6
A Knave of Conscience
By FRANCIS LYNDE.
—III I
tCopyriglit, l'.tuu, l>y Frauciß Lyude.)
CH AFTER I.
In the days before New Orleans be
came a modern city with trolley cars
and sky-scraping buildings—was it
yesterday or the day before?—there
was a dingy little cafe in the news
paper quarter which was well beloved
of journalism, notably of that wing of
the force whose hours begin late and
end early.
"Chaudiere's," it was called, though
I know not if that were the name of
that wizen little Gascon who took toll
at the desk; and it was particularized
for its gumbos, its stuffed crabs and
its claret, which was neither very bad
nor very dear. For the rest, it had a
clean, sanded floor, marble-topped
tables for two, and an old-world air of
recreative comfort which is rarer now,
even in New Orleans, than it was yes
terday or the day before.
It was at Chaudiere's that Griswold,
late of New York and the coasts of
bohemia, had eaten his first breakfast
in the Crescent city and it was at Chau
diere's again that he shared a farewell
supper with Rainbridge of the "Louisi
anian." Six weeks lay between this
and that; forty odd days of discour
agement and failure superadded upon
other like days and weeks and
months. The breakfast, he remem
bered, had been garnished with certain
green sprigs of hope; but at the supper
table he ate like a barbarian in arrears
to his appet it e. recking not that he was
another man's guest.
Bainbridge had just been billeted
for a run down the Central American
coast to write up the banana trade for
his paper, lie was boyishly jubilant
over the assignment, which promised
to be neither more nor less than a
pleasure trip; and, chancing upon
Griswold, in the first flush of his ela
tion, had dragged him around to the
cafe to play second knife and fork at a |
email parting feast. Not that it had re- j
quired, much persuasion. Griswold
had fasted for twenty-four hours and
he would have broken bread thank
fully with an enemy, to say nothingof
Bainbridge, who, if he were not a full
fledged friend, was at least a friendly
aequ aintance.
Now, a hungry man is but poor com
pany at best; but Bainbridge, the elat
ed, contrived to talk for two until he I
had relieved his mind upon the subject
of his windfall.
Then it occurred to him that Gris
wold was rather more than usually un
responsive a fault not to be condoned
under the circumstances. Wherefore
he protested.
"What's the matter with you to
night, Kenneth? You're more than
commonly grumpy—and that's saying
a good deal."
Griswold took the last roll from the
plate and buttered it methodically.
"Am I? I was more than commonly
hungry. But goon; I'm listening."
"That's comforting as far as it goes,
hut I should think you might say some
thing more or less appropriate. You
•don't have a chance to congratulate
lucky people every day."
Griswold looked up with a scowl that
was almost ill-natured, and quoted
cynically: " "Unto everyone that hath
shall be given; and from him that hath
not, even that he hath shall be taken
away from him.' "
Bainbridge laughed tolerantly. "By
Jove, Kenneth, a man up a tree would
say you envied me."
"I do," rejoined Griswold, gravely.
4, 1 envy any man who can earn enough
to keep the ban-dog of hunger from
Siting him."
"Pshaw! anybody can do that," said
Bainbridge, with the air of one to
whom the struggle for existence is as
yet a mere phrase.
"I know that is your theory, but the
facts disprove it. I can't, for one."
"Yes, you could, if you'd side-track
some of your own theories and come
down to sawing wood like the rest of
us. But you won't do that."
Griswold was a fair man, with a skin
-that was quick and sensitive like that
of a woman, and a red flush of anger
swept over his face.
"That is not true, and you know it,
Bainbridge," he contradicted, speak
ing slowly, lest his temper should
break bounds. "Is it my fault that I
-can do nothing but write books for
which I can't find a publisher? Or that
the work of a hack writer is quite as
Impossible to me as mine is to him?"
Bainbridge laughed, but he was
Teady enough to make amends when he
saw that Griswold was moved.
