name of Clark, whom Judge Jones for some reason now permits to edit the
moribund but once respectable _Gazette_, caught the eye of the congenial
Beauvoir, and, true to the ungentlemanly instincts of his base nature,
pointed to a barrel in the street. The brutal Englishman took the hint
and thrust Mr. Kilburn forcibly into the barrel, leaving the vicinity
before Mr. Kilburn, emerging from his close quarters, had fully
recovered. What the ruffianly Beauvoir's motive may have been for this
wanton assault it is impossible to say; but it is obvious to all why
this fellow Clark sought to injure Mr. Kilburn, a gentleman whose many
good qualities he of course fails to appreciate. Mr. Kilburn,
recognizing the acknowledged merits of our job-office, had given us the
contract for all the printing he needed in New Centreville.

DOCUMENT NO. 29.

_Advertisement from the New York "Clipper" Dec. 21st, 1878:_

WINSTON & MACK'S GRAND INTERNATIONAL MEGATHERIUM VARIETY
COMBINATION. COMPANY CALL.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Company will assemble for rehearsal, at
Emerson's Opera House, San Francisco, on Wednesday, Dec 27th, 12 M
sharp. Band at 11. J.B. WINSTON EDWIN R. MACK--Managers. Emerson's
Opera House, San Francisco, Dec. 10th, 1878. Protean Artist wanted.
Would like to hear from Nina Saville. 12-11.

DOCUMENT NO. 30.

_Letter from Nina Saville to William Beauvoir._

NEW CENTREVILLE, December 26, 1878.

My Dear Mr. Beauvoir--I was very sorry to
receive your letter of yesterday--_very_ sorry--because
there can be only one answer that I can
make--and you might well have spared me the
pain of saying the word--No. You ask me if I love
you. If I did--do you think it would be true
love in me to tell you so, when I know what it
would cost you? Oh indeed you must never
marry _me_! In your own country you would
never have heard of me--never seen me--surely
never written me such a letter to tell me that you
love me and want to marry me. It is not that I
am ashamed of my business or of the folks around
me, or ashamed that I am only the charity child
of two poor players, who lived and died working
for the bread for their mouths and mine. I am
proud of them--yes, proud of what they did and
suffered for one poorer than themselves--a little
foundling out of an Indian camp. But I know
the difference between you