up the old traditions. The card room and bar-room are places where men
meet; to altogether avoid them from any pharisaical assumption of moral
superiority is to lose the chance of coming in contact with the leading
citizen, philanthropist, or eccentric character.

In the old romances it must be admitted there is much brawling and heavy
drinking, as well as unseemliness of conduct. Yet in spite of the fact
that hotel bars and saloons abound in all the old mining towns, the
writer throughout his travels and notwithstanding the intense heat, not
only saw no person under the influence of liquor, but also never heard a
voice raised in angry dispute. Moderation, decency and a kindly
consideration for the rights of others seem habitual with these people.

It is fifteen miles from Grass Valley to Smartsville, and I arrived at
the SmartsviIle Hotel in time for the midday meal. Smartsville has "seen
better days," but still maintains a cheerful outlook on life. The
population has dwindled from several thousand to about three hundred. It
is, however, the central point for quite an extensive agricultural and
pastoral country surrounding it.

The swinging sign over the hotel bears the legend, "Smartsville Hotel,
John Peardon, Propr." The present proprietor is named "Peardon," but
everyone addressed him as "Jim." Having established a friendly footing,
I said: "Mr. Peardon, I notice the sign over the door reads John
Peardon. How is it that they all call you 'Jim?'" "Oh," he replied,
"John Peardon was my father, I was born in this hotel;" - another of the
numerous instances that came under my observation of the way these
people "stay where they are put."

John Peardon was an Englishman. The British Isles furnished a very