Duffieldwouldhesitatetoplaceabishop，istorisetonewideas。But，alas!therewasnoPattersonabouttheTollHouse。Only，alongsideof"FromPalacetoHovel，"asixpenny"Ouida"figured。Soliterature，yousee，wasnotunrepresented。
　　Theschool—ma’amhadfriendstostaywithher，otherschool—
　　ma’amsenjoyingtheirholidays，quiteabevyofdamsels。
　　Theyseemednevertogoout，ornotbeyondtheverandah，butsatcloseinthelittleparlour，quietlytalkingorlisteningtothewindamongthetrees。SleepdweltintheTollHouse，likeafixture：summersleep，shallow，soft，anddreamless。
　　Acuckoo—clock，agreatrarityinsuchaplace，hootedatintervalsabouttheechoinghouse；andMr。Jenningwouldopenhiseyesforamomentinthebar，andturntheleafofanewspaper，andtherestingschool—ma’amsintheparlourwouldberecalledtotheconsciousnessoftheirinaction。BusyMrs。CorwinandherbusyChinamanmightbeheardindeed，inthepenetralia，poundingdoughorrattlingdishes；orperhapsRufehadcalledupsomeofthesleepersforagameofcroquet，andthehollowstrokesofthemalletsoundedfarawayamongthewoods：butwiththeseexceptions，itwassleepandsunshineanddust，andthewindinthepinetrees，alldaylong。
　　Alittlebeforestagetime，thatcastleofindolenceawoke。
　　Theostlerthrewhisstrawawayandsettohispreparations。
　　Mr。Jenningsrubbedhiseyes；happyMr。Jennings，thesomethinghehadbeenwaitingforalldayabouttohappenatlast!Theboardersgatheredintheverandah，silentlygivingear，andgazingdowntheroadwithshadedeyes。Andasyettherewasnosignforthesenses，notasound，notatremorofthemountainroad。Thebirds，towhomthesecretofthehootingcuckooisunknown，musthavesetdowntoinstinctthispremonitorybustle。
　　AndthenthefirstofthetwostagesswoopedupontheTollHousewitharoarandinacloudofdust；andtheshockhadnotyettimetosubside，beforethesecondwasabreastofit。
　　Hugeconcernstheywere，well—horsedandloaded，themenintheirshirt—sleeves，thewomenswathedinveils，thelongwhipcrackinglikeapistol；andastheychargeduponthatslumberinghostelry，eachshepherdingaduststorm，thedeadplaceblossomedintolifeandtalkandclatter。ThistheTollHouse？—withitscitythrong，itsjostlingshoulders，itsinfinityofinstantbusinessinthebar？Themindwouldnotreceiveit!Theheartfeltbustleofthathourishardlycredible；thethrillofthegreatshoweroflettersfromthepost—bag，thechildishhopeandinterestwithwhichonegazedinallthesestrangers’eyes。Theypausedtherebuttopass：
　　theblue—cladChina—boy，theSanFranciscomagnate，themysteryinthedustcoat，thesecretmemoirsintweed，theogling，well—shodladywithhertroopofgirls；theydidbutflashandgo；theywerehull—downforusbehindlife’socean，andwebuthailedtheirtopsailsontheline。Yet，outofourgreatsolitudeoffourandtwentymountainhours，wethrilledtotheirmomentarypresencegaugedanddivinedthem，lovedandhated；andstoodlight—headedinthatstormofhumanelectricity。Yes，likePiccadillycircus，thisisalsooneoflife’scrossing—places。HereIbeheldoneman，alreadyfamousorinfamous，acentreofpistol—shots：andanotherwho，ifnotyetknowntorumour，willfillacolumnoftheSundaypaperwhenhecomestohang—aburly，thick—
　　set，powerfulChinesedesperado，sixlongbristlesuponeitherlip；redolentofwhiskey，playingcards，andpistols；
　　swaggeringinthebarwiththelowestassumptionofthelowestEuropeanmanners；rappingoutblackguardEnglishoathsinhiscanorousorientalvoice；andcombininginonepersonthedepravitiesoftworacesandtwocivilizations。Forallhislustandvigour，heseemedtolookcolduponmefromthevalleyoftheshadowofthegallows。Heimaginedavainthing；andwhilehedrainedhiscock—tail，Holbein’sdeathwasathiselbow。Once，too，Ifellintalkwithanotheroftheseflittingstrangers—liketherest，inhisshirt—
　　sleevesandallbegrimedwithdust—andthenextminutewewerediscussingParisandLondon，theatresandwines。Tohim，journeyingfromonehumanplacetoanother，thiswasatrifle；buttome!No，Mr。Lillie，Ihavenotforgottenit。
　　Andpresentlythecity—tidewasatitsfloodandbegantoebb。LiferunsinPiccadillyCircus，say，fromninetoone，andthen，therealso，ebbsintothesmallhoursoftheechoingpolicemanandthelampsandstars。ButtheTollHouseisfarupstream，andnearitsruralsprings；thebubbleofthetidebuttouchesit。Beforeyouhadyetgraspedyourpleasure，thehorseswereputto，theloudwhipsvolleyed，andthetidewasgone。Northandsouthhadthetwostagesvanished，thetoweringdustsubsidedinthewoods；buttherewasstillanintervalbeforetheflushhadfallenonyourcheeks，beforetheearbecameoncemorecontentedwiththesilence，orthesevensleepersoftheTollHousedozedbacktotheiraccustomedcorners。Yetalittle，andtheostlerwouldswingroundthegreatbarrieracrosstheroad；
　　andinthegoldenevening，thatdreamyinnbegintotrimitslampsandspreadtheboardforsupper。
　　AsIrecalltheplace—thegreendellbelow；thespiresofpine；thesun—warm，scentedair；thatgray，gabledinn，withitsfaintstirringsoflifeamidtheslumberofthemountains—Islowlyawaketoasenseofadmiration，gratitude，andalmostlove。Afineplace，afterall，forawastedlifetodozeawayin—thecuckooclockhootingofitsfarhomecountry；thecroquetmallets，eloquentofEnglishlawns；thestagesdailybringingnewsof—theturbulentworldawaybelowthere；andperhapsonceinthesummer，asaltfogpouringoverheadwithitstaleofthePacific。
　　ASTARRYDRIVE
　　INourruleatSilverado，therewasamelancholyinterregnum。
　　Thequeenandthecrownprincewithoneaccordfellsick；
　　and，asIwassicktobeginwith，ourlonepositiononMountSaintHelenawasnolongertenable，andwehadtohurrybacktoCalistogaandacottageonthegreen。Bythattimewehadbeguntorealizethedifficultiesofourposition。Wehadfoundwhatanamountoflabouritcosttosupportlifeinourredcanyon；anditwasthedearestdesireofourheartstogetaChina—boytogoalongwithuswhenwereturned。Wecouldhavegivenhimawholehousetohimself，self—
　　contained，astheysayintheadvertisements；andonthemoneyquestionwewerepreparedtogofar。KongSamKee，theCalistogawasherman，wasentrustedwiththeaffair；andfromdaytodayitlanguishedon，withprotestationsonourpartandmellifluousexcusesonthepartofKongSamKee。
