The Sierra citizen., 1854-11-18

,
the spinningwheel, or preparing the eve
ming meal for the laborers when they re
turned tired from the clearing. Wha
cared they for the caprices of fortune ?
Their children ran whooping through tn
woods as joyous and independent q
though they belonged TO some feudal castle
But. there is one great objection to lif
in the mountains of California; the Sab
bath is desecrated and the teachings Q
religion, which we have all been taugh
to respect, are only spoken ofas something
with which people have nothing to do
This might be reasonable enough if Cali
fornia were beyond the fight of the Ange
of Death. But now and then we see {
dozen or two people slowly ascending the
hill from the river, collecting round new
made grave, taking off their hats, and &C
knowledg;ng the existence of God. Some
one sets up a board "in memory Of
it may be the widows son! Yes, heap ur
the fresh earth and hurry away, and ask
not how or why he died. The story is q
melancholy one of guilt and shame
youth, hope, dissipation, despair and death
Let the silence that broods over the grave
by the way-side protect his memory, and
when the expressman brings the next let
ter to his cabin and finds it empty, let him
return it, not with the intelligence that
the owner fills a suicides grave, but that
they
Buried him deep in the infinite sea,
And made him a limitless grave.
The stranger coming into some of our
mining towns might suppose that there
was no Hereafter, no God, no Death, in
the gold mines; and yet the miners are not
a community of infdels. Now and then
one hears some blasphemous wretch revil-
ing the name of his Creator, and ridicui-
ing the story of the Cross, but it is revolt
ing to the better feelings that are hidden
in the hearts of the apparently reckless,
and they secretly dispise the miserable
blasphemer.
Snow has already fallen on the hills that
[ have to pass tomorrow, and they look
as cold and bleak as Spitzbergen. \
Well, we have crossed the snowy bills
that | looked at with apprehension two
days ago. cold not help looking back
with regret at the rude log hut where l
had passed so many pleasant, as well as
gloomy days. Nothing looks so melan-
choly to me as the smoke curling up slug
gishly from the chimney after the house
has been abandoned, and 1 felt half in
clined to go back and rekindle the fire
that | had raked up on the hearth. Last
night we slept in the sgow. A roaring
fire was built against a big log; fir
were spread down and our little
party corraled in front, and passed the
night quite comfortably, considering the
About midnight we were awakened by
a solo from California lion, got up proba-
bly, for his own amusement exclusively, or
it may be on account of the great scarcity
of provisions in his territory. Few per-
sons have passed the night high up in the
Sierras without hearing the discordant
howlings OF these animals; and few ever
heard the sound without making criti-
cal examination of the nearest tree. The
sound is an harmonious blending Of the
believing of a young OK and the yelling of
a panther. AT first it seemed to me hide
Gus beyond description, but I soon got
used to it, and had about as soon hear it
now, as the spasmodic bowling of poll
tician half seas over. Some months ago
l had the pleasure of hearing Duet per-
formed by California lion and large
wolf, one on either side of the creek. The
wolf was very respectable amateur vo-
calist, but he gave up in despair when his
antagonist became thoroughly warmed up,
and "echo con'd the doolfu' tale''
Here endeth the "Sketches from Sierra
Valley" and l suppose you and your
readers are heartily glad of it. When
winters reign is over and the other deni-
zens of the wood return to their old
haunts, may be I may return to mine,
where
VII sma' to sell and less to buy,
Aboon distress. below envy,
D wha' would leave this humble state.
For a. the pride Of a. the great?
Can they the peace and pleasure feel,
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheels
The Butte REcoRD is ENLARGED to
Jov,l,1o s%e Eor,vno~