e; for ever since
that day he has been anything but himself--in short, has given way to
dissipation of longer continuance than ever before in his life. It has
lasted six days, with most part of six nights, at the end of which time
he has only pulled up for want of the wherewith to continue it--credit
being denied him at the very counter over which he has passed all his
pay.

Impecuniosity is an unpleasant predicament in any country, and at all
times; but in the San Francisco of 1849 it was a positive danger--where
six dollars were demanded, and obtained, for the most meagre of meals;
the same for sleeping on a blanketless bed, in a chilly night, within a
rough weather-boarded room, or under the yet thinner shelter of a canvas
tent. It was a boon to be allowed to lie on the lee-side of a
wooden-walled stable; but cost money for the privilege of sleeping in a
stall, with straw litter for couch, and the radiating heat from the
horses in lieu of coverlet.

In the necessity of seeking some such indifferent accommodation, Harry
Blew finds himself, on the seventh night after having received his
discharge from the _Crusader_. And as he has now got somewhat sobered,
with brain clear enough to think, it occurs to him that the time is come
for carrying out the second part of his programme--that is, going on to
the gold-diggings.

But how to get off, and get there? These are separate questions, to
neither of which can he give a satisfactory answer. Passage to
Sacramento, by steamer, costs over a hundred dollars, and still more by
stage-coach. He has not a shilling--not a red cent; and his sea-kit
sold would not realise a sum sufficient to pay his fare, even if it (the
kit) were free. But it is not. On the contrary, embargoed, "quodded,"
by the keeper of the "Sailor's Home," against a couple of days' unpaid
board and lodging--with sundry imbibings across the counter, scored on
the slate.

The discharged man-o'-war's man sees himself in a nasty dilemma--all the
more from its having a double horn. He can neither go to the
gold-diggings, nor stay in the "Sailor's Home." Comparatively cheap as
may be this humble hostelry, it is yet dear enough to demand ten dollars
a day for indifferent bed and board. Both have been thought bad enough
by Harry Blew, even though only a foremast-man. But he is threatened
with a still worse condition of things. Inappropriate the title
bestowed on his house, for the owner of the "Home" has