' shootin' there, an' no end o' sainery."

The conversation was interrupted at this point by the door being burst
violently open, and several men rushing into the hut. They grasped the
Irishman by the arms, and attempted to drag him out, but Pat seized hold
of the plank, on the edge of which he sat, and refused to move at first.

"Come along, boy," cried one, boisterously; "we're goin' to lynch a
doctor, an' we want you to swear to him."

"Ay, an' to swear _at_ him too, if ye like; he's a rig'lar cheat; bin
killin' us off by the dozen, as cool as ye like, and pretendin' to be an
M.D. all the time."

"There's more than wan," cried another man, seizing Pat again by the
arm; "won't ye come, man?"

"Och! av coorse I will; av it's to do any good to the public, I'm yer
man. Hooray! for the people, an' down wi' the aristock-racy."

This sentiment was received with a shout of delight, and several
exclamations of "Bah!" as the party hurried in a body from the studio.
Ned, having thus nothing to do, rose, and followed them towards the
centre of the settlement, where a large crowd was collecting to try the
unhappy doctors above referred to.

There were six of them, all disreputable-looking rascals, who had set up
for doctors, and had carried on a thriving business among the sick
miners,--of whom there were many at that time,--until a genuine doctor
arrived at the place, and discovered and exposed them. The miners were
fortunately not bloodthirsty at this time, so the six self-dubbed M.D.s,
instead of being hanged, were banished for ever from the settlement.
Half-an-hour later the miners were busy in their respective claims, and
Ned Sinton was again seated before his "lan'scape" of the Irishman.

Just as he was completing the sketch, the door opened slowly, and a very
remarkable man swaggered into the room, and spat on the centre of the
floor. He was dressed in the extreme of the fashion then prevalent in
the Eastern States. A superfine black coat, silk vest, superfine black
trousers, patent-leather boots, kid gloves, and a black silk hat! A
more unnatural apparition at the diggings could not well be imagined.
Ned Sinton could hardly credit his eyes, but no rubbing of them would
dispel the vision. There he stood, a regular Broadway swell, whose love
of change had induced him to seek his fortune in the gold-regions of
California, and whose vanity had induced him to retain his drawing-room
costume.

This man, besides