ious characters, thrown together by chance, there
assembled. Dickens unquestionably derived inspiration from Smollett and
Fielding; nor is there any doubt but that Harte made a close study of
Dickens.

From which preamble we come to the statement; if you would study human
nature on the road, you must simply go where men congregate and exchange
ideas. The plots of nearly all Bret Harte's mining stories are thus
closely associated with the bar-rooms and taverns of the mining towns
of his day. What would remain of any of Phillpott's charming stories
of rural England, if you eliminated the bar-room of the village inn? In
hospitality and generous living, the inns of the mining towns still keep
up the old traditions. The card room and bar-room are places where men
meet; to altogether avoid them from any pharisaical assumption of moral
superiority is to lose the chance of coming in contact with the leading
citizen, philanthropist, or eccentric character.

In the old romances it must be admitted there is much brawling and heavy
drinking, as well as unseemliness of conduct. Yet in spite of the fact
that hotel bars and saloons abound in all the old mining towns, the
writer throughout his travels and notwithstanding the intense heat, not
only saw no person under the influence of liquor, but also never heard
a voice raised in angry dispute. Moderation, decency and a kindly
consideration for the rights of others seem habitual with these people.

It is fifteen miles from Grass Valley to Smartsville, and I arrived at
the Smartsville Hotel in time for the midday meal. Smartsville has
"seen better days," but still maintains a cheerful outlook on life. The
population has dwindled from several thousand to about three hundred. It
is, however, the central point for quite an extensive agricultural and
pastoral country surrounding it.

The swinging sign over the hotel bears the legend, "Smartsville Hotel,
John Peardon, Propr." The present proprietor is named "Peardon," but
everyone addressed him as "Jim." Having established a friendly footing,
I said: "Mr. Peardon, I notice the sign over the door reads John
Peardon. How is it that they all call you 'Jim?'" "Oh," he replied,
"John Peardon was my father, I was born in this hotel;"--another of
the numerous instances that came under my observation of the way these
people "stay where they are put."

John Peardon was an Englishman. The British Isles furnished a very
considerable percentage of