"I take it all back," said he."l sup
pose the book is home again, and a re
turned manuscript excuses anything.
But, seriously, Kenneth, you ought to
get down to hard facts. Nobody but a
phenomenon can find a publisher for
his first book, nowadays, unless he
has had some sort of an introduction
in the magazines or the newspapers.
You haven't had that; and, so far as I
know, you haven't tried to get it."
"Oh, yes, I have —and failed. It isn't
In me, and there isn't an editor in the
country who doesn't know it by this
time. 1 came down here, as you know,
to write up the sugar situation for
Horton. It was a humiliating failure,
like everything else of the kind I have
•«v** set myself to do."
"Did you send in anything?"
"Yes; and it was rejected. Horton
said to try it on some of the reviews;
that it might go with them, but was
no good for a newspaper. It's no use
talking, Bainbridge; the conditions
are all wrong when a man wiPh a mes
sage to his kind can't get to deliver it
to the people who want to hear it."
Bainbridge ordered the demi-tasses
#nd lighted a eij»a* "That's about
what I suspected. You couldn't keep
your peculiar views muzzled even
while you were writing- a bit of a pot
boiler. That brings us back to the old
contention. You drop your fool so
cialistic fad and write a book that a
publisher can bring' out without com
mitting' commercial hari-kari, and
you'll stand some show. Light up and
fumigate that idea awhile."
Griswold took the proffered cigar.
"It doesn't need fumigating; if I could
consider it seriously, it ought to be
burnt with lire. You march in the
ranks of the well-fed, Bainbridge, and
it's your business to be conservative.
I don't, and it's mine to be radical."
"What would you have? The world's
as it is, and you can't remodel it."
"Yes, 1 and my kind can remodel it,
and we will some day when the burden
has grown too heavy to be borne. The
aristocracy of rank went down in lire
and blood in France a century ago;
that of money will come to its end here
when the time is ripe."
"That's rank anarchy. I didn't know
you'd gotten so far along."
"Call it what you please; names
don't change facts. Listen" —Gris-
wold leaned across the table and his
eyes grew hard and the blue in them
was steely—"For more than a month
I have tramped the streets of this ac
cursed city begging —yes, that's the
word —begging for work of any kind
that would suffice to keep body and
soul together; and for more than half
of that time, I've lived on one meal a
day. That is what we have come to—
we of the submerged majority. And
that isn't all; the wage-worker himself
is but a serf, a chattel among the other
possessions of some fellow-man who
lias acquired him in the plutocratic re- 1
distribution of the' earth and the ful
ness thereof."
Bainbridge applauded in dumb show
with his thumb-nails. "Turn it loose
and ease your mind, old man,"he said,
indulgently. "I know things haven't
been coming your way lately. What is
your remedy?"
Griswold was fairly started now, and
ridicule was as fuel to the flame.
"The money people have set us the
example. They have made us under
stand that might is right; that he who
has may hold—if he can. The answer
I is simple; there is enough and to spare
for all, and it belongs to all—to him
who has sown the seed and watered it
as well as to him who has reaped the
harvest. That is a violent remedy, you
will say. So be it; it is the only one
that will cure the epidemic of greed.
There is an alternative, but it is only
theoretical."
"And that?"
"May be summed up in seven words:
'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thy
self.' When the man who employs—
and governs—uses the power that
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Eli RvMfe
li-7- viK l I U&
Jgp
"I SHALL END BY BECOMING A
ROBBER."
money gives him to succor his fellow
man, the revolution will be indefinitely
post poned."
Bainbridge looked at his watch. "I
must be going,"he said; "the 'Adelan
tado* drops down the river at eleven.
But in passing I'll venture a little
prophecy. You're down on your luck
now, and a bit liot-hearted in conse
quence, but some day you will strike
it right and come out on top. When
you do, you'll be a hard master, or I'll
lose my guess."
"God do so to me and more, if I am."
