knowledge—water touches his skin only when
he goes into it for fish. He eats acorns,
and grasshoppers crushed together when
fresh into a pasty mass, or sun-dried for
winter use. He gets up dances, at which
he appears not in full dress, but strictly and
always in full undress, while his wives and
his daughters appear in the usual variety of
costume. He gambles deeply, at a game
known by our children as Which hand will
you have? He eats no pork, but rejoices
with his whole tribe at the stranding of a
whale. He takes a wife, or a family of wives,
by exchange of gifts, giving a jug and taking
in exchange a net. His body, when he dies,
is burnt, and it is a point of honour with his
relatives to stand in a ring as near as possible
to the burning pile until it is consumed; his
bereaved wife puts on a widow's cap of pitch;
which, she wears on her head for several
months, according to the digger-Indian way
of going into black.

Another of the noticeable characters is
the Chinaman. Wherever there is money
to be earned, John Chinaman is earning it.
He is a butcher in Dupout Street, a
merchant at Sacramento, a fisherman and
fishdrier on Rincon Point, a washerman at the
Lagoon; and his idea of what will do for a
flat-iron there amazes the Anglo-Saxons.
His enemies insinuate that linen has a
tendency to return as cotton from his hands. In
everything, as in washing, his notions of work
are Asiatic. If Chinamen have anything to lift
they first ascertain whether one man can lift
it; and, if he can, they send four to perform the
duty. All their work is done on the same scale.
For ease in carrying heavy burdens, the Chinaman
depends on the balancing of weights at
each end of a pole carried on his shoulder.
If he has a bundle weighing fifty pounds to
hang on one end of his pole, he will hang
fifty pounds of anything as ballast on the
other. John Chinaman, in figure and
costume, much differs from western notions
of the graceful or the beautiful. Little
Californian boys shoot at him arrows
barbed with pins; men passing him on
the pavement jostle him; dogs snap at his
heels. He is disliked, except by his
countrymen; but they back him with energy.
Is he before the recorder, and wants an
alibi? Twenty John Chinamen will prove
that he was in twenty other places at the
time in question. John Chinaman has his
own way of shopping. He enters a store and
gazes for a long time silently and stolidly at
the object of his desire. The storekeeper at
last retires in dudgeon. John attempts then
the expression of his mind in English,
ascertains the price asked for the article, and bids
about one-tenth of it. His offer is refused,
and he departs; he never offers more at
the first visit. After a few days he
returns to renew his offer, and, if it be
refused, to buy on the storekeeper's terms.
The Chinaman is successful as a miner,
but he dislikes digging; for rocking and
tom-washing he displays genius. He lives
sparingly, unless poultry be put in his
way; for lie has a wonderful greed for
chickens. In 'forty-nine, the Chinese were
eminent in San Francisco as keepers of the
cheapest and best-frequented eating-houses.
They were the only men who had on hand
an unlimited supply of potatoes—then a,
Californian luxury. These trades have now
declined. The founder of the best of them
has removed, and is said to be a thriving
eating-house keeper in the Sandwich Islands.

The genius of a poor Frenchman first
struck out a line of business as bootblack, and
the French bootblack soon became a stock
Californian character. A file of bootblacks
now does duty in front of the California
Exchange, and the man with dirty boots
who passes them and is no customer must
run the gauntlet. The first bootblack provided
for his customer a wooden stool. Competition
led to the introduction of a chair with a back to
it. Capital then entered the field with
armchairs and cushions; and, to the arm-chairs
and cushions, newspapers were added.
There, invention was exhausted until
somebody hit upon the idea of blacking boots
in-doors. Califoruian boots are not all to be
blacked with ease. A respectable city boot-
blacking establishment that had suffered much
grievous wrong at the feet of possessors of
greased or wet boots, posts in front of the
customer's seat—close to his eyes—this
placard:

Boots blacked (not wet or greased)     . 25 cents.
Boots blacked (all over, legs, &c.)        . 50 cents.
Boots blacked (when wet or greased)  . 50 cents.

Persons considering these rates too high are
recommended to visit the Plaza, where expenses are not
so heavy.

The Californians have a decided taste for
sugar candy. One of the most imposing and
imperturbable of public characters at San
Francisco, who with a rough bass voice
pursues the even tenor of his way, is the
"Big Lump Candy Man." Grateful to all
men is the sound of his—"Here you are!—
Big Lumps and str-r-r-ongly flavoured.
Ever-r-ybody buys them! Sam Br-r-annan
buys them! Kate Hayes buys them." There
have arisen lately, base men copying his cry,
and intercepting some part of his custom;
so that he is bound now to cry his big lumps
as " the Old Or-r-riginal," to assert himself
occasionally, as the man " the papers tell
about."

We have given very reduced copies of Mr.
Whittlestick's sketches, and have omitted
from the series two most important charac-
ters, the newsboy and the grizzly bear.

Next Week will be Published the ELEVENTH PORTION of
                            NORTH AND SOUTH.
               By the AUTHOR OF MARY BARTON.