　　Atlength，abouthalf—pasteightofourlastevening，withthewaggonreadyharnessedtoconveyusupthegrade，thewasherman，withasomewhatsneeringair，producedtheboy。
　　Hewasahandsome，gentlemanlylad，attiredinrichdarkblue，andshodwithsnowywhite；but，alas!hehadheardrumoursofSilverado。Heknowitforaloneplaceonthemountain—side，withnofriendlywash—housenearby，wherehemightsmokeapipeofopiumo’nightswithotherChina—boys，andlosehislittleearningsatthegameoftan；andhefirstbackedoutformoremoney；andthen，whenthatdemandwassatisfied，refusedtocomepoint—blank。Hewasweddedtohiswash—houses；hehadnotastefortherurallife；andwemustgotoourmountainservantless。Itmusthavebeennearhalfanhourbeforewereachedthatconclusion，standinginthemidstofCalistogahighstreetunderthestars，andtheChina—boyandKongSamKeesingingtheirpigeonEnglishinthesweetestvoicesandwiththemostmusicalinflections。
　　Wewerenot，however，toreturnalone；forwebroughtwithusJoeStrong，thepainter，amostgood—naturedcomradeandacapitalhandatanomelette。Idonotknowinwhichcapacityhewasmostvalued—asacookoracompanion；andhedidexcellentlywellinboth。
　　TheKongSamKeenegotiationhaddelayedusunduly；itmusthavebeenhalf—pastninebeforeweleftCalistoga，andnightcamefullyerewestruckthebottomofthegrade。Ihaveneverseensuchanight。Itseemedtothrowcalumnyintheteethofallthepaintersthateverdabbledinstarlight。
　　Theskyitselfwasofaruddy，powerful，nameless，changingcolour，darkandglossylikeaserpent’sback。Thestars，byinnumerablemillions，stuckboldlyforthlikelamps。Themilkywaywasbright，likeamoonlitcloud；halfheavenseemedmilkyway。Thegreaterluminariesshoneeachmoreclearlythanawinter’smoon。Theirlightwasdyedineverysortofcolour—red，likefire；blue，likesteel；green，likethetracksofsunset；andsosharplydideachstandforthinitsownlustrethattherewasnoappearanceofthatflat，star—spangledarchweknowsowellinpictures，butallthehollowofheavenwasonechaosofcontestingluminaries—
　　ahurry—burlyofstars。Againstthisthehillsandruggedtreetopsstoodoutredlydark。
　　Aswecontinuedtoadvance，thelesserlightsandmilkywaysfirstgrewpale，andthenvanished；thecountlesshostsofheavendwindledinnumberbysuccessivemillions；thosethatstillshonehadtemperedtheirexceedingbrightnessandfallenbackintotheircustomarywistfuldistance；andtheskydeclinedfromitsfirstbewilderingsplendourintotheappearanceofacommonnight。Slowlythischangeproceeded，andstilltherewasnosignofanycause。Thenawhitenesslikemistwasthrownoverthespursofthemountain。Yetawhile，and，asweturnedacorner，agreatleapofsilverlightandnetofforestshadowsfellacrosstheroadanduponourwonderingwaggonful；and，swimminglowamongthetrees，webeheldastrange，misshapen，waningmoon，half—tiltedonherback。
　　"Whereareyewhenthemoonappears？"sotheoldpoetsang，half—taunting，tothestars，bentuponacourtlypurpose。
　　"Asthesunlightroundthedimearth’smidnighttowerofshadowpours，Streamingpastthedim，wideportals，Viewlesstotheeyesofmortals，Tillitfloodsthemoon’spaleisletorthemorning’sgoldenshores。"
　　SosingsMr。Trowbridge，withanobleinspiration。Andsohadthesunlightfloodedthatpaleisletofthemoon，andherlitfaceputout，oneafteranother，thatgalaxyofstars。
　　Thewonderofthedrivewasover；but，bysomeniceconjunctionofclearnessintheairandfitshadowinthevalleywherewetravelled，wehadseenforalittlewhilethatbravedisplayofthemidnightheavens。Itwasgone，butithadbeen；norshallIeveragainbeholdthestarswiththesamemind。Hewhohasseentheseacommovedwithagreathurricane，thinksofitverydifferentlyfromhimwhohasseenitonlyinacalm。Andthedifferencebetweenacalmandahurricaneisnotgreatlymorestrikingthanthatbetweentheordinaryfaceofnightandthesplendourthatshoneuponusinthatdrive。Twoinourwaggonknewnightassheshinesuponthetropics，buteventhatborenocomparison。Thenamelesscolourofthesky，thehuesofthestar—fire，andtheincredibleprojectionofthestarsthemselves，startingfromtheirorbits，sothattheeyeseemedtodistinguishtheirpositionsinthehollowofspace—thesewerethingsthatwehadneverseenbeforeandshallneverseeagain。
　　Meanwhile，inthisalterednight，weproceededonourwayamongthescentsandsilenceoftheforest，reachedthetopofthegrade，woundupbyHanson’s，andcameatlasttoastandundertheflyinggargoyleofthechute。Sam，whohadbeenlyingback，fastasleep，withthemoononhisface，gotdown，withtheremarkthatitwaspleasant"tobehome。"Thewaggonturnedanddroveaway，thenoisegentlydyinginthewoods，andweclambereduptheroughpath，Caliban’sgreatfeatofengineering，andcamehometoSilverado。
　　Themoonshoneinattheeasterndoorsandwindows，andoverthelumberontheplatform。Theonetallpinebeside。theledgewassteepedinsilver。Awayupthecanyon，awildcatwelcomeduswiththreediscordantsqualls。Butoncewehadlitacandle，andbegantoreviewourimprovements，homelyineithersense，andcountourstores，itwaswonderfulwhatafeelingofpossessionandpermanencegrowupintheheartsofthelordsofSilverado。AbedhadstilltobemadeupforStrong，andthemorning’swatertobefetched，withclinkingpail；andaswesetaboutthesehouseholdduties，andshowedoffourwealthandconveniencesbeforethestranger，andhadaglassofwine，Ithink，inhonourofourreturn，andtroopedatlengthoneafteranotheruptheflyingbridgeofplank，andlaydowntosleepinourshattered，moon—piercedbarrack，wewereamongthehappiestsovereignsintheworld，andcertainlyruledoverthemostcontentedpeople。Yet，inourabsence，thepalacehadbeensacked。Wildcats，sotheHansonssaid，hadbrokeninandcarriedoffasideofbacon，ahatchet，andtwoknives。
　　EPISODESINTHESTORYOFAMINE
　　NOonecouldliveatSilveradoandnotbecuriousaboutthestoryofthemine。Weweresurroundedbysomanyevidencesofexpenseandtoil，welivedsoentirelyinthewreckofthatgreatenterprise，likemitesintheruinsofacheese，thattheideaoftheolddinandbustlehauntedourrepose。
