Newspaper Clippings, 1883 - "From Eastern Nevada"

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday .... March 11, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Scarecrow Wiggins – Ruby Silver and Manhattan Bullion – Long Credits and Dull Times – Rich Rock Reese River Pioneers – Jim Sloggers Strikes It – Our Returned Legislators – Carson Reminiscences

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.] AUSTIN, Nev., March 9, 1883.

And now here it is the morning of the day when Wiggins' big storm was to break loose and devastate the whole country with sweeping tornadoes, cloud-burstings of rain, fierce thunder and wild leaping electricity. Yet the predicted visitation cometh not, and the Spring-like weather continues as a reproving mockery to the ambitious prophet. But he gives until the 13th, next Tuesday, for his calamitous prediction to come to pass. The telegraph says that he has succeeded in frightening the Down-East coasters, and not a Marblehead or Gloucester fisherman will venture out of port until the prescribed limit of time for the Wiggins trouble is past. In the next three or four days the codfish and the halibut will roam unmolested amid the dark rocky recesses of the ocean bed, with no calamitous or clam-baited hooks to tempt or make them afraid. And Wiggins himself, having recklessly staked his reputation as a prophet on this unpleasant prediction is no doubt anxiously watching the skies and the weather signs in ardently hopeful expectation. He wouldn't mind being blown a mile or two, struck by lightning and crippled for life if his dire prognostication would only come true, and vidicate [sic] and establish him as a true prophet. But the chances are that he will not have the supreme, selfish satisfaction of saying “I told you so," but will be ignominiously consigned to oblivion as a ridiculous failure, like old Mother Shipton and similar prophetic frauds of times past. Those Down-East fishermen should take him out and throw him overboard, like Jonah, as feed for some dyspeptic whale. Wiggins' failure as a prophet may be attributed principally to the weather. Meanwhile Lydia Pinkham continues to placidly smile through the newspapers, and the old world rotates regularly as usual.

MINING MATTERS.

The mill of the Manhattan Company continues grinding right straight along, and grinds exceedingly fine, its present run, which commenced on the 30th of October last, being one of the longest and most lucrative it has yet experienced. About every other day it sends forth its regular shipment of silver bullion - ten bars, worth $1,000, or more, each. The average of the ore crushed at the previous run of the mill, last Summer, yielded an average $350 to the ton. The ore of the present run is not quite as rich, but there is more of it, and mines showing and developing better and more extensively than was anticipated. The monthly pay-roll of the company is about $23,000, employing many miners at the regular rate - $4 per day - and the tributers are generally doing well. The mining and milling operations and other business matters of the Manhattan Company are exceedingly well managed and judiciously conducted in every respect. Notwithstanding all this apparent prosperity, however, there is much grumbling about hard times. This complaint comes principally from the business men. They openly declare that although their customers have plenty of work at good pay, they do not come forward and square up their accounts as they should. The tributers, especially, they say, run long credits and big bills, and cannot always be depended upon to cash up. When they are in bad luck, they naturally are not expected to pay. Meanwhile, good paying customers have to make up for the poor ones, otherwise the storekeepers would soon necessarily be bankrupt. This idea or principle is not new, however, here or even on the Comstock.

RICH ROCK.

The veins being only a few inches wide or thick, it does not pay to extract or work any low grade ore, therefore rock that yields $300 or $350 per ton under the stamps is about on a par with $30 or $40 ore on the Comstock. Some of this ore, however, runs as high as $1,000 or $2,000 and over to the ton. Nobody cares to fool away time getting out $100 ore; and base metal ores are carefully left for future reference or posterity. The general character of the ore worked is of the ruby or antimonial silver variety, containing little or no gold, and some specimens of it, to be seen in the numerous mineral cabinets about Austin, are the most beautiful imaginable; in fact not to be exceled, or perhaps equaled, on the American continent.

REESE RIVER PIONEERS.

