ince you that he is
a man of unusual force of character. No one introduced me to him. I
was merely informed at the Cary House that he was the person to whom
I should apply for information concerning the old times. I accordingly
started out to look for him and had not proceeded fifty yards when
a man, approaching at a distance, arrested my attention. As he drew
nearer, I felt positive there could be only one such personage in
Placerville, and when he was opposite me, I stopped and said, "How are
you, Mr. Bradley?" "That's my name, sir; what do you want?" he replied.

They take life easily in the old mining towns. No wonder the spectacle
of a man with a pack on his back caused comment, in that heat, tramping
two or three hundred miles for pleasure! Beyond the trivial necessities
that bare existence makes imperative, I was not conscious of seeing
anyone do anything on the whole trip. Old miners not unnaturally took me
for a prospector, and I think I never quite succeeded in convincing them
to the contrary.

In Placerville as in Angel's Camp, the evening promenade seems the most
important event of the day. Young men and maidens pass and repass in an
apparently endless chain. The same faces recur so frequently that one
begins to take an interest in the little comedy and speculate on the
rival attractions of blonde and brunette, and wonder which of the young
bloods is the local Beau Brummel. The audience--so to speak--sit on,
chairs backed against the walls of the hotels and stores, while many
prefer the street itself, and with feet on curb or other coign of
vantage, tilt their chairs at most alarming angles. A sort of animated
lovers' lane is thus formed, through which the promenaders have to
run the gauntlet, and are subjected to a certain amount of criticism.
Everyone knows everyone. Good natured badinage plays like wild-fire,
up and down and across the street. Later on, the tinkle of mandolin and
guitar is heard far into the night watches.

Having determined to reach Auburn--thirty miles away--the next day, I
made an early start. Coloma lies at the bottom of the great canon of the
South Fork of the American River. Hastening down the grade, in a bend of
the road I almost ran into my friend. It seemed a strange meeting this,
in the heart of the old mining country, and I think we both gave a
perceptible start.

It was at Coloma that gold was first discovered in California, by James
W. Marshall, January 19, 1848. My compa