　　Ourownhouse，theforge，thedump，thechutes，therails，thewindlass，themassofbrokenplant；thetwotunnels，onefarbelowinthegreendell，theotherontheplatformwherewekeptourwine；thedeepshaft，withthesun—glintsandthewater—drops；aboveall，theledge，thatgreatgapingsliceoutofthemountainshoulder，proppedapartbywoodenwedges，onwhoseimmediatemargin，highaboveourheads，theonetallpineprecariouslynodded—thesestoodforitsgreatness；
　　while，thedog—hutch，boot—jacks，oldboots，oldtavernbills，andtheverybedsthatweinheritedfrombygoneminers，putinhumantouchesandrealizedforusthestoryofthepast。
　　Ihavesatonanoldsleeper，underthethickmadronasneartheforge，withjustalookoverthedumponthegreenworldbelow，andseenthesunlyingbroadamongthewreck，andheardthesilencebrokenonlybythetinklingwaterintheshaft，orastiroftheroyalfamilyaboutthebatteredpalace，andmymindhasgonebacktotheepochoftheStanleysandtheChapmans，withagrandTUTTIofpickanddrill，hammerandanvil，echoingaboutthecanyon；theassayerhardatitinourdining—room；thecartsbelowontheroad，andtheircargoofredmineralboundingandthunderingdowntheironchute。Andnowallgone—allfallenawayintothissunnysilenceanddesertion：afamilyofsquattersdiningintheassayer’soffice，makingtheirbedsinthebigsleepingroomerstwhilesocrowded，keepingtheirwineinthetunnelthatoncerangwithpicks。
　　ButSilveradoitself，althoughnowfalleninitsturnintodecay，wasoncebutamushroom，andhadsucceededtootherminesandotherflittingcities。Twentyyearsago，awaydowntheglenontheLakeCountysidetherewasaplace，Jonestownbyname，withtwothousandinhabitantsdwellingundercanvas，andoneroofedhouseforthesaleofwhiskey。RoundonthewesternsideofMountSaintHelena，therewasatthesamedate，asecondlargeencampment，itsname，ifiteverhadone，lostforme。Bothofthesehaveperished，leavingnotastickandscarceamemorybehindthem。Tideaftertideofhopefulminershavethusflowedandebbedaboutthemountain，comingandgoing，nowbyloneprospectors，nowwitharush。
　　Last，inorderoftimecameSilverado，rearedthebigmill，inthevalley，foundedthetownwhichisnowrepresented，monumentally，byHanson’s，piercedalltheseslapsandshaftsandtunnels，andinturndeclinedanddiedaway。
　　"OurnoisyyearsseemmomentsinthewakeOftheeternalsilence。"
　　AstothesuccessofSilveradoinitstimeofbeing，tworeportswerecurrent。Accordingtothefirst，sixhundredthousanddollarsweretakenoutofthatgreatuprightseam，thatstillhungopenaboveusoncrazywedges。Thentheledgepinchedout，andtherefollowed，inquestoftheremainder，agreatdriftingandtunnellinginalldirections，andagreatconsequenteffusionofdollars，until，allpartiesbeingsickoftheexpense，theminewasdeserted，andthetowndecamped。Accordingtothesecondversion，toldmewithmuchsecrecyofmanner，thewholeaffair，mine，mill，andtown，werepartsofonemajesticswindle。Therehadnevercomeanysilveroutofanyportionofthemine；therewasnosilvertocome。Atmidnighttrainsofpackhorsesmighthavebeenobservedwindingbydevioustracksabouttheshoulderofthemountain。Theycamefromfaraway，fromAmadororPlacer，ladenwithsilverin"oldcigarboxes。"
　　TheydischargedtheirloadatSilverado，inthehourofsleep；andbeforethemorningtheyweregoneagainwiththeirmysteriousdriverstotheirunknownsource。Inthisway，twentythousandpounds’worthofsilverwassmuggledinundercoverofnight，intheseoldcigarboxes；mixedwithSilveradomineral；carteddowntothemill；crushed，amalgated，andrefined，anddespatchedtothecityastheproperproductofthemine。Stock—jobbing，ifitcancoversuchexpenses，mustbeaprofitablebusinessinSanFrancisco。
　　IgivethesetwoversionsasIgotthem。ButIplacelittlerelianceoneither，mybeliefinhistoryhavingbeengreatlyshaken。ForitchancedthatIhadcometodwellinSilveradoatacriticalhour；greateventsinitshistorywereabouttohappen—didhappen，asIamledtobelieve；nay，anditwillbeseenthatIplayedapartinthatrevolutionmyself。AndyetfromfirsttolastIneverhadaglimmerofanideawhatwasgoingon；andevennow，afterfullreflection，professmyselfatsea。Thattherewassomeobscureintrigueofthecigar—boxorder，andthatI，inthecharacterofawoodenpuppet，setpentopaperintheinterestofsomebody，somuch，andnomore，iscertain。
　　Silverado，thenundermyimmediatesway，belongedtoonewhomIwillcallaMr。Ronalds。Ionlyknewhimthroughtheextraordinarilydistortingmediumoflocalgossip，nowasamomentousjobber；nowasadupetopointanadage；andagain，andmuchmoreprobably，asanordinaryChristiangentlemanlikeyouorme，whohadopenedamineandworkeditforawhilewithbetterandworsefortune。So，throughadefectivewindow—pane，youmayseethepasser—byshootupintoahunchbackedgiantordwindleintoapotbellieddwarf。
　　ToRonalds，atleast，theminebelonged；butthenoticebywhichhehelditwouldranoutuponthe30thofJune—orrather，asIsuppose，ithadrunoutalready，andthemonthofgracewouldexpireuponthatday，afterwhichanyAmericancitizenmightpostanoticeofhisown，andmakeSilveradohis。This，withasortofquietslyness，Rufetoldmeatanearlyperiodofouracquaintance。Therewasnosilver，ofcourse；themine"wasn’tworthnothing，Mr。Stevens，"buttherewasadealofoldironandwoodaround，andtogainpossessionofthisoldwoodandiron，andgetarighttothewater，Rufeproposed，ifIhadnoobjections，to"jumptheclaim。"
　　Ofcourse，Ihadnoobjection。ButIwasfilledwithwonder。
　　Ifallhewantedwasthewoodandiron，what，inthenameoffortune，wastopreventhimtakingthem？"Hisrighttherewasnonetodispute。"Hemightlayhandsonallto—morrow，asthewildcatshadlaidhandsuponourknivesandhatchet。
　　Besides，wasthismassofheavyminingplantworthtransportation？Ifitwas，whyhadnottherightfulownerscarteditaway？Ifitwas，wouldtheynotpreservetheirtitletothesemovables，evenaftertheyhadlosttheirtitletothemine？Andifitwerenot，whatthebetterwasRufe？
　　NothingwouldgrowatSilverado；therewasevennowoodtocut；beyondasenseofproperty，therewasnothingtobegained。Lastly，wasitatallcrediblethatRonaldswouldforgetwhatRuferemembered？Thedaysofgracewerenotyetover：anyfinemorninghemightappear，paperinhand，andenterforanotheryearonhisinheritance。However，itwasnoneofmybusiness；allseemedlegal；RufeorRonalds，allwasonetome。
