet in one leg, . the mark of which he was fond of .-bowing J without much regard to time, place orfi?aess. j I resolved to Use tb? money. She had been : diplomatic iu not oiTering it as a gift, and in putting tlie transaction "cn a business footing, f To refuse it under the pr-sent circumstances j would result. I felt, in putting a great barrier '. between myself and Blanche. It seemed as if i she said to mc: "I am ia this giving you the I Vmpcrtumty y&f-ne??. You'are no mau if j you quarrel with the instrument put in your j hands because it does hot nome exactly ia the manner you would have it." 1 could see in imagination, as clearly as ! though she stood before me. the way iu which I Blanche would have taken back from me her ! gift. I saw her calmly listening to my state- ! "ment and as calmly receiving from me rae ? notes, and then continuing conversation on ! general topics as if the whole affair had not j a feathers weight m her mind. But under j all that seeming indirT'. I knew rhere : would tic indignation, disappointment and j worse-the deliberate laying aside of a feel? ing for me. something which I hoped tobe more than interest-more than mere regard. I have ^fihl farther tack that Blanchi? Sci- ' ton loved me. But I felt that her love, if j ence gained, could not Ix? laid on the shelf, to be tai'en on and ofT at pleasure, with the cer? tainty of always rinding it there. No. It was a love only to be held by constant effort. ' 1 bought. ther.oTt day. my cabin ticket for ? San Francisco via the 1st* mus. CHArfB?Vw. WILLIAM BROr.VER. A month afterward I was in San Francisco. The Ann Mary Ami was creeping on the At? lantic somewhere near rhe equator, with four" I or Jive weary months still between her and i the Land of Promise. San Francisco was then simply a mercan- } tile camp. Buildings were nm up as are j booths at a country fail*. There was little idea of permanency. Everything was of the ..makeshift*' order I had on landing $1:25. I res.>*ved to take 'ene clear week, with no other purpose save rc look about, amuse myself, aud watch for whatever might turn up. 1 pur ap at the b*st kore"! j rrj?d find and paid $50 in advance fora week's board, which ; granted to me the then almost unheard of . luxury of a niche, called a room, to myself, a j cot lied, a tin washbasin, a coarse towel an J brown soap. Tm*, the walls were but of cloth-cotton drilling: They did not shut out the sound of voices all around me. and at night the shadows of my-adjacent fellow ?lodgers were sometimes prominently and clearly thrown on my canvas from the light of the candies behind them, displaying them.'ii the many unstudied attitudes peculiar to man ou disrobing for bed. My right hand lodger had nightly great difficulty in getting off his boot*. His figure, of heroic size, was so thrown on my canvas in the many irritating and uncomfortable posi? tions imo winch a man is compelledere he can make his h*?? budge from the position it has maintained an day. One night while so engaged I received an | unexpected visit from hun. lu the midst of j a harder tug than usual he lost his balance, ? fell over backward against the cloth wall. ! which gave way under pressure, and through ! the rent he rolled, boot still ia aaud, isto my room. "Good evening." he said, without changing his position. "Hope 1 don't int aide I" '* Kop* Tdo?it ?tfrtide/*" He was a stout, compact, well-built man. j apparently of thirty, black eye?!, black j bearded, a dear, singularly white com- j plexion, and au oxpivs>iou of. more than , on 1 ina ry rclh-or. leut. In a tone very different fron; that of the j reckless humor he had at first assumed, he | said: "I beg your ]'a rd on. bm 1 lost my bal- ! anet? in trying to get this confounded boos j orr. and. as you see. th.? wall between us ,' proved iliuiyv: and. as they sky in the play. I .He:v I am:**' "No offense under the circumstances, Fm ? sure." was my reply. "1 bought these bo >fs ii; tho mines." said ; he; paid two ounces for thom, and they've given me'no ?.ucl of trouble. They object seriously lo going on in thc morning, mil v. hen once on object as strongly to going off nt night.** 'i ii!', was Mr. William Broerrr. He was from th.- mines, mid mining wash's business. UVtlriftod into sociability that night. The \ ? rc:.r in the wall was no: repaired next ?lay, and remaining open so.):: developed a certain companionship between us. He seemed to | < like mv company: certainly he wa<attractive j tome. \\'.