which they left, untouched and undeveloped, for a priceless heritage to those less adventurous souls who should come slowly plodding after them in other years. Of all that mighty host, not more than one in a hundred remains in California to-day. In neglected graves, in the red earth of the Sierra, in the shadow of the cross of Calvary, under the laurel and willows of Lone Mountain, in the great depths of the sea, in the trenches of innumerable battlefields, in far-off Australia or Southern Africa, in Alaska, in Arizona, in Mexico, in Nicaragua, they sleep their last sleep.
Wherever gold was to be sought for, wildernesses to be reclaimed, suffering to be endured, blood to be shed, they wandered, and fought, and died by thousands. They were a rough set—ready with the knife and the revolver, free-handed and liberal withal to the last degree—rich to-day, poor to-morrow, hopeful always, and game to the last When the placers of California are exhausted, and the-orchard and vineyard cover every hillside, the stories of their reckless adventures and wild career will be repeated again and again, and listened to with interest by every class in the community. "The days of '49" will ever be memorable as marking the most striking and wonderful epoch in the history of the Pacific coast. After them everything will seem stale, and flat, and tame to the youthful reader of history.
As the hours of evening wore on, one and another took up the story of pioneer life, and many an anecdote, new to me and hitherto unprinted, was