Many of the original locators and developers of the mines are here, yet, and many of them will die and be buried here. Your genuine Reese River pioneer is decidedly a peculiar character. He was a pioneer of California as well, therefore was among the first to join in the rush to “Washoe" and soon after to Reese River. He never was able to shake off his old California miner style, and would rather live in a cabin and work at “chloriding” or “tributing" for himself, at merely living rations than to work for anybody else for good, regular wages. Therefore it is that he is found working “on tribute” or contract in these mines to-day, for of course he sold out his old locations or was frozen out of them long ago. He still goes out in the hills prospecting occasionally, but the whole country has been so closely scoured over and investigated that his new discoveries are exceedingly rare. Old Jim Sloggers, who is a standard member of the Society of Reese River Pioneers, and who declares that he was with old Reese himself when he discovered Reese river, is the most inveterate of them all. Whisky could not kill him, but has only preserved him, as it were, and he frequently swears that when he dies the worms in the little graveyard below town will go on a three months' Jamboree. The fine, Spring-like weather of the last few days stirred up the old fellow's ambition and he went prospecting over about Yankee Blade. Yesterday he came home and got drunk.

"Struck it again!" roared he as he tacked ship and stood his course up street, stopping every few rods to shake hands with sympathizing friends, and tell them about it. “Struck bulliest kind o‘ chloride, richer'n Limburger a foot thick, betcher ribs." “Glad to hear it, Jim, and now see that you hold on to a good thing for once in the way, and don't let anybody euchre or freeze you out of it.” “Ha, Ha! Freeze me out, hey? Git ahead of old Jim Sloggers some more, will they? Not much. Got ‘em this time. Located the whole dam racket myself, and goin’ ter work it myself. Hain’t got no thievin’ partners this time, and don't want none. I'm the only damsonova ---- in it.”

Then the old boy went ship, and beat to windward for his little cabin on the hillside, chuckling occasionally as he felicitated himself on that last proposition.

Colonel Dave Buel was among the first of the Reese River pioneers. He laid out the townsite and built the first mill. The town was named after his partner, Alvah C. Austin, a native of Plymouth, Massachusetts, who was here with him, but who is now a partner in the Miners' Foundry, San Francisco, and resident of that city. By the way, Jack Williams, the famous desperado, so well remembered in the early days of the Comstock, and who was assassinated one evening in Pat Lynch's saloon, on B street, as a so from Plymouth, Massachusetts.

SIMMERING.

Our returned legislators from Carson have been very busy the last two or three days standing the congratulations of their numerous friends, and are gradually simmering down to private life once more. They speak well of Carson, and say they were well treated there and allowed to get away with their trunks. The only thing that worried them, in the way of legislation, was the railroad proposition, and that they found worse to solve than the grindstone problems in the ENTERPRISE.

ALF DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday .... March 18. 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

St. Patrick -- Celestial penians -- Piute Weather Signs -- A Kerosene Comet -- Liberal Dicks --Literary Notes --A Lively Locality -- Bushels of Squelched Talent -- Hidden Lights of Genius

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 16, 1883.

The grand festive event now thrilling Austin society to its very foundations is the St. Patrick's ball which culminates and transpires to-night at International Hall. It is Lent, but the Church has granted a special disposition; all outsiders of any note or social capability will unite in jolly celebration of the good St. Patrick and his annual day, by dancing all night at the ball. Poetic tradition has it that –

St. Patrick was a jintleman, And born of daycint people.

Be that as it may, he was a good man and did a vast amount of good in his day and generation, besides running all the hoptoads and wriggling snakes out of Ireland. It may be that the frequent fire-cracker fusilades and inharmonious band demonstrations of the heathen Chinese, recently, have not been preparatory practicing for the celebration, but they have been making some new flags, which they displayed a day or two since for the first time floating from the flagstaff of their little redfaced Masonic Temple. One was a large pointed red flag, with a white serrated border, and covered with big white polka dots, on each of which was inscribed a Chinese character, looking like the man in the moon. Above this was a square banner covered with similar spots and characters. This banner was bright green. Can it be that they have Fenimans among them? If they hoist that flag on St. Patrick's Day, the question may be considered settled.