- um: fllxMit much together, and within the week our infercoi.rse had grown : t<? something beyond that of a mere "pass in g acquaintance " There was much in Broeuor attractive to . men and women. Physically h.-? was as tinea specimen oj' manhood asever I laid eyes on. He >*.a- generous, and had an easy manner of rlashmg int?' pcopl? 's companionship and e<s* t?dence, ?' h ii ii to m.' w*Us :>. li a source of ad? mira lion and-irritalion, since 1 lacked iteu tire?v. 1 o.mer >een?e-l at home everywhere, ino ?>n relatively familiar terms in any circle to w bieh live minuto previous lie hail been a. SotaS-st range**, while 1 writhed in the b?mds md feti- r> of a eert'iin awkv ardni*ss and re- . ?erve \\hii ii at times seemed lo compel me to \ jo-and sa-A "be very things most calculated : r.vUei p utc ..utsiiU that, atmosphere of sorra I ihi\ which l desired to enter an i breathe. Vi i ? iii- to au"extent constituted tue bond Ivtwcou inyself and Br?:*enor. He.-knowing his i i*, wer and keon iv ahve to its rocOgnitioc and appreciation by otbe?'s. ??ced to have abeu! him au admirer like myself, whom in .i st-usi* he could take nuder his wing and proteei'on. **?"onie with me to the caines," he said, a ! few days after our acquaintance had oom meucod. "I've a bit of a claim left and weil work partners." I absented. To go to the digings, direct- ? cd and 1? friended by an experieu'^od and 1 lu k v miner, w as an opportunity seldom lounu in ujose ?iwvs. I Jay more than usual stress on the phrase '.lucky miner."1 Gold diggers were com? pelled to believe in luck. Lucky naen struck it rich wherever they went. These were sometimes in character the extremes of recklessness and dissipation. No mat? ter. Their steps seemed directed, and where they went they turned un gold-often to IK? spent within a few hom's. But the spree over they wont plodding, inking about har. flat or crevice, turning up mora of the yellow metal in dust or chispas whiie regular habits and sobriety worked han! aud could barely make both ends meet. So marked were these phenomena that the inquiry wes not uncommon on tho part of those who had ventares to make regarding the hading prospector: "Is he a tucky man.'" CHAPTER VII. THE BANKOK C it tFOEXIA. In the middle of September. 1N>?, I found myself located with Broentr at Ids cabin on the Stanislaus river, where the lower and rounded foothills commence merging into the more abrupt, craggy and higher formations of the vast Sierra range, it was for me a great change. Mountains towering all about, no roads, no w heeled vehicles in use, only trails or bridle paths, traversed by horsemen, our provisions brought from the nearest store, two miles distant, on muleback : the vegeta? tion and flowers entirely different from those of the east: the birds of other species; trie vet y'iir seemed nv?de of other elements, it "?'as all another world! ?md it brought to me continually a sensation of newness. '.?ly Loy."" said Broener, one evening soon after our arrivai, '.you. want to know about the mines and mining, chi All new comers are more or less crazy on that subject "Now, TH sura it up in a word. Themines are a humbug-a gigantic humbug.'' "A humbug:" ''Practically, for three-fourths of those who dig. yes. The cream of it won't last over three or four years. Thousands moro are to como. Every digger who takes an ounce out of tho soil takes it out forever. Gold don*? grow again-soon. Then there isn't half as much dug as people imagine. One lucky find blinds everybody's eyes to tho nineteen or twenty-nine, or mr y be mort?, people who find just enough to ' scratch ?do'-: g on. It s tho hardest kind of work. Knocks a man's con? stitution over in short metre. No let ur..' sum? mer or w inter. It's digging, lifting rocks, or standing in ice-co'd water for hours. No recreation but cards, pw whisky, or' worse. Yqu dig out a dollar, and must spend half'of ic for what would cost you but three cents ia tho state--. Tito men who are really to maka the money are the merchants and land owners. Those idiots all about here are now really nigging for them. You wonder to hoar me say this. Not a bright picture, is iii Now, m I'm a lucky miner. You think this about herc is my claim. "Well.it isn't. This dirt pfk is a bi ind. My reai claim is "half a milo from this spot. 