　　Onthemorningofthe27th，Mrs。Hansonappearedwiththemilkasusual，inhersun—bonnet。ThetimewouldbeoutonTuesday，sheremindedus，andbademebeinreadinesstoplaymypart，thoughIhadnoideawhatitwastobe。AndsupposeRonaldscame？weasked。Shereceivedtheideawithderision，laughingaloudwithallherfineteeth。Hecouldnotfindtheminetosavehislife，itappeared，withoutRufetoguidehim。Lastyear，whenhecame，theyheardhim"upanddowntheroadahollerin’andaraisin’Cain。"AndatlasthehadtocometotheHansonsindespair，andbidRufe，"Jumpintoyourpantsandshoes，andshowmewherethisoldmineis，anyway!"SeeingthatRonaldshadlaidoutsomuchmoneyinthespot，andthatabeatenroadledrightuptothebottomoftheclump，Ithoughtthisaremarkableexample。ThesenseoflocalitymustbesingularlyinabeyanceinthecaseofRonalds。
　　Thatsameevening，suppercomfortablyover，JoeStrongbusyatworkonadrawingofthedumpandtheoppositehills，wewerealloutontheplatformtogether，sittingthere，underthetentedheavens，withthesamesenseofprivacyasifwehadbeencabinedinaparlour，whenthesoundofbriskfootstepscamemountingupthepath。Weprickedourearsatthis，forthetreadseemedlighterandfirmerthanwasusualwithourcountryneighbours。Andpresently，sureenough，twotowngentlemen，withcigarsandkidgloves，camedebauchingpastthehouse。Theylookedinthatplacelikeablasphemy。
　　"Goodevening，"theysaid。Fornoneofushadstirred；weallsatstiffwithwonder。
　　"Goodevening，"Ireturned；andthen，toputthemattheirease，"Astiffclimb，"Iadded。
　　"Yes，"repliedtheleader；"butwehavetothankyouforthispath。"
　　Ididnotliketheman’stone。Noneofuslikedit。Hedidnotseemembarrassedbythemeeting，butthrewushisremarkslikefavours，andstrodemagisteriallybyustowardstheshaftandtunnel。
　　Presentlyweheardhisvoiceraisedtohiscompanion。"Wedriftedeverysortofway，butcouldn’tstriketheledge。"
　　Thenagain："Itpinchedouthere。"Andoncemore："Everyminorthateverworkeduponitsaysthere’sboundtobealedgesomewhere。"
　　Thesewerethesnatchesofhistalkthatreachedus，andtheyhadadamningsignificance。We，thelordsofSilverado，hadcomefacetofacewithoursuperior。Itistheworstofallquaintandofallcheapwaysoflifethattheybringusatlasttothepinchofsomehumiliation。IlikedwellenoughtobeasquatterwhentherewasnonebutHansonby；beforeRonalds，Iwillown，Isomewhatquailed。Ihastenedtodohimfealty，saidIgatheredhewastheSquattee，andapologized。Hethreatenedmewithejection，inamannergrimlypleasant—morepleasanttohim，Ifancy，thantome；
　　andthenhepassedoffintopraisesoftheformerstateofSilverado。"Itwasthebusiestlittleminingtownyoueversaw："apopulationofbetweenathousandandfifteenhundredsouls，theengineinfullblast，themillnewlyerected；
　　nothinggoingbutchampagne，andhopetheorderoftheday。
　　Ninetythousanddollarscameout；ahundredandfortythousandwereputin，makinganetlossoffiftythousand。
　　Thelastdays，Igathered，thedaysofJohnStanley，werenotsobright；thechampagnehadceasedtoflow，thepopulationwasalreadymovingelsewhere，andSilveradohadbeguntowitherinthebranchbeforeitwascutattheroot。Thelastshotthatwasfiredknockedoverthestovechimney，andmadethatholeintheroofofourbarrack，throughwhichthesunwaswonttovisitslug—a—bedstowardsafternoon。Anoisy，lastshot，toinauguratethedaysofsilence。
　　Throughoutthisinterview，myconsciencewasagooddealexercised；andIwasmovedtothrowmyselfonmykneesandowntheintendedtreachery。ButthenIhadHansontoconsider。IwasinmuchthesamepositionasOldRowley，thatroyalhumourist，whom"theroguehadtakenintohisconfidence。"Andagain，herewasRonaldsonthespot。HemustknowthedayofthemonthaswellasHansonandI。Ifabroadhintwerenecessary，hehadthebroadestintheworld。
　　Foralargeboardhadbeennailedbythecrownprinceontheveryfrontofourhouse，betweenthedoorandwindow，paintedincinnabar—thepigmentofthecountry—withdoggrelrhymesandcontumeliouspictures，andannouncing，intermsunnecessarilyfigurative，thatthetrickwasalreadyplayed，theclaimalreadyjumped，andMasterSamthelegitimatesuccessorofMr。Ronalds。Butno，nothingcouldsavethatman；QUEMDEUSVULTPERDERE，PRIUSDEMENTAT。Ashecamesohewent，andlefthisrightsdepending。
　　Lateatnight，bySilveradoreckoning，andafterwewereallabed，Mrs。Hansonreturnedtogiveusthenewestofhernews。
　　Itwaslikeasceneinaship’ssteerage：allofusabedinourdifferenttiers，thesinglecandlestrugglingwiththedarkness，andthisplump，handsomewoman，seatedonanupturnedvalisebesidethebunks，talkingandshowingherfineteeth，andlaughingtilltheraftersrang。Anyship，tobesure，withahundredthpartasmanyholesinitasourbarrack，mustlongagohavegonetoherlastport。UptothattimeIhadalwaysimaginedMrs。Hanson’sloquacitytobemereincontinence，thatshesaidwhatwasuppermostforthepleasureofspeaking，andlaughedandlaughedagainasakindofmusicalaccompaniment。ButInowfoundtherewasanartinit，Ifounditlesscommunicativethansilenceitself。I
　　wishedtoknowwhyRonaldshadcome；howhehadfoundhiswaywithoutRufe；andwhy，beingonthespot，hehadnotrefreshedhistitle。Shetalkedinterminablyon，butherreplieswereneveranswers。Shefledunderacloudofwords；
　　andwhenIhadmadesurethatshewaspurposelyeludingme，I
　　droppedthesubjectinmyturn，andletherrattlewhereshewould。
　　Shehadcometotellusthat，insteadofwaitingforTuesday，theclaimwastobejumpedonthemorrow。How？Ifthetimewerenotout，itwasimpossible。Why？IfRonaldshadcomeandgone，anddonenothing，therewasthelesscauseforhurry。ButagainIcouldreachnosatisfaction。Theclaimwastobejumpednextmorning，thatwasallthatshewouldcondescendupon。
　　Andyetitwasnotjumpedthenextmorning，noryetthenext，andawholeweekhadcomeandgonebeforeweheardmoreofthisexploit。Thatdayweek，however，adayofgreatheat，Hanson，withalittlerollofpaperinhishand，andtheeternalpipealight；Breedlove，hislarge，dullfriend，toact，Isuppose，aswitness；Mrs。Hanson，inherSundaybest；
　　andallthechildren，fromtheoldesttotheyoungest；—