"That's all right; when the time
comes you remember my little vatici
nation. But before we shake hand*
let's get back to concrete things for
the minute, liow are you fixed for the
present, and what are you going to
do?"
Griswold laughed mirthlessly. "I am
'fixed' to run twenty-four hours long
er, thanks to your hospitality. For
that length of time I presume I shall
conform to what we have been taught
to believe is the natural order of
things. After that —"
He paused, and Bainbridge put the
question: "What then?"
"Then, if the chance to earn it is still
denied me, and I am sufficiently hun
gry, I shall stretch forth my hand and
take what I need."
Bainbridge fished in his pocket and
found a ten-dollarbill. "I)o that first,"
he said, offering Griswold the money.
The proletary smiled and shook his
head. "No; not to keep from going
hungry— even to oblige you, Bain
bridge. It is quite possible that I shall
end by becoming a robber, as you para
phrasers would put it, but I shan't be
gin on my friends. Good-night, and a
safe voyage to you."
CHAPTER 11.
The fruit steamer "Adelantado,"
outward bound, fell away from hat
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1902
moorings; forged slowly ahead, until
the current caught and swung her
prow rivervvard; and, circling majes
tically in midstream, began to pass the
lights of the city as she steamed at
half speed down the river.
Bainbridge was on deck when the
steamer left her berth, and, remem
bering the stuffy little stateroom he
had inspected earlier in the day, was
minded togo aft and finish his cigar in
the open air. Accordingly he found a
settee on the portquarter and sat
down to watch the lights wheel past in
orderly procession as the Adelantado
swept around the great crescent
which gives t he city its unofficial name.
Whilethecomfortable feeling of edi
tion, born of his unexpected bit ofgood
fortune, was still uppermost to lend
complacency to his reflections, he yet
found time to be honestly sorry for
the man from whom he had just part
ed. Sorry, but not greatly apprehen
sive. lie had known Griswold in New
York, and was not unused to his so
cialistic vagaries. To be sure, his theo
ries were incendiary and subversive of
all civilized dogma; but at bottom,
Griswold the man was nothing worse
than an impressionable enthusiast
who had tormented himself into a fan
cied condition of utter ruthlessness by
dwelling overmuch upon the wrongs of
others.
So Bainbridge thought; and he knew
his opinion was shared with frank
unanimity by all of Griswold's friends,
who agreed in calling him Utopian, al
truistic, visionary. What milder epi
thets could be applied to a man who,
with sufficient literary talent—not to
say genius—to make himself a work
ing name in the ordinary way, must
needs run amuck and write a novel
with a purpose!—a novel, moreover,in
which the purpose so overshadowed
the story as to make the book a mere
preachment.
As a matter of course, the publishers
would have nothing to do with the
book. Bainbridge remembered with
considerable satisfaction that he had
prophesied its failure, and had given
Griswold no little good advice while it
was in the process of writing. But
Griswold, being to the full as obstinate
as he was impressionable, had refused
to be counseled, and now the consc
iences of his st übbornness \\ ere upon
him. lie had said truly that his liter
ary gift was novelist ic and nothing
else; and here he was, pennilesss and
desperate, with a dead book on his
hands, and with no chance to write
another, even if he were so minded,
since one cannot write fasting.
Thus Bainbridge reflected, and was
sorry that. Gri-wold's invincible pride
had kept him from accept ing a friendly
stop-gap in his extremity. Vet he
smiled in spite of his sympathy. It
was amusing to think of Griswold,
who, as long as his slender patrimony
| had lasted, had been emphatically a
j man not of the people, posing as an an
-1 arehist, and up in arms against the
world. None the less, he was to be
pitied.
"Poor devil! he is in the doldrums
now, and isn't quite responsible for
what he says or thinks —or for what he
thinks he thinks," said the journalist
to himself. "Just the same, 1 wish I
had made him take that —Why, how
are you, Griffin? Where in the mis
chief did you drop from?"
