s to describe things
exactly as I _see_ them, hoping that thus you will obtain an idea of
life in the mines _as it is_.

The bereaved husband held in his arms a sickly babe ten months old,
which was moaning piteously for its mother. The other child, a
handsome, bold-looking little girl six years of age, was running gayly
around the room, perfectly unconscious of her great bereavement. A
sickening horror came over me, to see her, every few moments, run up to
her dead mother and peep laughingly under the handkerchief that covered
her moveless face. Poor little thing! It was evident that her
baby-toilet had been made by men. She had on a new calico dress, which,
having no tucks in it, trailed to the floor, and gave her a most
singular and dwarf-womanly appearance.

About twenty men, with the three women of the place, had assembled at
the funeral. An extempore prayer was made, filled with all the
peculiarities usual to that style of petition. Ah, how different from
the soothing verses of the glorious burial service of the church!

As the procession started for the hillside graveyard, a dark cloth
cover, borrowed from a neighboring monte-table, was flung over the
coffin. Do not think that I mention any of these circumstances in a
spirit of mockery. Far from it. Every observance usual on such
occasions, that was _procurable_, surrounded this funeral. All the gold
on Rich Bar could do no more; and should I die to-morrow, I should be
marshaled to my mountain-grave beneath the same monte-table-cover pall
which shrouded the coffin of poor Mrs. B.

I almost forgot to tell you how painfully the feelings of the assembly
were shocked by the sound of the nails (there being no screws at any of
the shops) driven with a hammer into the coffin while closing it. It
seemed as if it _must_ disturb the pale sleeper within.

To-day I called at the residence of Mrs. R. It is a canvas house
containing a suite of three "apartments," as Dick Swiveller would say,
which, considering that they were all on the ground-floor, are kept
surprisingly neat. There is a barroom blushing all over with red
calico, a dining-room, kitchen, and a small bed-closet. The little
sixty-eight-pounder woman is queen of the establishment. By the way, a
man who walked home with us was enthusiastic in her praise.
"Magnificent woman, that, sir," he said, addressing my husband; "a wife
of the right sort, _she_ is. Why," he added, absolutely rising into
eloquence as he s