Year: 1874

l Their damp, cold arms about me they fold,


And ever with them my soul is chanting


A dirge that is born of darkness and cold.


Miss Grey Of Sandy Gulch.
| "Sandy Gulch! You as dom,
stop here git breakfast" We had
determined to stop here, and had
kept this spot in view rs an objec.
tive point during several hundred
miles of stage journeying. There
is something wearisome in six days
continued stage riding-becomes
slightly monotonous in twenty four
hours; cramped up in a corner, un-
able to lie down or get good stretch
is trial to the patience of the ordi-
nary Americ n.


We cannot present an active-look-
ing picture Of our fellow-travelers
to your mind-they were all too stiff
and sore, and we might say out of
humor. The man who could rest
his head anywhere and sleep was
an object Of envy and distrust, and
a general desire was felt by each
wakeful one to pinch the man driv-
ing you mad with his delicious
snores. 'Twas at time when our
nerves, detached and shaken up,
and our very brains sloshing around
we heard the welcome sound, "San-
dy Gulch"


Not very beautiful name, nor,
as we poked our heads out of the
coach window did it look to be par
ticularly charming. Two hundred
or more miners cabins that seemed
to have started from the stage sta
ton and got lost in all sorts of
places along the Gulch; odd little
boxes of honses perched up on the
very top Of an immense rock, or
nesting close to their messy sides
down by the roaring mountain
stream, or far up on the mountain
side, as the airy fancy Of the rough
owner in fec simple demanded.
The "main house" Of the Gulch
was the "Bar," and the bar was at
the main house.


The broad stretch of golden sands
washed by the heavy rains from the
mountains and deposited near the
mouth of the Gulch, gave the place
its name. The "Overland" always
stopped at the main house, we SUP
pose on account of the bar. The
coming of Skaggs, Jim Jones, and
Boss Myers was something to San
dy Gulch. They were heavy opera
tors, and the owners of the ponder
Gus machines that were up at the
Gulch battering away at the silver
ore. Even the bar-keeper shook
hands with all and said, "What is
it Skaggsy?" But we were unno-
ticed We, who had come to edit
the Miners Friend, found mono
no, not one to do us honor. How
ever, having visited strange towns
and edited several short lived dali
lies before, we were prepared to
meet any fate like philosophers.


There was one passenger we pitt
led in his loneliness-not more than
four and twenty, slender, delicate,
whose face and form indicated the
intellectual man stripped Of his
grosser attributes-who shrank from
the rude oaths and boisterous mer-
rlment of his fellowtravelcrs, and
who seemed to us as untitled to their
society as would be an angel. We say
we felt sorry for him-such sorrow
as we sometimes feel for inexperi-
enced fellow-travelers Oh life's jour
ney. 1t was whispered abou, that
he was a missionary. This opinion
became fixed when it was found,
that after repeated trials, he would
not drink, nor had he been known
to swear during the entire trip
something truly wonderful. His
place in the coach had been so far
removed from Skaggs, Jones & Co.
that, much as we desired to make
his acquaintance, no opportunity
was offered.


He, too, got out at Sandy Gulch,
and the greasy register bore the
name of Rev. Milton May.


We learned that he had just grad
uated from one OF our leading theo-
logical Colleges, and had come to
look after the spiritual welfare of
the "Gulch."


The "Gulchers," big and little,
were to be brought under the sound
of Mr.. Mays voice-that is, if they
wanted to. On the first Sabbath
ten Of them did. But Mr.. May, be-
ing an enthusiast and earnest chris
tian, determined to increase this
number; and during the second
week climbed sluice-boxes, jumped
bitches, waded the creek again and
again in pursuit OF working parties
of miners. Nor did he stop with
the workers. The lonely, weary
man lying on his bunk, his frame
racked with pain, and seeing in few
erish fancy the approach of a dear
wife or mother, was soothed by the
pale-fac man.


The gaudy room behind the bar
was not free from him, for he enter
ed and invited "Slick Dick" who
was dealing faro, to come to the SER
vices at the log cabin. Strange as
it may seem, he came, and the room
was full of those whose ears had not
heard one word of these tidings in
many, many years. All, what may
not the influence of one. man have
on community?


Of course, the latter thought was
entirely in connection with our
selves. t.t


The Miners Friend was succeed
ing; we were able to live and pay
oft such OF our liabilities as were
pressing. We were beginning to
feel something of the delights Of in
dependent journalism. The Terri