It was the inevitable steamer ac
quaintance who is always at hand to
prove the exceeding narrowness of the
world, and Bainbridge made room for
him on the settee.
"I didn't drop, I walked in. More
than that, I kept step with you all the
way down from Chaudiere's to the
levee. You'd be dead easy game for an
amateur."
"Confound you!" said Bainbridge,
laughing. "Can't you ever forget that
you're in the shadowing business?"
"Yes; just as often and just as long
as you can forget, that you are a news
hunter."
The shadowed one laughed again,
and they smoked in silence until the
Adelantado doubled the bend in the
river and the last outposts of the city's
lights disappeared in the blackness.
Then Griffin said:
"Who was the fellow you were talk
ing to in front of Chaudiere's? llis
face is familiar enough, but I can't
place him."
The question fell in with the report
er's train of thought, and he answered
it rather more fully and freely than he
might have at another time under dif
ferent conditions. From telling who
Griswold was, he slipped by easy de
grees into the story of his ups and
downs, ending with a vivid little word
painting of the scene in Chaudiere's.
"To hear him talk, you would think
he was a bloody-minded anarchist of
the thirty-third degree, ready to sweep
the existing order of things off the
face of the earth," he added; "but in
reality he is one of the best fellows in
the world, gone a bit morbid over the
social problem. He has a heart of gold,
as 1 happen to know. He used to spend
a good deal of his time in the backwa
ter, and you know what the backwater
in a big city is."
"Yes."
"Well, one night be stumbled into a
cellar somewhere down in the lower
levels on the East side. He was look
ing for a fellow that he had been try
ing to find work for—a crippled 'long
shoreman, I believe he was. When he
got into the place he found the man
stiff, the woman with the death-rattle
in her throat, and a two-year-old baby
creeping back and forth between the
dead father and the dying mother—
starvation, you know, pure and sim
ple. Griswold jumped into the breach
like a man and tried to save the wom
an. It was too late; but when the
mother died, he took the child to his
own eight-by-ten attic and nursed and
fed it till the missionary people took
it off his hands. He did that, mind you,
when he was living on two meals a day
himself; and 1 fancy he skipped one of
them to buy milk for that kid."
"Humph! And he calls himself an
anarchist, does he? It'# a howling-pity
there ain't a lot Just like him,**
said the detective, sententiously.
"That is what I say," Bainbriffge
agreed. Then, with a sudden twinge of
remorse for having told Griswold's
story to a stranger, he changed the
subject with an abrupt question.
"Where are you headed for. Griffin?"
The detective chuckled. "You don't
expect me to give it away to you—a
newspaper man—do you? Hut 1 will,
seeing you can't get it on the wires. I
am going down to Guatemala after
Mortsen."
"The defaulter? By Jove! you've
found him at last, have you?"
(Jriflin nodded, "it takes a good
while, sometimes, but I don't fall down
very often when there's enough money
in it to make the game worth the can
dle. I've been two years, off and on,
trying to locate that fellow; and now
I've found him he is where he tan't be
extradited. All the same, I'll bet you
five to one he goes back with me on
the next steamer. Have a fresh smoke?
No? Then let's turn in; it's getting
late."
[To Be Continued.]
IRISH ABSURDITIES.
AmnnlnK Inmtaiicen of tlie Extreme
Simplicity of Country Folk of
the Emerald lute.
Here are a few samples of the ab
surdities arising out of the extreme
simplicity of some Irish folk, says
the London Spectator. A young man
came to confess to an Irish priest in
London whose experiences of the hu
mors of his fellow countrymen would
fill a book. "Well, my man," said
the priest, "and how do you earn your
living?" "I'm an acrowbat, your river
ence." The priest was nonplussed.
