n say, the other day, that it was "the d---dest country
under the sun," and that comprehensive conception I fully subscribe
to. It never rains here, and the dew never falls. No flowers grow
here, and no green thing gladdens the eye. The birds that fly over
the land carry their provisions with them. Only the crow and the
raven tarry with us. Our city lies in the midst of a desert of the
purest, most unadulterated and uncompromising sand, in which
infernal soil nothing but that fag-end of vegetable creation, "sage-
brush," ventures to grow.... I said we are situated in a flat,
sandy desert--true. And surrounded on all sides by such prodigious
mountains that when you look disdainfully down (from them) upon the
insignificant village of Carson, in that instant you are seized with
a burning desire to stretch forth your hand, put the city in your
pocket, and walk off with it.

As to churches, I believe they have got a Catholic one here, but,
like that one the New York fireman spoke of, I believe "they don't
run her now."

Carson has been through several phases of change since this was
written--for better and for worse. It is a thriving place in these later
days, and new farming conditions have improved the country roundabout.
But it was a desert outpost then, a catch-all for the human drift which
every whirlwind of discovery sweeps along. Gold and silver hunting and
mine speculations were the industries--gambling, drinking, and murder
were the diversions--of the Nevada capital. Politics developed in due
course, though whether as a business or a diversion is not clear at this
time.

The Clemens brothers took lodging with a genial Irishwoman, Mrs.
Murphy, a New York retainer of Governor Nye, who boarded the
camp-followers.--[The Mrs. O'Flannigan of 'Roughing It'.]--This
retinue had come in the hope of Territorial pickings and mine
adventure--soldiers of fortune they were, and a good-natured lot all
together. One of them, Bob Howland, a nephew of the governor, attracted
Samuel Clemens by his clean-cut manner and commanding eye.

"The man who has that eye doesn't need to go armed," he wrote later. "He
can move upon an armed desperado and quell him and take him a prisoner
without saying a single word." It was the same Bob Howland who would be
known by and by as the most fearless man in the Territory; who, as city
marshal of Aurora, kept that lawless camp in subject