　　arrivedinaprocession，tailingonebehindanotherupthepath。Calibanwasabsent，buthehadbeencharyofhisfriendlyvisitssincetherow；andwiththatexception，thewholefamilywasgatheredtogetherasforamarriageorachristening。Strongwassittingatwork，intheshadeofthedwarfmadronasneartheforge；andtheyplantedthemselvesabouthiminacircle，oneonastone，anotheronthewaggonrails，athirdonapieceofplank。Graduallythechildrenstoleawayupthecanyontowheretherewasanotherchute，somewhatsmallerthantheoneacrossthedump；anddownthischute，fortherestoftheafternoon，theypouredoneavalancheofstonesafteranother，wakingtheechoesoftheglen。Meantimeweelderssattogetherontheplatform，HansonandhisfriendsmokinginsilencelikeIndiansachems，Mrs。Hansonrattlingonasusualwithanadroitvolubility，sayingnothing，butkeepingthepartyattheireaselikeacourtlyhostess。
　　Notawordoccurredaboutthebusinessoftheday。Once，twice，andthriceItriedtoslidethesubjectin，butwasdiscouragedbythestoicapathyofRufe，andbeatendownbeforethepouringverbiageofhiswife。ThereisnothingoftheIndianbraveaboutme，andIbegantogrillwithimpatience。Atlast，likeahighwayrobber，IcorneredHanson，andbadehimstandanddeliverhisbusiness。
　　Thereuponhegravelyrose，asthoughtohintthatthiswasnotaproperplace，northesubjectonesuitableforsquaws，andI，followinghisexample，ledhimuptheplankintoourbarrack。Therehebestowedhimselfonabox，andunrolledhispaperswithfastidiousdeliberation。Thereweretwosheetsofnote—paper，andanoldminingnotice，datedMay30th，1879，partprint，partmanuscript，andthelattermuchobliteratedbytherains。Itwasbythisidenticalpieceofpaperthattheminehadbeenheldlastyear。Forthirteenmonthsithadenduredtheweatherandthechangeofseasonsonacairnbehindtheshoulderofthecanyon；anditwasnowmybusiness，spreadingitbeforemeonthetable，andsittingonavalise，tocopyitsterms，withsomenecessarychanges，twiceoveronthetwosheetsofnote—paper。Onewasthentobeplacedonthesamecairn—a"moundofrocks"thenoticeputit；andtheothertobelodgedforregistration。
　　Rufewatchedme，silentlysmoking，tillIcametotheplaceforthelocator’snameattheendofthefirstcopy；andwhenIproposedthatheshouldsign，IthoughtIsawascareinhiseye。"Idon’tthinkthat’llbenecessary，"hesaidslowly；"justyouwriteitdown。"Perhapsthismightyhunter，whowasthemostactivememberofthelocalschoolboard，couldnotwrite。Therewouldbenothingstrangeinthat。TheconstableofCalistogais，andhasbeenforyears，abed—riddenman，and，ifIrememberrightly，blind。Hehadmoreneedoftheemolumentsthananother，itwasexplained；
　　anditwaseasyforhimto"depytize，"withastrongaccentonthelast。Sofriendlyandsofreearepopularinstitutions。
　　WhenIhaddonemyscrivening，Hansonstrolledout，andaddressedBreedlove，"Willyoustepuphereabit？"andaftertheyhaddisappearedalittlewhileintothechaparralandmadronathicket，theycamebackagain，minusanotice，andthedeedwasdone。Theclaimwasjumped；atractofmountain—side，fifteenhundredfeetlongbysixhundredwide，withalltheearth’spreciousbowels，hadpassedfromRonaldstoHanson，and，inthepassage，changeditsnamefromthe"Mammoth"tothe"Calistoga。"IhadtriedtogetRufetocallitafterhiswife，afterhimself，andafterGarfield，theRepublicanPresidentialcandidateofthehour—sincethenelected，and，alas!dead—butallwasinvain。TheclaimhadoncebeencalledtheCalistogabefore，andheseemedtofeelsafetyinreturningtothat。
　　Andsothehistoryofthatminebecameoncemoreplungedindarkness，litonlybysomemonsterpyrotechnicaldisplaysofgossip。Andperhapsthemostcuriousfeatureofthewholematteristhis：thatweshouldhavedweltinthisquietcornerofthemountains，withnotadozenneighbours，andyetstruggledallthewhile，likedesperateswimmers，inthisseaoffalsitiesandcontradictions。Whereveramanis，therewillbealie。
　　TOILSANDPLEASURES
　　IMUSTtrytoconveysomenotionofourlife，ofhowthedayspassedandwhatpleasurewetookinthem，ofwhattherewastodoandhowwesetaboutdoingit，inourmountainhermitage。Thehouse，afterwehadrepairedtheworstofthedamages，andfilledinsomeofthedoorsandwindowswithwhitecottoncloth，becameahealthyandapleasantdwelling—
　　place，alwaysairyanddry，andhauntedbytheoutdoorperfumesoftheglen。Within，ithadthelookofhabitation，thehumanlook。Youhadonlytogointothethirdroom，whichwedidnotuse，andseeitsstones，itssiftingearth，itstumbledlitter；andthenreturntoourlodging，withthebedsmade，theplatesontherack，thepailofbrightwaterbehindthedoor，thestovecracklinginacorner，andperhapsthetableroughlylaidagainstameal，—andman’sorder，thelittlecleanspotsthathecreatestodwellin，wereatoncecontrastedwiththerichpassivityofnature。Andyetourhousewaseverywheresowreckedandshattered，theaircameandwentsofreely，thesunfoundsomanyportholes，thegoldenoutdoorglowshoneinsomanyopenchinks，thatweenjoyed，atthesametime，someofthecomfortsofaroofandmuchofthegaietyandbrightnessofalfrescolife。A
　　singleshowerofrain，tobesure，andweshouldhavebeendrownedoutlikemice。ButourswasaCaliforniansummer，andanearthquakewasafarlikelieraccidentthanashowerofrain。
　　Trustfulinthisfineweather，wekeptthehouseforkitchenandbedroom，andusedtheplatformasoursummerparlour。
　　Thesenseofprivacy，asIhavesaidalready，wascomplete。
　　Wecouldlookovertheclumponmilesofforestandroughhilltop；oureyescommandedsomeofNapaValley，wherethetrainran，andthelittlecountrytownshipssatsoclosetogetheralongthelineoftherail。Butheretherewasnomantointrude。NonebuttheHansonswereourvisitors。
　　Eventheycamebutatlongintervals，ortwicedaily，atastatedhour，withmilk。Soourdays，astheywereneverinterrupted，drewouttothegreaterlength；hourmeltedinsensiblyintohour；thehouseholdduties，thoughtheyweremany，andsomeofthemlaborious，dwindledintomereisletsofbusinessinaseaofsunnyday—time；anditappearstome，lookingback，asthoughthefargreaterpartofourlifeatSilveradohadbeenpassed，proppeduponanelbow，orseatedonaplank，listeningtothesilencethatthereisamongthehills。