"I'll show you what I mean in a brace
of shakes," said the penitent, and in
a moment was turning himself inside
out in the most approved acrobatic
fashion in and out of the pews. An
old woman who had followed him to
confession looked on horrified. "When
it comes, to my turn, father," she
gasped, "for the love of God don't
put a penance on me like that; it 'ud
be the death of me!" i think it was
the same good father, who, observing
that regular attendance at a Lent
mission had done nothing to reform
one of his parishioners, told him so,
and asked him the reason of it. "Ah!
father." he replied, "I can manage
the faith right enough, but the morals
bate me." On another occasion this
priest was called upon to marry a
man of whom he knew nothing to a
girl of his congregation. On investi
gation he found the would-be bride
groom's knowledge of the Catholic
faith very limited. "Have you ever
been baptized?" he asked. "Well,
father, I can't trust my memory to
that." "Are your parents living?"
"The mother is." "Let's have her
address." This was given, and a tele
gram dispatched to the old lady on
the spot, reply paid. The answer
came indue course: "Vaccinated, but
not baptized."
THE BAPTISM OF BELLS.
A Rplljelon* Ceremony of the Ho,nan
Church Tlint IJntca Back Many
Centuries.
Bells were solemnly baptized like
children—a custom which is still ex
tant in the Roman church. This is
probably not a primitive practice,
and cannot be traced further back
than the reign of Charlemagne, says
the Gentleman's Magazine. It is first
distinctly mentioned in the time gf
Pope John XIII. (OSS), when he gave
his own name to the great bell of the
Lateran church. Sleidan gives an ac
count of the ceremonial to be ob
served. "First of all, the bells must
be so hung that the Bishop may be
able to walk round them. When he
has chanted a few psalms in a low
voice, he mingles water and salt, and
consecrates them, diligently spring
ing the bell with the mixture, both
inside and out. Then he wipes it
clean, and with holy oil describes on
it the figure of the cross, praying
the while that when the bell in
swung up and sounded, faith and
charity may abound among men; all
the snares of the devil—hail, light
ning, winds, storms—may be ren
dered vain, and all unseasonable
weather be softened. After he has
wiped off that cross of oil from the
rim, he forms seven other crosses on
it, but only one of them within. The
bell is censed, more psalms are to be
sung, and prayers put up for its wel
fare. After this, feasts and banquet
ings are celebrated, just as at a wed
ding."
He Hnil Money.
Little Tommy sat way back in
church with his mamma. It was his
first experience. Everything was
wonderful to him. By and by the
collection was taken, but imagine the
surprise of Tommy's mother, when
the usher passed the plate, to hear
Tommy say: "No, thank you, I've got
some money of my own."—Detroit
Free Press.
Ilia I'nrlinj; Shot.
The Actor (about to leave the one
night stand) —That sign on the wall
reads: "Accommodation for Man and
Beast," doesn't it?
The Landlord (of t.he Mansion house)
—That's what she dors I
The Actor—Well, I'd advise you to
obliterate the"man," if you don't want
to be arrested for swindling, some day.
—Puck.
Ilerlln'n IllaeL Hook.
Berlin's black book, the criminal
record kept by the police, now con
ists of 37 volumes, containing at,ooo
photographs of criminals of all
classes.
Know* by Experience.
When a town man makes a little
garden, he thinks every farmer ought
to be the happiest man on earths—
Washington (la.) Democrat.
THE EXCITING DAYS OF
THE GREAT BONANZA MINE
Perseverance That Won Success and Fortune for the
Late John W. Mackay.
R recent death of John W.
Mackay, and the recording
Jfmßh w ''' s which disposes
of his vast fortune, bring
vividly to mind the exciting
days of the discovery of the
great Bonanza mine in the Comstock
lode at Virginia City. It will be many
a year hence before those days in the
early seventies will be forgotten by
the mining interests of this country,
and, while equally as great deposits of
metal have since been found in many
places, and especially in Montana and
the placer mines of Alaska, none have
produced a greater upheaval in finan
cial circles than did the discovery of
the Great Bonanza.
