Page:California Inter Pocula.djvu/403

 now suifer-

ing, waiting  with  fond  and  faithful  expectation  the wanderer's return,  surely  every  grain  of  it  should  be dearer  than  his  life's  blood  to  the  finder,  and  hoarded as miser  never  yet  hoarded  wealth. Let us  see. Says the alcalde  of  Monterey :  "  My  man  Bob,  who  is  of Irish  extraction,  and  who  has  been  in  the  mines  about two  months,  returned  to  Monterey  four  weeks  since, bringing  with  him  over  two  thousand  dollars  as  the proceeds  of  his  labor.  Bob,  while  in  my  employ,  re- quired me  to  pay  him  every  Saturday  night  in  gold, which  he  put  into  a  little  leather  bag,  and  sewed  into the  lining  of  his  coat,  after  taking  out  just  twelve  and a  half  cents,  his  weekly  allowance  for  tobacco.  But now  he  took  rooms,  and  began  to  branch  out ;  he  had the  best  horses,  the  richest  viands,  and  the  choicest wines  in  the  j^lace.  He  never  drank  himself,  but  it filled  him  with  delight  to  brim  the  sparkling  goblet for  others.  I  met  Bob  to-day  and  asked  him  how  he got  on.  'O,  very  well,'  he  replied,  'but  I  am  off again for  the  mines.'  *  How  is  that. Bob ? You brought down  with  you  over  $2,000  ;  I  hope  you  have not spent  all  that ;  you  used  to  be  very  saving — twelve and a  half  cents  a  week  for  tobacco,  and  the  rest  you sewed into  the  lining  of  your  coat.'  '  O,  yes,'  replied Bob, *  and  I  have  got  that  money  yet ;  I  worked  hard for it,  and  the  devil  can't  get  it  away,  but  the  $2,000 came asily  by  good  luck,  and  has  gone  as  asily  as  it

A negro,  finding  himself  adrift  in  the  gold-land, thought to  lay  in  a  store,  so  striking  out  with  the  rest, he began  at  once  to  realize  his  hopes. ,He had  not  long been at  work  when  a  rusty  miner,  bristling  with  bowie- knives and  revolvers,  came  down  upon  him.

"Hello, you  black  scoundrel,  what  are  you  doing in  my  claim?"

"Beg pardon,  massa;  didn't  know  dis  yore  claim."

Glad to  get  away  with  his  black  skin  unpunctured, he next  essayed  an  empty  hole  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,