him this yer specimen. Give him my compliments, and tell him, ef
he kin spend money faster than I can, I call him! Tell him, ef he
wants a first-class jamboree, to kem out here, and me and the boys
will show him what a square drunk is!" In vain would the old man
continue to protest against the spirit of the gift; the miner
generally returned with his pockets that much the lighter, and it
is not improbable a little less intoxicated than he otherwise might
have been. It may be premised that Daddy Downey was strictly
temperate. The only way he managed to avoid hurting the feelings
of the camp was by accepting the frequent donations of whisky to be
used for the purposes of liniment.

"Next to snake-oil, my son," he would say, "and dilberry-juice,--
and ye don't seem to pro-duce 'em hereabouts,--whisky is good for
rubbin' onto old bones to make 'em limber. But pure cold water,
'sparklin' and bright in its liquid light,' and, so to speak,
reflectin' of God's own linyments on its surfiss, is the best,
onless, like poor ol' Mammy and me, ye gets the dumb-agur from
over-use."

The fame of the Downey couple was not confined to the foot-hills.
The Rev. Henry Gushington, D.D., of Boston, making a bronchial tour
of California, wrote to the "Christian Pathfinder" an affecting
account of his visit to them, placed Daddy Downey's age at 102, and
attributed the recent conversions in Rough-and-Ready to their
influence. That gifted literary Hessian, Bill Smith, traveling in
the interests of various capitalists, and the trustworthy
correspondent of four "only independent American journals," quoted
him as an evidence of the longevity superinduced by the climate,
offered him as an example of the security of helpless life and