1*11 show it to you to-morrow and reveal you sonic- mysteries. "The next day we went to the spot he hid . indicated, first ascending Scrvrb mountain, in tho roar of our cabin, at a pretty steep'in? clination, and after attaining a height of about 1,000 feet, going down again. '.Look down," said Broener, as we came to an opening in the manzanita bushes, where our way led along a steeply jutting projection of th"5- mountain. I did ?so. The river's bank-in some places rocky and steeply inclined, in others deming the rapid current .with little lovel beaches was'ai: ve with working miners. Hundreds of cradles were rocking to and fro. The grat? ing of th - pebbles on the iron bottoms of their top selves sounded like the crashing roar' of some great factory. Men were toiling to and fro with dirt-laden buckets. Others were lying in all manner' of cramped-up positions oa tho f are, steeply shelving rocks, already hot from the glare of the morning sun. draw? ing from deep crevices with long spoons, or pieces of iron hoop bent at the end, bits of dirt and placing them in pans at their side. At other points men were standing waist deep in the rivet, occupied in laying senuV rircular wails of stone projecting into the ?tr earn. l*I take this path,'* said Broener, "to keep out of the way of those fellows. It's a hard one. but it pays. Could reach my claim in ten minutes by the river. This route takes near au hour. Reason: I mustn't let those chaps scout out my lead. ?hs"> *d avalanche me if they should. I've got. you see. a big thing; but if they got wind of it. there's no bw coull protect nie. They're all in Egyp? tian darkness now. They think all the go?c iu the country is in that dirt. Hope they'll think so for some time to come.*' "Walking down the mountain at varying angles, wv came to a little shelf densely cov? ered with foliage, about live hundred feet above tho river. Miners at work were thickly clustered directly below us, "Softly now!"' said Broener. ''Stoop here, . o they won't see us, and don't talk h.uh" Stooping, and at times half crawling through rho chapparal, wo crossed a shelf, coming directly on the rocky mountain side rising an overhanging barrier l-efore fe. Fragments of gray and white rock lay all about as they-had tumbled down the motan? t-jn. Broener sat dow*; on a fragment and wh?s P? red to mo: .We are ut tho mkie." . ?I -f mri Im?f^?k^f^ "UV arr nf the iniu\y' "I pre ?oth-ng hero like a mine.*" sai 11. "Ol cotirso T. :.."' he replied, "1 don't mean that anybody shall But thoVi r?liowsdowc rltero would give their heads if they knew w hat was up h?ce. What doyou think of that.'" and he hon ied me a bit of white rook, the outs:-ie thickly crusted wi: h gold, brighter far than the dust Iliad, seentaken from tho river?1"4, its banks. "That's a part of the rr'uo. That's quartz. They haven't got bf; the trail of quartz yet in this land. When they do there'll be a bigger whoop up than ever.*" "You soo." continued Broener, ''I hap? pened to got whatever education has been filtered into me ar a (?orman university. Mineralogy wa- my favorite study. There 1 became acquainted w dh Madame Quartz the matrix. in fact mother, of g?5?S-a mother w oo has a good deal to answer for in bring? ing so much of tho root of all evil into the world. So soon as I arrived ir these mines I kn. w that the gold uislcfc ha- through ages drifted-into all these rivers, crooks and gulches, must haw tumbled some time or other out of this kin?! of rock, and wherever the rock was. there was the chance of find? ing gold in the -original package.' So ? hunted and 3 ?und ir at last, and hire are moro of the original packages." He turned up a flat "bowlder as bespoke, and underneath, m a cavity.-!*y a pile of the vellow-tlecked white rook. Pieces were thew varving in size from a {x>tato to a uumau skulL Sonic seemed half gold. I pick.- i up tho biggest, and w*s astonished at ir- weight. ?'That's c hundred ouueor," said Broener, '?outside the rock it carries. Seventeen hun? dred dollars more than the whole crowd ot the I ar below will got out in a ?lay. It mak-fe me laugh to think of those poor devils hump? ing themselves down there, anil fighting Ovet sardines of thirty-three feet claims to the man. when there's enough tip here to senil thom all to the old boy. For there's where most Of "eui w ould go it thev struck it."' CON n> usn ON FOURIH-?^jj^ ?