What is without doubt the best and
most interesting record of the dis
covery of the Bonanza mine is given by
Mr. Charles Howard Shinn in his vol
ume entitled "The Story of the Mine,"
issued by 1). Appleton & Co., as one of
their "Story of the West" series. It is
from this volume that we quote much
of the following article, with the kind
permission of the publishers.
Among the hundreds who were at
tracted to Virginia City in 1800 was
Mackay. lie had been placer mining
in California since 1852. In that state
he had experienced the ups and downs
that come to virtually all prospectors,
and with his last stake he removed to
Nevada to try his luck in the new dig
gings in the Comstock lode, lie was
I
, 112
. - ' ••'• !»**><,
iki"" •' % -'^ v "
' <3b: llliis
VIRGINIA CITY, NEVADA.
Dublin born, but bad been in tliis coun
try for a number of years, IS of which
he liaii spent in the mining camps of
the west.
At Virginia City practically all con
ditions were against him, but he had
with him his own keen perception, his
industry and the good luck that some
times follows the miner. Within a
short time after the arrival of Mackay
Wililam Sharon began the operations
that gave him control of virtually all
the paying properties in the Comstock
lode, lie was backed by almost unlim
ited means, and played the game with
all the audacity of the plunger, and
won. He controlled practically every
thing that was considered valuable in
the mining districts of Nevada, and vir
tually manipulated the stocks to suit
his own convenience, llis hand was
against all those who were not in
cluded in his combinations, if he
thought there was any possibility of
their winning. He paid but little at
tention to Mackay and those interest
ed with him, for the reason that he
did not expect them to win.
Passing over Mackay's early ven
tures and his work in the mines with
pick and shovel as an employe of
others let us st.art him at the begin
ning of that venture which resulted
in the discovery of the Great Bonanza
and made of him a many times million
aire. With him were associated James
Ci. Fair, .James ('. Flood, William S.
O'Hrien and J. M. Walker, though the
latter soon sold out his interests to
Mackay. The other four became the
four "bonanza kings" of the period.
There was one stretch of 1,310 feet
on the lode that was believed to be
unprofitable, it had been operated by
assessable stock companies until the
stockholders had refused to stand fur
ther assessments, and this could be
bought at a nominal price. Mackay
and Fair had both made considerable
money out of another venture they
had been interested in, principally a
matter of speculation, and they, with
the other three who became interest
ed with them, could produce quite a
sum of money. Together they bought
this tract of property, determined to
stake all they hail upon its exploration
togreatdepths. The stretch of land had
cost them to secure control by buying
the majority of the stock in the mines
located upon it about SIOO,OOO, but
this gave them three-fourths of all
the different stocks.
During 1872 they pushed a drift
through at a depth of 1.107 feet, and
for months worked without finding
anv trace of the treasure house for
which they were seeking. James (i.
Fair wast he superintendent.and at last
his trained eye discovered a narrow
seam of ore not wider than a knife
blade. He ordered his men to follow it,
and they did so. Overwork upon Fair's
part brought on a severe illness, and
during this illness the miners lost
trace of the narrow ore vein, but it
was found again when he returned to
his place in the mine. The work thus
far had cost many thousands of dol
iars; stock assessments had been
made until it was thought the outside
stockholders would not stand another,
and the stock rapidly decreased, and
the daring' operators were said by the
public to have come to grief. Sharon
and his followers were chuckling in
their sleeves at the seeming discom
fiture of the men, who for a time they
feared might find the bonanza they
were seeking.
While matters were in this condition
the narrow metallic iilm so long fol
lowed began to widen until it meas
ured seven feet across. A month more
of work, and the vein was 12 feet wide,
and a few weeks more saw the vein
40 feet wide. From this point a new
shaft was sunk 250 feet in a south
easterly direction, and the Great
liananza had been tapped; "the very
top had been pried oit from nature'#
huge treasurehouse."
