I have but a dim recollection of what occurred after we found our efforts to save them fruitless. Willie gained the boat, and I returned to the shore and ran to the village for assistance. I remember indistinctly of seeing folks hurrying wildly to the boat, carrying long hooks; and, as they raised the fair forms from the bottom, of seeing the water gently stir the long disheveled tresses as if repentant of its cruel deed

"Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,"

Whatever stars rule the destiny of Willie and I, their horoscope fated our lots to run parallel, even to being together in the mines of California,where poor Willie exists a mournful shadow on a bright scene.

We miners, as a class, are generally a merry set of fellows, who enjoy life as it goes-as far as circumstances will admit. Yet with all this general merriment and carelesness, there are many sad faces among us, upon which care and

All efforts of restoration to life were ineffectual, and the fair forms were robed in the spotless livery of death.

One general cloud of grief overspread the village at the sorrowful fate of its two fairest children; but there were two of the mourners who stood motionless apart, in the intensity of that grief which neither speaks nor weeps-two, who, that very day, in the fulness of their joyousness, had thought that life contained no dark shades, now bowed to a grief so overwhelming, that it could scarcely define itself in thought-much less find utterance in tears or speech.

We had loved them not, perhaps, with the steady discerning affection of mature years, but with the intense romantic passion of youth

"Our love it was stranger by far than love Of many far older than we: Of many far wiser than we.". They were the beings to whom our hearts clung with all the ardent affection of our years; the princes at whose feet we were to lay the trophies of all our visionary knightly deeds;-the objects to which, in the fear of future, all the aims of life centered. We had thought of them in this light until now, when all was so suddenly crushed: it was as if the sun had been taken from us at midday, and left not a shadow but a rayless midnight gloom.

I might stop here, but I am tracing

tune-poverty and boundless wealth,— wealth and abject poverty, and their corresponding emotions-are liable to succeed each other so quickly in our State, that the minds of her votaries, unless possessed of great elasticity, are unable to bend to these sudden changes, and break, leaving these mournful monuments of the strength of our passions. Such, now, exists poor Willie ; mild and harmless he wanders about among his friends, telling the wild phantasies and incoherent dreams of his

disordered brain.

I saw him to-day, and he told me about the phantom-miner, a strange fancy by which he accounts for the disappearance of an old camp-mate who went home when Willie first became deranged.

"'Twas in the hungry winter of '53," he commenced; "the weather was severe,-times were awfully hard, and water had begun to fail ;-and many a stout heart that had borne up against almost overwhelming adversity, began to grow discouraged. One stormy Saturday night a large company was assembled at old Brook's trading tent, enjoying themselves to the fullest extent on whiskey,

for that was the only thing that was cheap or plenty that winter. Jack Reed was the liveliest one among them.

If men's spirits could be constructed into a barometor, I could have told any one who had said that that human barometor had fallen, that Jack Reed was in high spirits, for when every body else was 'down in the mouth' he was always livliest; some thought he did it to vex them, but he didn't, he felt at heart as dull as any, but nobly exerted himself to appear cheerful to entertain others.

And this night when they all spoke so despondingly of the hard times and failing diggins, Jack, as usual, tried to cheer them; he admitted that at present it was mighty tight papers,' but times would brighten, he said, and as for the diggins-why! they had never found the best yet,-prospecting was all that was wanted to show them richer deposites than had ever yet been struck.

But Jack's reasoning had no more effect on them, than preaching had on the Scribes and Pharisees-they were of little faith, and jeered him and told him he was "gassing," and that he knew it.

Unable to contend againt their unbelief, and probably his own secret opinions also, Jack lost his good nature, and swore if words would not convince them, he was ready to prove what he said by deeds; and catching up a pick, pan and shovel, he took such an oath as made the most inveterate swearers of the company tremble, that he would not taste a mouthful of food or enter a house until he had shown them a richer claim than was known on that Creek; and with these words he went out into the furious storm, slamming the door behind him."

Here Willie paused and looked wildly around, until we asked him what became of Jack.

"He never found the claim," he replies, ; “ diggins have been growing worse ever since, and he has become a phantom. I waited long at my cabin for him to return, but he didn't come; I began to suspect the truth, and watehed sharp and constantly night and day.

At last one night I heard a dull sound as of some one washing dirt wiih a pan. The sound was muffled and cautious, but my ear was quick and caught it. I moved stealthily to the spot whence it came, and then I first learned that it was a phantom, for he was aware of my presence, and fled with the speed of light; but I caught a glimpse of him as he flitted over the distant hills, and I saw that it was Jack Reed, changed to a shadow.

