bridges have been swept away, I have been to Rich Bar but
once. It is necessary to go over the hill now, and the walk is a very
wearisome one. It is much more pleasant to live on the hills than on
the Bar, and during our walk we passed two or three cozy little cabins,
nestling in broad patches of sunlight, and surrounded with ample space
for a promenade, which made me quite envious. Unfortunately, F.'s
profession renders it desirable that he should reside where the largest
number of people congregate, and then the ascent to the habitable
portion of the hill is as steep as any part of that leading into Rich
Bar, and it would be impossible for him to walk up and down it several
times a day,--a task which he would be compelled to perform if we
resided there. For that reason I make myself as happy as possible where
I am.

I have been invited to dine at the best-built log cabin on the river.
It is situated on the hill of which I have just been writing, and is
owned by five or six intelligent, hard-working, sturdy young men. Of
course it has no floor, but it boasts a perfect marvel of a fireplace.
They never pretend to split the wood for it, but merely fall a giant
fir-tree, strip it of its branches, and cut it into pieces the length
of the aforesaid wonder. This cabin is lighted in a manner truly
ingenious. Three feet in length of a log on one side of the room is
removed and glass jars inserted in its place, the space around the
necks of said jars being filled in with clay. This novel idea is really
an excellent substitute for window-glass. You will perhaps wonder where
they procure enough of the material for such a purpose. They are
brought here in enormous quantities, containing brandied fruits, for
there is no possible luxury connected with drinking, which is
procurable in California, that cannot be found in the mines, and the
very men who fancy it a piece of wicked extravagance to _buy_ bread,
because they can save a few dimes by _making_ it themselves, are often
those who think nothing of spending from fifteen to twenty dollars a
night in the bar-rooms. There is at this moment a perfect
Pelion-upon-Ossa-like pile of beautiful glass jars, porter, ale,
champagne, and claret bottles, lying in front of my window. The latter
are a very convenient article for the manufacture of the most
enchantingly primitive lanterns. Any one in want of a utensil of this
kind has but to step to his cabin-door, take up a claret or champagne