What had the daring prospectors
found? We will quote from Mr. Shinn's
work to answer the question. First,
as to the rise in the value of the min
ing stock, which they held, and then
as to the value of the ore as estimated
by competent men:
"... The general public has been
roused to a sudden fever of excitement and
lhe- vulue of the famous mines rose every
hour on the stock boards. In December,
1874, Consolidated Virginia reached $l6O per
share, rising again In January to S7OO
which made the selling' value of the mine
S7S,UO\J,Oi/0. California stock went even
higher, for It was said that the bonanza ex
tended over the Consolidated Virginia in
such a way as to give the California mine
the larger part. California share worth
$37 in September rose to $"1-0 in January,
15.75, making the valuation o? that mine
$84,240,0 CX). The 1,310 feet or. the lode which
had been valued live years before at $40,000
or $50,000, was now worth in the market, ac
cording to stock sales, about sloo,©oo, COO."
Of the estimated value of the ore
in sight at this time, Mr. Shinn savs:
"Now that the Pacillc coast was stirred
with the grtat news, estimates of the actu
al 'ore in sight' began to be in order. I have
alluded to the first newspaper estimate of
about sllt),ooo.(KiU. Next came Sir. Diedes
heimer, the Inventor of the 'square-set sys
tem,' and one of the most careful mining
engineers on the Pacific coast. He reported
to the directors that there was $1, 900,(00,(00
in sight, ai d added that each mine ought to
pay in dividends ss,<X<o a share under prop
er management. A little later he gave
proof of his faith in his own report by put
ting every dollar ht- could! raise into shares
in the two mines at the highest price. Even
the director of the Carson mint, with his
assistants, who examined the bonanza,
was unable to (lx any definite limit to its
yield, and thought there was not less than
$3W),000,©00 already in sight. Mackay, how
ever. a miner of unsurpassed Judgment, ut
terly refused to make any estimate, ar.d
flatly said it was an impossible task, be
cause barren masses of rock, porphyry, the
difficulty of obtaining accurate assays, andi
many other elements of uncertainty made
calculation absurd. He 'preferred to mine
it out first and then take the milling re
turns.' "
lint the days of the great Bonanza,
and, in fact, of the whole Comstoek
lode, are virtually over. Maekay and
his associates became millionaires,
and he and James G. Fair have since
then played prominent parts in other
walks of life. They got out of the
lode before the fail came. Of the pres
ent conditions Mr. Shinn says:
"After 1579, the close of the bonanza
period came with exceeding swiftness.
The stock of the 30 mines on the lode, val
ued in isSi at over $393,000,000, sank in Feb
ruary, !BSO, to something less than $7,000,-
000. California sold for $1.15 a share and
the Consolidated Virginia for SI.W, and so
on down the forlorn list. How had the
mighty fallen! The Great Bonanza, after
yielding in five years' nearly $105,000,000, was
exhausted, andi nothing even approaching
in value to the earlier group of ore bodies
has since been discovered. Hundreds of
thousands of tons of low-grade rock have
been taken out of long-neglected portions
of the mines anil worked at a profit, small
dividend® have been paid) by a few mines,
and the working efficiency of the lode has
been well maintained. There may be new
bonanzas In the depths or new grains' of
metal hidden in husks of porphyry, but
nothing of striking importance has since
been found. Once more the endurance of
the mine owners and of the towns on the
lode is being severely tested. California
ceased)paying dividends in 1879; Consolidat
ed Virginia paid Its last dividend in ISXO.
Fourteen years of borrascaha ve ruined
successive stockholders, have caused the
decay of once populous mining towns, and
have, in short, come near to breaking the
hearts of the brave old Comstockers."
I.lliel on Sine.
C'lara- —Oh! I'm really learning a
great deal about baseball. I found
out what a base hit means without
asking George.
Mabel Did you, really?
"Ye*, the paper said Me.Oraw hit,
the umpire with a bat and in the
score lie is credited with a base hit,
so that must be the one."—Chelsea
Gazette.