substance not unliketallow, and is made up in rolls for all
the world like tallow candles.

Fanny, to add to our happiness, told us a story of a
gentleman who had camped one night, like ourselves, by a

deserted mine. He was a handy, thrifty fellow, and looked
right and left for plunder, but all he could lay his hands on

was a can of oil. After dark he had to see to the horses
with a lantern; and not to miss an opportunity, filled up his

lamp from the oil can. Thus equipped, he set forth into the
forest. A little while after, his friends heard a loud

explosion; the mountain echoes bellowed, and then all was
still. On examination, the can proved to contain oil, with

the triflingaddition of nitro-glycerine; but no research
disclosed a trace of either man or lantern.

It was a pretty sight, after this anecdote, to see us
sweeping out the giant powder. It seemed never to be far

enough away. And, after all, it was only some rock pounded
for assay.

So much for the lower room. We scraped some of the rougher
dirt off the floor, and left it. That was our sitting-room

and kitchen, though there was nothing to sit upon but the
table, and no provision for a fire except a hole in the roof

of the room above, which had once contained the chimney of a
stove.

To that upper room we now proceeded. There were the eighteen
bunks in a double tier, nine on either hand, where from

eighteen to thirty-six miners had once snored together all
night long, John Stanley, perhaps, snoring loudest. There

was the roof, with a hole in it through which the sun now
shot an arrow. There was the floor, in much the same state

as the one below, though, perhaps, there was more hay, and
certainly there was the added ingredient of broken glass, the

man who stole the window-frames having apparently made a
miscarriage with this one. Without a broom, without hay or

bedding, we could but look about us with a beginning of
despair. The one bright arrow of day, in that gaunt and

shattered barrack, made the rest look dirtier and darker, and
the sight drove us at last into the open.

Here, also, the handiwork of man lay ruined: but the plants
were all alive and thriving; the view below was fresh with

the colours of nature; and we had exchanged a dim, human
garret for a corner, even although it were untidy, of the

blue hall of heaven. Not a bird, not a beast, not a reptile.
There was no noise in that part of the world, save when we

passed beside the staging, and heard the water musically
falling in the shaft.

We wandered to and fro. We searched among that drift of
lumber-wood and iron, nails and rails, and sleepers and the

wheels of tracks. We gazed up the cleft into the bosom of
the mountain. We sat by the margin of the dump and saw, far

below us, the green treetops standing still in the clear air.
Beautiful perfumes, breaths of bay, resin, and nutmeg, came

to us more often and grew sweeter and sharper as the
afternoon declined. But still there was no word of Hanson.

I set to with pick and shovel, and deepened the pool behind
the shaft, till we were sure of sufficient water for the

morning; and by the time I had finished, the sun had begun to
go down behind the mountain shoulder, the platform was

plunged in quiet shadow, and a chill descended from the sky.
Night began early in our cleft. Before us, over the margin

of the dump, we could see the sun still striking aslant into
the wooded nick below, and on the battlemented, pine-

bescattered ridges on the farther side.
There was no stove, of course, and no hearth in our lodging,

so we betook ourselves to the blacksmith's forge across the
platform. If the platform be taken as a stage, and the out-

curving margin of the dump to represent the line of the foot-
lights, then our house would be the first wing on the actor's

left, and this blacksmith's forge, although no match for it
in size, the foremost on the right. It was a low, brown

cottage, planted close against the hill, and overhung by the
foliage and peeling boughs of a madrona thicket. Within it

was full of dead leaves and mountain dust, and rubbish from
the mine. But we soon had a good fire brightly blazing, and

sat close about it on impromptu seats. Chuchu, the slave of
sofa-cushions, whimpered for a softer bed; but the rest of us

were greatly revived and comforted by that good creature-
fire, which gives us warmth and light and companionable

sounds, and colours up the emptiest building with better than
frescoes. For a while it was even pleasant in the forge,

with the blaze in the midst, and a look over our shoulders on
the woods and mountains where the day was dying like a

dolphin.
It was between seven and eight before Hanson arrived, with a

waggonful of our effects and two of his wife's relatives to
lend him a hand. The elder showed surprising strength. He

would pick up a huge packing-case, full of books of all
things, swing it on his shoulder, and away up the two crazy

ladders and the breakneck spout of rolling mineral,
familiarly termed a path, that led from the cart-track to our

house. Even for a man unburthened, the ascent was toilsome
and precarious; but Irvine sealed it with a light foot,

carrying box after box, as the hero whisks the stage child up
the practicable footway beside the waterfall of the fifth

act. With so strong a helper, the business was speedily
transacted. Soon the assayer's office was thronged with our

belongings, piled higgledy-piggledy, and upside down, about
the floor. There were our boxes, indeed, but my wife had

left her keys in Calistoga. There was the stove, but, alas!
our carriers had forgot the chimney, and lost one of the

plates along the road. The Silverado problem was scarce
solved.

Rufe himself was grave and good-natured over his share of
blame; he even, if I remember right, expressed regret. But

his crew, to my astonishment and anger, grinned from ear to
ear, and laughed aloud at our distress. They thought it

"real funny" about the stove-pipe they had forgotten; "real
funny" that they should have lost a plate. As for hay, the

whole party refused to bring us any till they should have
supped. See how late they were! Never had there been such a

job as coming up that grade! Nor often, I suspect, such a
game of poker as that before they started. But about nine,

as a particular favour, we should have some hay.
So they took their departure, leaving me still staring, and

we resigned ourselves to wait for their return. The fire in
the forge had been suffered to go out, and we were one and

all too weary to kindle another. We dined, or, not to take
that word in vain, we ate after a fashion, in the nightmare

disorder of the assayer's office, perched among boxes. A
single candle lighted us. It could scarce be called a

housewarming; for there was, of course, no fire, and with the
two open doors and the open window gaping on the night, like

breaches in a fortress, it began to grow rapidly chill. Talk
ceased; nobody moved but the unhappy Chuchu, still in quest

of sofa-cushions, who tumbled complainingly among the trunks.
It required a certain happiness of disposition to look

forward hopefully, from so dismal a beginning, across the
brief hours of night, to the warm shining of to-morrow's sun.

But the hay arrived at last, and we turned, with our last
spark of courage, to the bedroom. We had improved the