　　Mywork，itistrue，wasoverearlyinthemorning。Irosebeforeanyoneelse，litthestove，putonthewatertoboil，andstrolledforthupontheplatformtowaittillitwasready。Silveradowouldthenbestillinshadow，thesunshiningonthemountainhigherup。Acleansmelloftrees，asmelloftheearthatmorning，hungintheair。Regularly，everyday，therewasasinglebird，notsinging，butawkwardlychirrupingamongthegreenmadronas，andthesoundwascheerful，natural，andstirring。Itdidnotholdtheattention，norinterruptthethreadofmeditation，likeablackbirdoranightingale；itwasmerewoodlandprattle，ofwhichthemindwasconsciouslikeaperfume。Thefreshnessofthesemorningseasonsremainedwithmefaronintotheday。
　　Assoonasthekettleboiled，Imadeporridgeandcoffee；andthat，beyondtheliteraldrawingofwater，andthepreparationofkindling，whichitwouldbehyperbolicaltocallthehewingofwood，endedmydomesticdutiesfortheday。Thenceforthmywifelabouredsingle—handedinthepalace，andIlayorwanderedontheplatformatmyownsweetwill。Thelittlecornerneartheforge，wherewefoundarefugeunderthemadronasfromtheunsparingearlysun，isindeedconnectedinmymindwithsomenightmareencountersoverEuclid，andtheLatinGrammar。ThesewereknownasSam’slessons。Hewassupposedtobethevictimandthesufferer；butheretheremusthavebeensomemisconception，forwhereasIgenerallyretiredtobedafteroneoftheseengagements，hewasnosoonersetfreethanhedasheduptotheChinaman’shouse，wherehehadinstalledaprintingpress，thatgreatelementofcivilization，andthesoundofhislabourswouldbefaintlyaudibleaboutthecanyonhalftheday。
　　Towalkatallwasalaboriousbusiness；thefootsankandslid，thebootswerecuttopieces，amongsharp，uneven，rollingstones。Whenwecrossedtheplatforminanydirection，itwasusualtolayacourse，followingasmuchaspossiblethelineofwaggonrails。Thus，ifwaterweretobedrawn，thewater—carrierleftthehousealongsometiltingplanksthatwehadlaiddown，andnotlaiddownverywell。
　　Thesecarriedhimtothatgreathighroad，therailway；andtherailwayservedhimasfarastotheheadoftheshaft。
　　Butfromthencetothespringandbackagainhemadethebestofhisunaidedway，staggeringamongthestones，andwadinginlowgrowthofthecalcanthus，wheretherattlesnakeslayhissingathispassage。YetIlikedtodrawwater。Itwaspleasanttodipthegraymetalpailintotheclean，colourless，coolwater；pleasanttocarryitback，withthewaterrippingattheedge，andabrokensunbeamquiveringinthemidst。
　　Buttheextremeroughnessofthewalkingconfinedusincommonpracticetotheplatform，andindeedtothosepartsofitthatweremosteasilyaccessiblealongthelineofrails。
　　Therailscamestraightforwardfromtheshaft，hereandthereovergrownwithlittlegreenbushes，butstillentire，andstillcarryingatruck，whichitwasSam’sdelighttotrundletoandfrobythehourwithvariousladings。Aboutmidwaydowntheplatform，therailroadtrendedtotheright，leavingourhouseandcoastingalongthefarsidewithinafewyardsofthemadronasandtheforge，andnotfarofthelatter，endedinasortofplatformontheedgeofthedump。
　　There，inolddays，thetrucksweretipped，andtheirloadsentthunderingdownthechute。There，besides，wastheonlyspotwherewecouldapproachthemarginofthedump。
　　Anywhereelse，youtookyourlifeinyourrighthandwhenyoucamewithinayardandahalftopeerover。Foratanymomentthedumpmightbegintoslideandcarryyoudownandburyyoubelowitsruins。Indeed，theneighbourhoodofanoldmineisaplacebesetwithdangers。ForasstillasSilveradowas，atanymomentthereportofrottenwoodmighttellusthattheplatformhadfallenintotheshaft；thedumpmightbegintopourintotheroadbelow；orawedgeslipinthegreatuprightseam，andhundredsoftonsofmountainburythesceneofourencampment。
　　Ihavealreadycomparedthedumptoarampart，builtcertainlybysomerudepeople，andforprehistoricwars。Itwaslikewiseafrontier。Allbelowwasgreenandwoodland，thetallpinessoaringoneaboveanother，eachwithafirmoutlineandfullspreadofbough。Allabovewasarid，rocky，andbald。Thegreatspoutofbrokenmineral，thathaddammedthecanyonup，wasacreatureofman’shandiwork，itsmaterialdugoutwithapickandpowder，andspreadbytheserviceofthetracks。Butnatureherself，inthatupperdistrict，seemedtohavehadaneyetonothingbesidesmining；andeventhenaturalhill—sidewasallslidinggravelandprecariousboulder。Closeatthemarginofthewellleaveswoulddecaytoskeletonsandmummies，whichatlengthsomestrongergustwouldcarryclearofthecanyonandscatterinthesubjacentwoods。Evenmoistureanddecayingvegetablemattercouldnot，withallnature’salchemy，concoctenoughsoiltonourishafewpoorgrasses。Itisthesame，theysay，intheneighbourhoodofallsilvermines；thenatureofthatpreciousrockbeingstubbornwithquartzandpoisonouswithcinnabar。BothwereplentyinourSilverado。
　　Thestonessparkledwhiteinthesunshinewithquartz；theywereallstainedredwithcinnabar。Here，doubtless，cametheIndiansofyoretopainttheirfacesforthewar—path；
　　andcinnabar，ifIrememberrightly，wasoneofthefewarticlesofIndiancommerce。Now，Samhaditinhisundisturbedpossession，topounddownandslake，andpainthisrudedesignswith。Buttomeithadalwaysafineflavourofpoetry，compoundedoutofIndianstoryandHawthornden’sallusion：
　　"Desire，alas!IdesireaZeuxisnew，FromIndiesborrowinggold，fromEasternskiesMostbrightcinoper……"
　　Yetthisisbuthalfthepicture；ourSilveradoplatformhasanothersidetoit。Thoughtherewasnosoil，andscarceabladeofgrass，yetoutofthesetumbledgravel—heapsandbrokenboulders，aflowergardenbloomedasathomeinaconservatory。Calcanthuscrept，likeahardyweed，alloverourroughparlour，chokingtherailway，andpushingforthitsrusty，aromaticconesfrombetweentwoblocksofshatteredmineral。Azaleasmadeabigsnow—bedjustabovethewell。
　　TheshoulderofthehillwavedwhitewithMediterraneanheath。Inthecranniesoftheledgeandaboutthespursofthetallpine，aredfloweringstone—planthunginclusters。
　　Eventhelow，thornychaparralwasthickwithpea—likeblossom。Closeatthefootofourpathnutmegsprospered，delightfultothesightandsmell。Atsunrise，andagainlateatnight，thescentofthesweetbaytreesfilledthecanyon，andthedown—blowingnightwindmusthaveborneithundredsoffeetintotheouterair。
　　Allthisvegetation，tobesure，wasstunted。Themadronawasherenobiggerthanthemanzanita；thebaywasbutastriplingshrub；theverypines，withfourorfiveexceptionsinallouruppercanyon，werenotsotallasmyself，orbutalittletaller，andthemostofthemcamelowerthanmywaist。
