hought so," he added, after getting my answer to his question. "Of
what persuasion are you?"! he further inquired.

When I told him I was a Methodist, he said quickly and with some warmth:

"I was sure of it. This is a rough place for a man of your calling.
Would you like some eggs? we've plenty on hand. And may be you would
like a cup of coffee," he added, with, increasing hospitality.

I took the eggs, but declined the coffee, not liking the looks of the
cups and saucers, and not caring to wait.

"I used to be a Methodist myself," said Pete, with a sort of choking in
his throat, "but bad luck and bad company have brought me down to this.
I have a family in Iowa, a wife and four children. I guess they think
I'm dead, and sometimes I wish I was."

Pete stood by my chair, actually crying. The sight of a Methodist
preacher brought up old times. He told me his story. He had come to
California hoping to make a fortune in a hurry, but had only ill luck
from the start. His prospectings were always failures, his partners
cheated him, his health broke down, his courage gave way, and--he
faltered a little, and then spoke it out--he took to whisky, and then
the worst came.

"I have come down to this--cooking for a lot of roughs at five dollars
a week, and all the whisky I want. It would have been better for me if I
had died when I was in the hospital at San Andreas."

Poor Pete! he had indeed touched bottom. But he had a heart and a
conscience still, and my own heart warmed toward my poor backslidden
brother.

"You are not a lost man yet. You are worth a thousand dead men. You can
get out of this, and you must. You must act the part of a brave man, and
not be any longer a coward. Bad luck and lack of success are a disgrace
to no man. There is where you went wrong. It was cowardly to give up and
not write to your family, and then take to whisky."

"I know all that, Elder. There is no better little woman on earth than
my wife"--Pete choked up again.

"You write to her this very night, and go back to her and your children
just as soon as you can get the money to pay your way. Act the man, and
all will come right yet. I have writing materials here in my satchel
--pen, ink, paper, envelopes, stamps, every thing; I am an editor, and go
fixed up for writing."

The letter was written, I acting as Pete's amanuensis, he pleading that
he was a poor scribe at best and that his nerves were too unsteady for
such work. Taking my ad