TOWN OF GRASS VALLEY. 227 



The long shadows of the trees are swallowed up 

 in the gathering gloom, the music of the forest 

 has died away, and, save the wind sighing through 

 the leafy foliage, everything is still. My com- 

 panion draws nearer. ' Stranger,' he began, in a 

 voice that appeared to come from his boots, and 

 get out at his nose, 'jist Avar we are standin', 

 three weeks agone, a tarnation big grizzly come 

 slick upon two men, jist waitin' for the stage, as 

 we are ; chawed up one, and would a gone in for 

 t'other, but he made tall travellin' for the stage. 

 When they came up Ephraim had skedaddled, 

 and they never see him or old Buck-eye arter.' 



This is refreshing ! I hope if 'old Ephraim' does 

 come, he may eat my tough companion. The 

 stage came, but the bear did not. We reach our 

 destination at 8 p.m. : how sore I am ! 



March %lth.- A good sleep has worked won- 

 ders. I find Grass Valley a romantic little 

 mountain town, about 2,200 feet above the sea- 

 level, on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, 

 owing its existence entirely to gold-mining. 

 Visited Mr. A.'s mill a magnificent quartz - 

 crusher. Nine stamp-heads, each 900 Ibs. in 

 weight, are worked by one of Watts' engines. 

 The fine-dust gold is collected on blankets, or 

 bullocks' bides with the hair on, over which the 