Since that I hear him nightly, and place food for him but it is always untouched.

But

And often in the winter season, when the dreary rain falls incessantly for weeks, I nightly hear the sound of weary footsteps without my cabin; but when I hasten to the door they flee from me, and are lost in the distance in the pattering of the falling rain. I know well they are the footsteps of one, who in vain must wish for shelter from the merciless storm-in vain wish to live again among men, and yet can never hope for the rest and peace of the grave.

When I listen to willie as he tells this, and see his wasted form, and his quick wild gestures, and restive glances that betoken his shattered mind, I think of the happy boy, who thought that life's experience would not justify the writing of one sad sentence, and of the many sad changes I have known, and daily learned, I can almost ask, in the impassioned words of the poet,

"O, God! how long shall the daylight last? When shall the sun and shadow be past?"

Such is life-sunshine and shadowbut which the most? As often, in childish glee, I have sat for hours watching the clouds' shadows and sunshine chase each other over the meadows, and cried, as either held transient sway, "There's the most shadow— there's the most sunshine,"-so, although to-morrow I may say there is more sunshine, yet to-day, of all other days, while this sadness rests on me, I will say "life has more shadow."

A STRANGER BY THE WAY-SIDE. Not long since, in taking a trip to one of the upper towns of Yuba County, my attention was attracted by a grave in a lonely place by the way-side. I stopped my horse, and for some moments regarded the spot in silent meditation.

Here lay a mortal, once full of life, whose heart beat to emotions of hope and joy, as well as of hatred, of grief, of despair; one endeared, perhaps, to all the tender relations of life-who in infancy had fondly sported upon his mother's knee;-in boyhood following his father's footsteps to the field, or riding behind him to the country town -had disturbed the silent meditations of his indulgent parent, by his innocent prattle and inquiring loquacity; -in youth had softly sung the lovesong-had furtively cast the love-look - had tremblingly spoke the love-vow to some fair and willing maiden among his father's neighbors; and in manhood, having united his fortune to hers by the nearest and dearest of ties the tie most akin to the union of the soul with its God - he has perhaps already fondled upon his lap a bright and lovely child, as himself was fondled years before.

I stood there by that lone grave by the way-side, and I saw-yes, in my mind's eye, clearly saw him leave his home, months gone by, for the far-off west, in search of riches. Alas! what are riches, that they should cause us to sever so many of the finest cords of the human soul-that they should impel us to forego so many of the true joys of life!

The day came;-the day of parting. I saw his aged father come across the field his thin silver locks were tossed about by the wind as, leaning upon his staff, he comes-tottering as he comes, to bid his son farewell, and to give him his blessing.

I saw that son-that son who now lies here by the way-side-early in the morning of the day set for his depart-!

ure, go alone to his mother's grave. I saw him kneel there: I heard his words of prayer. They were few and simple: "Oh God! let my mother's counsels and my mother's spirit, accompanied always by Thy grace, go with me in my wanderings. Be with my wife and child in my absence, and be their friend. And if a sinner may ask so much of Thee without offense, bring me to see them again in peace." This was all. He rose from his knees, and taking a common pebble from the head of that grave, placed it in his pocket and said: "This, dear mother, to remember thy counsel." And then he wept-there by his mother's grave.

* * *

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The

His

I saw him again at his home hour of departure had come. scanty baggage had already been conveyed to the nearest rail-road station. Willing to postpone the most painful parting to the last, he first turns to the faithful servant, and tells her to be good and kind to her mistress, while he is gone, and then he bids her farewell. His father next :-" God bless you, my son," is all that is said. That son can only press his father's hand. He can not speak. Words are for the empty, not the full. Next he turns to his wife, who stands waiting with her child in her arms; but there is something too tender and too sacred about the separation of husband and wife, even for a short time, to be witnessed by bystanders, so she accompanied him part of the way to the rail-road station. They went with their arms lovingly linked together, ever and anon gazing into the depths of each other's souls. Oh, it was a sad sight to see them part. For riches-for riches alone he is about to leave that dear sweet woman, who has surrounded his manhood with a world of love and virtuous affection-leave her to struggle in life alone, unguided by his counsel, unaided by his strength

leave his wife, "the last best gift of heaven to man," without whom his riches would prove worthless, and the world would be a desert.

But they parted. No words were