The Sierra citizen., 1854-03-11
SATURDAY, MARCH IL, 1854.
A day Of Rest.


It has often been asked by strangers
visiting our little city, "why is it you have
no day of rest 2" 1t is difficult to answer
this question, but perhaps the reason is
because no one has troubled himself about
what others do. preferring to keep the Sab
bath or not, as may suit his convenience.
There is within the breast of almost every
man something that bids him lay aside the
implements Of his craft and keep sacred
the day which has always been the jubilee
ofthe sons and daughters of toll. We do
not speak of the Sabbath as divine in
stitution, or one that has alone been hall
lowed by the religious world. We leave
this to be discussed by others better yersed
in theology, while we look upon it simply
in the light Of human reason, and in ac-
eordance with the innate sense of right
and propriety which is ours by inheritence.
The miners almost universally recognise
the Sabbath. When Saturday night ar
rives the labors of the week are suspended,
the mining implements dropped where
they were last used, and the miner returns
to his cabin with sort of relief and sat-
isfaction, as he used to do when returning
from the plough at the end Of the week.
If his weeks work has been unusually
successful, with light heart he hastens to
write to "the old folks at home,'' and
gladden. the little circle round the paternal
tre-side, with the recital of the good for
tune of their wandering boy. But if
disappointment await him, he sits moodily
By his cherries fire, until the very silence
becomes insupportable, and he seeks relief
in the noisy little circles where his ac-
quaintanceg are intent on the result of a
game Of cards or billiards.
Habits that have been acquired in youth
will follow one in a greater or less degree
through life. When at home Sunday
was looked for as day of enjoyment,
the disappointments and successes of the
week were forgotten, and the little ap-
prentice boy threw aside his hammer and
saw, donned the finery which had been
bought with the savings of a year, and
FASTENED away to church where he expect
ed to make sensation When that same
boy has grown to manhood and built his
cabin in the mountains of California, he
looks for the coming of day Of rest as
much as ever. But the chimes of the
church bells no longer reach him from his
native hills; he cannot sit in the old family
pew gazing fondly OH the STOPPING form
of his mother, as she leans upon her staff
in the house of prayer. The little red
school-house on the hillside is filed with
another generation, who chase each other
among the trees which yet bear the
marks of his hatchet-the leaves OF
Autumn are whirling in the gale, and the
wind shakes down the nuts from the old
chestnut which was his own peculiar
property; but he is no longer the playful
mlschiefous boy the struggle of life
has begun, the memory of other day;
will come back, and the lessons learned
in the Sunday-school will follow him, and
be remembered in his lonesome hours il
the Sierra
Hence our streets are crowded on Sun
day with people in search of amusement
They do not come on business, to lay il
the coming weeks provision. for in thu
evening We see them slowly vending thei
way home carrying nothing away. Som,
remain in town, staggering from ont
drinking saloon to another, where the,
would not have been found had there beer
any where else to go. The unfinished
rickety looking church is forsaken b,
people who should have been theve. am
when he listens at the window for the vel
remembered notes of "Old Hundred h,
hears only the wind whistling spitefull,
through the crcvices- Then is it to be won
-dered at if he look for amusement else
wheres And when those who shuddere,
at the blasphemous oaths uttered in ange
years ago. now in their drunken orgie
give vent to expressions that would scar
their mother and sisters from the famil
circle, single word whispered with chris
tian affection in the ear would break u
the CONCEALED fountains of the heart, an
The eonvalive twitcbing Of the bscnse'