Year: 1875

Joaquin Miller, in Overland Monthly for June.l


There was young Deboon from Bos-
ton, a very learned man; in fact he was
one of those fearfully learned young
men-a man who could talk in all
tongues, and think in no one. Perhaps
he had sometime been waiter. am
bound to say that i'm my observations.
reaching over many years of travel, the
most dreadfully learned young men l
have ever met are in the continental
hotels.


Then there was Clipper Charley
smart enough, and man, too, who had
read at least dozen books; but the
Forks didn't want him for an alcalde any
more than it did Deboon.


Then there was Timber Tim, and Linn
ber certainly could write his name, for
he was always leaning up against trees
and houses, and fences, when he could
find them, and writing the day and date,
and making grotesque pictures with
great carpenters pencil, which he carried
in the capacious depths of his duck
breeches pocket. But when Sandy pro-
posed Timber Tim, the camp silently but
firmly shook its head, and said Not for
Joseph


At last the new camp pitched upon a
man who it seemed had been called
"Judge" from the first. Perhaps he had
been born with that name. 1t would
indeed have been hard to think of him
under any other appellation whatever.
1t had been easier to imagine that when
he had first arrived on earth his parents
met him at the door, took his carpet
bag, called him "Judge," and invited
him in.


AS is usually the case in the far, far
West, this man was elected judge, simply
because he was fit for nothing else. The
"boys" didn't want a man above them
who knew too much.


When Clipper Charley had been pro-
posed, an old man rose up, turned his hat
inside out with his fist, twisted his beard
around his left hand, spirited a stream of
tobacco.juice down through an aisle Of
rugged men and half way across the
earthern floor of the Howling Wilderness
saloon, and then proceeded to make a
speech that killed the candidate dead on
the spot.


This was was the old mans speech:


"That won't 60 down. Too much
book-larnin'. Shove him up"


But the new judge, or rather the old,
bald-headed, dumpy, dirty-faced little
fellow, with the dirty shirt and dirty
the boys" had too much hard sense to
set up anything but a sort of wooden
king to rule over them in this little iso-
lated remote camp and colony of the
Sierra. And they were perfectly content
with their King Log, too, and never
called to Jupiter for King Stork.


When the great Californian novel which
has been prophesied of, and for which
the literary world seems to be waiting,
comes to be written, it will not be bit
popular. And that is because every
true Californian, no matter how depraved
he may be, somehow has somewhat of the
hero and the real man in his makeup.
And as for the women that arc there,
they are simply angels. So you see there
is no one to do the business of the heavy
villain.


This old idiotic little Judge, with q
round head, round, red face, and round
belly had no mind-he had no memory.
He had tried every thing in the world
almost, and always had failed. He had
come to never expect anything else.
When he rose up to make speech of
thanks to the "boys" for the "unex-
pected honor" and broke fiat down after
two or three illusions to the wonderful
climate of Californy," he was perfectly
serene, perfectly content. lie had got
used to breaking down, and it didn't
hurt him.


He used to say to his friends in conf
dence that he certainly would have made
great poet had he begun in his youth.
And perhaps be would for he was certain
ly fit for nothing else under the sun.