me from the sitters,
and one man muttered something about "quitting the game a winner." With
a hand on each hip, the giant swept the disgruntled upturned faces with
a comprehensive glance, and drawled: "I'll admit there's something wrong
in mine, gentlemen, or I wouldn't be here, see?" He waited a moment and
amid silence passed slowly through the barroom to the sidewalk, seated
himself, stretched his long legs and placidly gazed across the street.

In the morning I had a long talk with Mr. J. H. Bradley, perhaps the
best known man in El Dorado County. Though in his eighty-fourth year,
his keen brown eyes still retain the fire and light of youth. The
vitality of these old pioneers is something marvelous. Mr. Bradley was
born in Kentucky, but, as a boy, moved to Hannibal, Missouri, where he
played marbles with Mark Twain, or Clemens, as he prefers to call him.
In '49, he came across the plains to California. He was on the most
friendly terms with Twain and said he assisted him to learn piloting on
the Mississippi; and when Twain came to California, helped him to get
a position as compositor with U. E. Hicks, who founded the Sacramento
Union. He also knew Horace Greeley intimately, and has a portfolio
that once was his property. Five years after Greeley's arrival in
Placerville, which was in 1859, Mr. Bradley married Caroline Hicks, who
with Phoebe and Rose Carey had acted as secretary to Mr. Greeley.
Mr. Bradley takes no stock in the "keep your seat, Horace!" story. He
considers it a fabrication. In his opinion, the romancers--Bret Harte,
Mark Twain, et al.--have done California more harm than good. He also
has a thinly disguised contempt for "newspaper fellows and magazine
writers." Nor does he believe in the "Mother Lode"--that is, in its
continuity--in spite of the geologists. He prefers to speak of the
"mineral zone." In fine, Mr. Bradley is a man of definite and pronounced
opinions on any subject you may broach. For that reason, his views,
whether you agree with them or not, are always of interest.

Hanging in the office of the Cary House is a clever cartoon, by
William Cooper, of Portland, Oregon, entitled "A mining convention in
Placerville;" in which Mr. Bradley is depicted in earnest conversation
with a second Mr. Bradley, a third and evidently remonstrant Mr. Bradley
intervening, while a fourth and fifth Mr. Bradley, decidedly bored, are
hurriedly departing.

Indeed, one glance at Mr. Bradley is enough to conv