WEATHER SIGNS.

An infallible indication of the return of Spring is the Piute warriors about town all wearing linen dusters. When Winter squarely sets in, they always carefully lay aside the duster, of which they are so proud, and wear a blanket. It is literally a cold day when the dusky lord of the sagebrush has to do this. Now he dresses more stylish than his pale-faced fellow-citizen, his squaw ambitiously keeping him well supplied with clean dusters. From now on, no matter what the weather may be, dusters have to go with him, the only difference being that a cold snap induces him to wear more of them at a time. Anyhow, he knows as much about future extraordinary weather possibilities as Wiggins, the famous yet unreliable prophet, who only succeeded in raising a storm about his own ears.

A LIVELY SENSATION

Was created and experienced the other evening by a well known and popular gentleman, Alex Burchfield, employed at one of the hoisting works of the Manhattan Company. He had occasion to replenish the kerosene filling of one of the lamps, and after his usual style proceeded to do so while it was lighted. The can suddenly exploded with a loud report, covering him with liquid fire from head to foot. Alex is a man prompt to act in cases of emergency, so without waiting to be extinguished, he distinguished himself by one of the longest flying leaps on record, rushing like a blazing comet through the air and plunging head-first straight into a big tank of cold water, several yards distant. He came up cool and smiling, shook himself and went home. He dresses in cotton-batting, principally, at present, and has no desire to fill lamps except through fifty feet of garden hose.

STUNNING BENEVOLENCE.

Our enterprising citizens never do anything by halves, and when it comes to public benevolence they go the whole pig, tail and all, if they take the notion. Evening before last there was a hilariously lively runaway right in the heart of town. The buggy was destroyed, but neither of the lady occupants was hurt in the least, and the horses went home to the livery stable. As soon as the exciting story got around, and Colonel Jinks heard the circumstances, he gallantly remarked: "I don't believe I will allow these ladies to pay for that buggy. I’ll do it myself." "Not much, old pard," said Uncle Dick, "I'm going in for $300 of it myself." About a dozen others insisted on footing the whole loss out of their own individual pockets, and there came near being a general rush for the stable. Finally Major Boggs fixed the thing by heading a subscription paper with $250 with the privilege of doubling. In less than two hours over $10,000 was subscribed. When the fortunate stable keeper gets all that money he will be able to retire from business and settle at Tombstone.

LITERARY.

The people of Austin are considerably of the literary order. They read a good many books, and especially all the leading papers of the day, including, of course, the Enterprise, which has a healthy list of subscribers, and is read by all the principal and best-informed citizens. They allow two daily papers to be printed here, and the San Francisco papers also are well patronized. By the way, I notice that the San Francisco Weekly Call is publishing a California story, written by Jules Verne, entitled "Phina Island." Thus far it is a totally un-Californian yarn, both in the names of the principal personages and the dialogue of the narrative, to say nothing of the general construction of the story. The charm and true merit of Verne's most famous stories has been their plausibility, on the principle that a lie well told is as good as the truth." This yarn, however, is neither plausible nor sensible, and abounds in Munchausen exaggerations bordering upon the burlesque.

A BUSY SPOT.

One of the busiest localities in the State of Nevada at the present time is comprised within the active working limits of the mines of the Manhattan Company, on Lander Hill, at the upper end of this town. A few hundred yards is the extent, but within that space half a dozen sets or plants of well erected and established hoisting works, like those of the Comstock, are in full and effective operation, bringing to daylight the very rich ores from the bowels of the big hill. The ore belt lies along the side of this hill, just about as the Comstock does along the side of Mount Davidson, only Lander Hill is not so steep. This busy spot of which I speak has been busy for the last twenty years, and will by busy for the next twenty years, for the ore holds out in both richness and quantity as depth is attained, and in fact there is more in sight to-day than there has been for years. The ore veins are small, but they seem to have exceedingly long and lucrative roots.