　　Foraprosperousforesttree，wemustlookbelow，wheretheglenwascrowdedwithgreenspires。Butforflowersandravishingperfume，wehadnonetoenvy：ourheapofroad—
　　metalwasthickwithbloom，likeahawthorninthefrontofJune；ourred，bakingangleinthemountain，alaboratoryofpoignantscents。Itwasanendlesswondertomymind，asI
　　dreamedabouttheplatform，followingtheprogressoftheshadows，wherethemadronawithitsleaves，theazaleaandcalcanthuswiththeirblossoms，couldfindmoisturetosupportsuchthick，wet，waxygrowths，orthebaytreecollecttheingredientsofitsperfume。Buttheretheyallgrewtogether，healthy，happy，andhappy—making，asthoughrootedinafathomofblacksoil。
　　Norwasitonlyvegetablelifethatprospered。Wehad，indeed，fewbirds，andnonethathadmuchofavoiceoranythingworthytobecalledasong。Mymorningcomradehadathinchirp，unmusicalandmonotonous，butfriendlyandpleasanttohear。Hehadbutonerival：afellowwithanostentatiouscryofnearanoctavedescending，notonenoteofwhichproperlyfollowedanother。ThisistheonlybirdI
　　everknewwithawrongear；buttherewassomethingenthrallingabouthisperformance。Youlistenedandlistened，thinkingeachtimehemustsurelygetitright；butno，itwasalwayswrong，andalwayswrongthesameway。Yetheseemedproudofhissong，delivereditwithexecutionandamannerofhisown，andwascharmingtohismate。Averyincorrect，incessanthumanwhistlerhadthusachanceofknowinghowhisownmusicpleasedtheworld。Twogreatbirds—eagles，wethought—dweltatthetopofthecanyon，amongthecragsthatwereprintedonthesky。Nowandagain，butveryrarely，theywheeledhighoverourheadsinsilence，orwithadistant，dyingscream；andthen，withafreshimpulse，wingedfleetlyforward，dippedoverahilltop，andweregone。
　　Theyseemedsolemnandancientthings，sailingtheblueair：
　　perhapsco—oevalwiththemountainwheretheyhaunted，perhapsemigrantsfromRome，wherethegladlegionsmayhaveshoutedtobeholdthemonthemornofbattle。
　　Butifbirdswererare，theplaceaboundedwithrattlesnakes—therattlesnake’snest，itmighthavebeennamed。Whereverwebrushedamongthebushes，ourpassagewoketheirangrybuzz。Onedwelthabituallyinthewood—pile，andsometimes，whenwecameforfirewood，thrustuphissmallheadbetweentwologs，andhissedattheintrusion。Therattlehasalegendarycredit；itissaidtobeawe—inspiring，and，onceheard，tostampitselfforeverinthememory。Butthesoundisnotatallalarming；thehumofmanyinsects，andthebuzzofthewaspconvincetheearofdangerquiteasreadily。Asamatteroffact，welivedforweeksinSilverado，comingandgoing，withrattlessprungoneveryside，anditneveroccurredtoustobeafraid。Iusedtotakesun—bathsanddocalisthenicsinacertainpleasantnookamongazaleaandcalcanthus，therattleswhizzingoneverysidelikespinning—
　　wheels，andthecombinedhissorbuzzrisinglouderandangrieratanysuddenmovement；butIwasneverintheleastimpressed，noreverattacked。Itwasonlytowardstheendofourstay，thatamandownatCalistoga，whowasexpatiatingontheterrifyingnatureofthesound，gavemeatlastaverygoodimitation；anditburstonmeatoncethatwedweltintheverymetropolisofdeadlysnakes，andthattherattlewassimplythecommonestnoiseinSilverado。Immediatelyonourreturn，weattackedtheHansonsonthesubject。Theyhadformerlyassuredusthatourcanyonwasfavoured，likeIreland，withanentireimmunityfrompoisonousreptiles；
　　but，withtheperfectinconsequenceofthenaturalman，theywerenosoonerfoundoutthantheywentoffatscoreinthecontrarydirection，andweweretoldthatinnopartoftheworlddidrattlesnakesattaintosuchamonstrousbignessasamongthewarm，flower—dottedrocksofSilverado。ThisisacontributionrathertothenaturalhistoryoftheHansons，thantothatofsnakes。
　　Oneperson，however，betterservedbyhisinstinct，hadknowntherattlefromthefirst；andthatwasChuchu，thedog。Norationalcreaturehaseverledanexistencemorepoisonedbyterrorthanthatdog’satSilverado。Everywhizoftherattlemadehimbound。Hiseyesrolled；hetrembled；hewouldbeoftenwetwithsweat。Oneofourgreatmysterieswashisterrorofthemountain。Alittleawayaboveournook，theazaleasandalmostallthevegetationceased。
　　DwarfpinesnotbigenoughtobeChristmastrees，grewthinlyamongloosestoneandgravelscaurs。Hereandthereabigbouldersatquiescentonaknoll，havingpausedtheretillthenextraininhislongslidedownthemountain。Therewasherenoambuscadeforthesnakes，youcouldseeclearlywhereyoutrod；andyetthehigherIwent，themoreabjectandappealingbecameChuchu’sterror。Hewasanexcellentmasterofthatcompositelanguageinwhichdogscommunicatewithmen，andhewouldassureme，onhishonour，thattherewassomeperilonthemountain；appealtome，byallthatIheldholy，toturnback；andatlength，findingallwasinvain，andthatIstillpersisted，ignorantlyfoolhardy，hewouldsuddenlywhiproundandmakeabee—linedowntheslopeforSilverado，thegravelshoweringafterhim。Whatwasheafraidof？TherewereadmittedlybrownbearsandCalifornialionsonthemountain；andagrizzlyvisitedRufe’spoultryyardnotlongbefore，totheunspeakablealarmofCaliban，whodashedouttochastisetheintruder，andfoundhimself，bymoonlight，facetofacewithsuchatartar。Somethingatleasttheremusthavebeen：somehairy，dangerousbrutelodgedpermanentlyamongtherocksalittletothenorth—westofSilverado，spendinghissummerthereabout，withwifeandfamily。
　　Andtherewas，ortherehadbeen，anotheranimal。Once，underthebroaddaylight，onthatopenstonyhillside，wherethebabypinesweregrowing，scarcelytallenoughtobeabadgeforaMacGregor’sbonnet，Icamesuddenlyuponhisinnocentbody，lyingmummifiedbythedryairandsun：apigmykangaroo。Iamingloriouslyignorantofthesesubjects；hadneverheardofsuchabeast；thoughtmyselffacetofacewithsomeincomparablesportofnature；andbegantocherishhopesofimmortalityinscience。RarelyhaveIbeenconsciousofastrangerthrillthanwhenIraisedthatsingularcreaturefromthestones，dryasaboard，hisinnocentheartlongquiet，andallwarmwithsunshine。Hislonghindlegswerestiff，histinyforepawsclutcheduponhisbreast，asiftoleap；hispoorlifecutshortuponthatmountainbysomeunknownaccident。Butthekangaroorat，itproved，wasnosuchunknownanimal；andmydiscoverywasnothing。
