ing. He
now holds, and has for years, the responsible position in the United
States Custom House, San Francisco, of Deputy Naval Officer of the Port.
The clearing papers of every vessel that leaves San Francisco bear his
signature. Although in his eightieth year, his memory is as clear and
his sense of humor as vivid as when, a youth of nineteen, he left for
good, Maryland, his native state. Few men in the San Francisco bay
region are more widely known than he. His ready wit, cheery laugh and
fund of information--for he is extremely well-read--always insure for
him an attentive and appreciative audience.

Speaking of Ben Taylor, he told me a characteristic incident, which
being also typical of the men of '49, I give, with his consent, as
related. When the White Pine excitement in 1869 started a rush of
prospectors to Nevada, Mr. Maslin caught the fever with the rest. In
common with all who dug for gold, he had his ups and downs, the fat
years and the lean ones; at the time, his fortunes being at a lew ebb,
he joined the stampede. Several years previous to his departure,
without informing his wife, he had borrowed of Ben Taylor, three hundred
dollars, secured by mortgage on his house in Grass Valley. At White Pine
he met with considerable success, and in a short time sent his wife five
hundred dollars, telling her for the first time of the mortgage on their
home and requesting her to go to Ben Taylor at once and pay him in full.
It so happened that Taylor had called on Mrs. Maslin for news of her
husband, as she was reading this letter. She immediately tendered him
the check with the request that he would inform her to what the interest
amounted. "Why, Molly," said Ben Taylor, "you surely ought to know me
well enough to know I would never take any interest on that money!" When
it is remembered that the legal rate of interest at that time was ten
per cent, and that double that amount was not infrequently paid--Mr.
Maslin, in fact, expecting to pay Taylor something like five hundred
dollars--the attitude of the latter will be the better appreciated.

This seems a fitting place to pay a humble personal tribute of respect
to the memory of the men of "the fall of '49 and the spring of '50." Not
since the Crusades, when the best blood of Europe was spilt in defense
of the Holy Sepulchre, has the world seen a finer body of men than the
Argonauts of California. True, the quest of the "Golden Fleece" was the
prime motive, but sh