Saturday night!

The saloon is full to overflowing--full of brawny rough, and grisly
men; full of ribald songs and maudlin curses; full of foul
atmospheres, impregnated with the fumes of vile whisky, and worse
tobacco, and full of sights and scenes, exciting and repulsive.

As we enter and work our way toward the center of the apartment, our
attention is attracted by a coarse, brutal "tough," evidently just
fresh in from the diggings; who, mounted on the summit of an empty
whisky cask, is exhorting in rough language, and in the tones of a
bellowing bull, to an audience of admiring miners assembled at his
feet, which, by the way, are not of the most diminutive pattern
imaginable. We will listen:

"Feller coots and liquidarians, behold before ye a real descendant uv
Cain and Abel. Ye'll reckolect, ef ye've ever bin ter camp-meetin',
that Abel got knocked out o' time by his cuzzin Cain, an becawse Abel
war misproperly named, and warn't _able_ when the crysis arriv ter
defen' himsel' in an able manner.

"Hed he bin 'heeled' wi' a shipment uv Black Hills sixes, thet would
hev _enabled_ him to distinguish hisself fer superyer ability. Now, as
I sed before, I'm a lineal descendant uv ther notorious Ain and Cable,
and I've lit down hyar among ye ter explain a few p'ints 'bout true
blessedness and true cussedness.

"Oh! brethern, I tell ye I'm a snorter, I am, when I git a-goin'--a
wild screechin' cattymount, right down frum ther sublime spheres up