　　Cricketswerenotwanting。IthoughtIcouldmakeoutexactlyfourofthem，eachwithacornerofhisown，whousedtomakenightmusicalatSilverado。Inthematterofvoice，theyfarexcelledthebirds，andtheirringingwhistlesoundedfromrocktorock，callingandreplyingthesamething，asinameaninglessopera。Thus，childreninfullhealthandspiritsshouttogether，tothedismayofneighbours；andtheiridle，happy，deafeningvociferationsriseandfall，likethesongofthecrickets。Iusedtositatnightontheplatform，andwonderwhythesecreaturesweresohappy；andwhatwaswrongwithmanthathealsodidnotwinduphisdayswithanhourortwoofshouting；butI
　　suspectthatalllong—livedanimalsaresolemn。Thedogsalonearehardlyusedbynature；anditseemsamanifestinjusticeforpoorChuchutodieinhisteens，afteralifesoshadowedandtroubled，continuallyshakenwithalarm，andthetearofelegantsentimentpermanentlyinhiseye。
　　TherewasanotherneighbourofoursatSilverado，smallbutveryactive，adestructivefellow。Thiswasablack，uglyfly—abore，theHansonscalledhim—wholivedbyhundredsintheboardingofourhouse。Heenteredbyaroundhole，moreneatlypiercedthanamancoulddoitwithagimlet，andheseemstohavespenthislifeincuttingouttheinterioroftheplank，butwhetherasadwellingorastore—house，I
　　couldneverfind。WhenIusedtolieinbedinthemorningforarest—wehadnoeasy—chairsinSilverado—Iwouldhear，hourafterhour，thesharpcuttingsoundofhislabours，andfromtimetotimeadaintyshowerofsawdustwouldfallupontheblankets。Therelivesnomoreindustriouscreaturethanabore。
　　AndnowthatIhavenamedtothereaderallouranimalsandinsectswithoutexception—onlyIfindIhaveforgottentheflies—hewillbeabletoappreciatethesingularprivacyandsilenceofourdays。Itwasnotonlymanwhowasexcluded：animals，thesongofbirds，thelowingofcattle，thebleatingofsheep，cloudseven，andthevariationsoftheweather，wereherealsowanting；andas，dayafterday，theskywasonedomeofblue，andthepinesbelowusstoodmotionlessinthestillair，sothehoursthemselvesweremarkedoutfromeachotheronlybytheseriesofourownaffairs，andthesun’sgreatperiodasherangedwestwardthroughtheheavens。Thetwobirdscackledawhileintheearlymorning；alldaythewatertinkledintheshaft，theboresgroundsawdustintheplankingofourcrazypalace—
　　infinitesimalsounds；anditwasonlywiththereturnofnightthatanychangewouldfallonoursurroundings，orthefourcricketsbegintoflutetogetherinthedark。
　　Indeed，itwouldbehardtoexaggeratethepleasurethatwetookintheapproachofevening。Ourdaywasnotverylong，butitwasverytiring。Totripalongunsteadyplanksorwadeamongshiftingstones，togotoandfroforwater，toclamberdowntheglentotheTollHouseaftermeatandletters，tocook，tomakefiresandbeds，wereallexhaustingtothebody。Lifeoutofdoors，besides，underthefierceeyeofday，drawslargelyontheanimalspirits。Therearecertainhoursintheafternoonwhenaman，unlessheisinstronghealthorenjoysavacantmind，wouldrathercreepintoacoolcornerofahouseandsituponthechairsofcivilization。Aboutthattime，thesharpstones，theplanks，theupturnedboxesofSilverado，begantogrowirksometomybody；Isetoutonthathopeless，never—endingquestforamorecomfortableposture；Iwouldbefeveredandwearyofthestaringsun；andjustthenhewouldbegincourteouslytowithdrawhiscountenance，theshadowslengthened，thearomaticairsawoke，andanindescribablebuthappychangeannouncedthecomingofthenight。
　　Thehoursofevening，whenwewereoncecurtainedinthefriendlydark，spedlightly。Evenaswiththecrickets，nightbroughttousacertainspiritofrejoicing。Itwasgoodtotastetheair；goodtomarkthedawningofthestars，astheyincreasedtheirglitteringcompany；good，too，togatherstones，andsendthemcrashingdownthechute，awaveoflight。Itseemed，insomeway，therewardandthefulfilmentoftheday。Soitiswhenmendwellintheopenair；itisoneofthesimplepleasuresthatwelosebylivingcribbedandcoveredinahouse，that，thoughthecomingofthedayisstillthemostinspiriting，yetday’sdeparture，also，andthereturnofnightrefresh，renew，andquietus；
　　andinthepasturesoftheduskwestand，likecattle，exultingintheabsenceoftheload。
　　Ournightsworenevercold，andtheywerealwaysstill，butforoneremarkableexception。Regularly，aboutnineo’clock，awarmwindsprangup，andblewfortenminutes，ormaybeaquarterofanhour，rightdownthecanyon，fanningitwellout，airingitasamotherairsthenightnurserybeforethechildrensleep。AsfarasIcouldjudge，inthecleardarknessofthenight，thiswindwaspurelylocal：perhapsdependantontheconfigurationoftheglen。Atleast，itwasverywelcometothehotandwearysquatters；andifwewerenotabedalready，thespringingupofthislilliputianvalley—windwouldoftenbeoursignaltoretire。
　　Iwasthelasttogotobed，asIwasstillthefirsttorise。ManyanightIhavestrolledabouttheplatform，takingabathofdarknessbeforeIslept。Therestwouldbeinbed，andevenfromtheforgeIcouldhearthemtalkingtogetherfrombunktobunk。Asinglecandleintheneckofapintbottlewastheironlyillumination；andyettheoldcrackedhouseseemedliterallyburstingwiththelight。Itshonekeenasaknifethroughalltheverticalchinks；itstruckupwardthroughthebrokenshingles；andthroughtheeasterndoorandwindow，itfellinagreatsplashuponthethicketandtheoverhangingrock。Youwouldhavesaidaconflagration，orattheleastaroaringforge；andbehold，itwasbutacandle。Orperhapsitwasyetmorestrangetoseetheprocessionmovingbedwardsroundthecornerofthehouse，anduptheplankthatbroughtustothebedroomdoor；
　　undertheimmensespreadofthestarryheavens，downinacreviceofthegiantmountainthesefewhumanshapes，withtheirunshieldedtaper，madesodisproportionateafigureintheeyeandmind。Butthemoreheisalonewithnature，thegreatermanandhisdoingsbulkintheconsiderationofhisfellow—men。Milesandmilesawayupontheoppositehill—
　　tops，iftherewereanyhunterbelatedoranytravellerwhohadlosthisway，hemusthavestood，andwatchedandwondered，fromthetimethecandleissuedfromthedooroftheassayer’sofficetillithadmountedtheplankanddisappearedagainintotheminers’dormitory。