implements, and they would say to defend their lives. Yet in reality the arms which the miners displayed on all occasions for protection, impliedly from their companions, only invited attack and added to their danger. Though they thought, that like the belt of Thor, the Scandinavian war-god, these implements doubled their strength whenever they put them on, in reality they were weakened by them to that same degree. They could die pretty well, die coolly, die with their boots on, as they called violent death, but theirs was not the coolness of wisdom and philosophy. Theirs was not the death of Socrates, for example. "Crito," he said, as the circle of the subtle poison narrowed slowly round his heart, "Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?" "The debt shall be paid," said Crito; "is there anything else? " And so he died, these being his last words.
There was a class of young men who came to California in those days, by no means a small one, that commanded our special sympathy. They were mostly from schools and colleges, of fine abilities and high promise, well read, and many of them leaving pleasant homes and affectionate friends. Possessing a high-strung, delicate organization, their young ambition big with enthusiasm, they came hither with minds half formed, and with vague ideas as to their future. They only knew that here of all places in the world was their opportunity; that in this arena there was for every man a career, and distinction to him who had the nerve to win it. They felt in themselves the compressed energy of youth, the smothered fire of yearning aspiration. Lured by golden hopes, they joined the El Dorado argonauts and came to California. On reaching San Francisco, they found thousands of others, who, like themselves, had landed without money and without friends, and were looking for something to do. The professions were over-crowded, and all the avenues of trade thronged.
