Francisco. He stops at the "What Cheer
House." He may bo seen there by hundreds.
Poor fellow! He came here to enjoy himself,
but he doesn't well know how. The novelty
of the city wears off in a day or two. "Without
occupation, his routine of life broken, he
becomes a victim to a disease for which the
French could alone have invented a name—
ennui. At night he can go to the theatre;
but by day he sits in rows in the hall of the
hotel, crowds the entrance, and sometimes
blocks up the street. If he have money enough,
and be so inclined, he may " go on the spludge,"
and possibly get drunk; but that with this
class of miner is not very likely. His face wears
an expression of wild bewilderment and
intense weariness. Unaccustomed to the hurry
and bustle of the city, he collides frequently
with the denizens of the metropolis. The
spruce, fashionably- dressed, frizzle- headed
clerks, who flit by, excite in him feelings of
contempt and indignation. The swarms of
youthful females in the streets astonish,
delight, and tantalise him. It is something so
new to him. There are few on Jackass Gulch,
and they would be better away. When he
knew " Frisco," it was not much more than
a collection of cotton tents on some sand-hills.
Now, it is a fine city of one hundred and fifty
thousand inhabitants. Females were almost
unknown, and the announcement by a steamboat
proprietor of " four lady passengers tonight"
was quite enough to ensure a crowded
patronage for his vessel. But the digger of the
auriferous soil often leaves the city with the
knowledge that the world has gone far ahead of
him during his lonely residence in the mountains.
He had far better not have come. In Diggerburgh
he is somebody. In San Francisco he is
lost among the crowd, or at best is only a
"rusty old miner;" those who thus
contemptuously talk of him, forgetting that he and
such as he were the founders, and are yet, to a
great extent, the stronghold, of California.

I fancy I do not really wrong the honest
miner in saying he does not possess much
religion. Yet, if a clergyman by any chance
come into his camp, he makes a point of
attending "meeting," on much the same
principle, and with feelings of about equal
reverence, with which he would go to a dog-
fight or a tight-rope performance: because he
looks upon it as the right thing to patronise
the affair. If the parson look on as he is
washing for gold, he will ask him if he would
like to " wash out a pan," and as this invitation
is usually accepted, the worthy fellow will
contrive to slip in among the gravel, a tolerable
nugget, so that the washer may be nothing
the worse for his clerical visit: custom in such
cases providing that the contents of the pan
go to the visitor. At one time there was
a " revival of religion" among the miners.
Never was there such a demand for tracts.
Indeed, so great was the demand, that a special
appeal had to be issued by a certain religious
body, whose mission it was to look after such
matters, for increased contributions to the
"dear gold-diggers' tract fund." To use the
words of the "appeal," "the cry comes o'er
the western wave, more tracts, MORE TRACTS!"
At last the painful truth oozed out (though
I hardly think it was related at the May
meetings) that the miners used the tracts to
paper their log shanties! A friend of mine,
whose lot it was to officiate as a clergyman
among them at one time, used often to tell
me that he had to ring a bell in the morning,
all through the apology for a street,
inviting his parishioners to divine worship,
and that, finding nobody in church when he
came in, he first looked into one gambling
saloon or tavern, and then into another, inviting
those assembled there to come to church. " All
right, parson," would be the good-natured
reply; " we'll be there as soon as we've played
out this hand for the whiskies. Jest be goen'
ahead with the prayers and things, and we'll
be along for the preachin'!"

This taking of "drinks" is characteristic
of the miner. No bargain can be made, or any
other matter of business or sociality settled,
without the indispensable drinks. The same
clerical friend, whose experience I have just
related, was shocked on his first arrival among
the miners at being asked to " stand drinks,"
after he had received a very liberal subscription
towards the building of his church. Two
mining companies that I know something about,
threw dice to determine which of them should
treat the " whole creek " to champagne, and as
that wine was sold at fifteen dollars per bottle,
the cost to the loser may be guessed. In most
mining localities it is looked upon as a cause of
mortal offence, to decline drinking with the
first fellow who shouts, " Let's put in a blast,
colonel!" In some places it is quite a serious
breach of etiquette not to ask all who are sitting
round in the bar-room of a tavern, though
total strangers, to " Step up and take a drink."
Sometimes they do not require any invitation.
A friend of mine having had a long ride one
day, dismounted at a tavern to take, more
Americano, some refreshment, when, to his utter
astonishment, fourteen men who were sitting
around stepped up, and " 'lowed they would
take sugar in thar'n." He paid for the fifteen
"drinks," as it was in strict accordance with
the custom of the country; but he took care
not to go back to that hostelry again.

The Australian gold-digger is in many
respects different from the Californian, but still
he evinces the same carelessness of money. It
used to be the custom for these men to come
down to some village after they had made a
slight " pile," go each.to his favourite public-
house, and give the money into the landlord's
hands, with the information that he " shouted"
(or asked all and sundry to drink) until it was
finished. Then the landlord at intervals would
say, " Step up, boys, it's Jim Jenkins's shout!"
Then they all wished Jim luck, until Jim's shout
was out, and then he went back to his gully,
proud that he had "spent his money like a man."
On one occasion a miner came down and handed
his money over to the landlord; but, contrary