dustriously. He had
accumulated a sufficient sum to pay his expenses to this coast, up to
the beginning of 1851, and took passage for San Francisco, as we have
already seen, in the spring of that year.

Reaching here, he became more embarrassed every day, unacquainted as he
was with the language, and still less with the wild life into which he
was so suddenly plunged. Whilst poverty was pinching his body, grief for
the loss of his wife was torturing his soul. Silent, sad, almost morose
to others, his only delight was in his child. Apprehensions for her
fate, in case of accident to himself, embittered his existence, and
hastened the catastrophe above related. Desirous of placing her in a
situation in which she could earn a livelihood, independent of his own
precarious exertions, he taught her drawing and painting, and had just
succeeded in obtaining for her the employment of coloring photographs at
Pollexfen's gallery the very day he was seized with his fatal disorder.

Some weeks previous to this, Charles Courtland, the young man before
mentioned, became an inmate of his house under the following
circumstances:

One evening, after the performances at the Jenny Lind Theatre (where M.
Marmont was employed) were over, and consequently very late, whilst he
was pursuing his lonely way homewards he accidentally stumbled over an
impediment in his path. He at once recognized it as a human body, and
being near home, he lifted the senseless form into his house. A severe
contusion behind the ear had been the cause of the young man's
misfortune, and his robbery had been successfully accomplished whilst
lying in a state of insensibility.

His recovery was extremely slow, and though watched by the brightest
pair of eyes that ever shot their dangerous glances into a human soul,
Courtland had not fully recovered his strength up to the time that I
made his acquaintance.

He was a Virginian by birth; had spent two years in the mines on Feather
River, and having accumulated a considerable sum of money, came to San
Francisco to purchase a small stock of goods, with which he intended to
open a store at Bidwell's Bar. His robbery frustrated all these golden
dreams, and his capture by Lucile Marmont completed his financial ruin.

Here terminates the first phase in the history of John Pollexfen.

PHASE THE SECOND.

"Useless! useless! all useless!" exclaimed John Pollexfen, as he dashed
a glass negative, which he had most elaborately