SUPPRESSED TALENT.

A friend who was at Carson during the recent session of the Legislature says he never saw so much talent run to waste. At the hotel where he stopped, the servants complained of the harassing annoyance they encountered in trying to avoid interrupting members of the Assembly or the Senate when they were in their rooms practicing the speeches which they expected to deliver next day, yet he was astonished to see how few of those speeches were ever delivered. Many a time he anxiously watched some member whom he knew was loaded with a mighty speech he proposed to deliver on some certain question, and yet that speech never was delivered from the intellectual womb where it was conceived. Often he watched the eager aspiring eye and moving lip, and the ardent wish to rise and forensically shine, and as often saw the same crowded back or nipped in the bud by adverse action, lack of opportunity, self-discouragement or demoralized confidence. Let those victims of adverse fate, however, remember Daniel Webster, and they may even surpass him yet some day.

ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….March 25, 1883.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Snide Prophecies—Street Grass—Silver Wealth—Two Bits a Week— Departing Friends—Austin —The Widow McWinzle and her Rhyming Achievements—Thaddeus of Washoe—Smallpox Reflections and Deductions.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 23, 1883.

Professor Snider, our local astronomic weather sharp, who predicted that March would come in like a lamb, remain lamb-like all through, and go out the same way, is very likely to make a fine success of it. He certainly has beaten Wiggins badly on the proposition. As to that matter he used to go to school with Wiggins and declares him to be a fraud of the most exasperating kind, whom it is always safe to copper. Snider says the Winter is not over yet, however, but predicts both snow and rain, next month—principally snow. There will also be wind, but no Wiggins’ tornadoes. Unless there is considerable rain or snow pretty soon, the crops of grain, hay and everything else throughout the farming sections of Eastern Nevada will be short—in fact almost a failure. Some of the newspapers recently have been stating that grass is growing in the streets of Eureka. Now, as nothing but sagebrush ever grew there before, this may be considered an encouraging circumstance to farmers and cattle men. If Eureka will produce a good crop of grass, the rest of the country is safe for bountiful crops of all kinds. Should the low price of lead and the heavy discount on silver continue Eureka might find it good policy to rest her mines for a season, and advantageously "go to grass."

THE BULLION HARVEST

Of the Manhattan mill still continues uninterruptedly. Every other day a down train on the railroad, direct from the mill, brings ten bars of silver bullion, worth $1,000 each, to the express office for shipment to San Francisco. It is quite amusing, even to old residents, to see the Piute warriors in their fine linen dusters rush forward, when the cars stop in the middle of the street and eagerly pick up those heavy white bars of silver and pack them into the express office. They have a very good idea regarding the amount of half dollars each bar can be coined into, and their consequent utility in an extensive game of poker. Some of these Piutes have thus handled more silver than nine-tenths of the whites in America ever saw. And it is quite refreshing to note the complacent smiles on their ruddy countenances when they retire to the sidewalk as the train passes on. Give them a whole carload of bullion apiece and they would feel no richer nor enjoy life any better. Meanwhile, all the little narrow-gauge ledges or veins of the Austin ore belt continue their steady output of rich ore, bidding fair to keep the mill running steadily for a month or two yet.

A NOTABLE REDUCTION.

And now the little old Reese River Reveille, which ranks next to the ENTERPRISE in age among the papers of this State, announces that its subscription price will be reduced to two bits a week, commencing with next Monday. It has maintained its old price, four bits a week, longer than any other well-conducted daily, but it now yields to competition and the requirements of the times. If uncompromising hard work and indomitable John Booth perseverance amount to anything in public estimation, the Reveille must continue to prosper indefinitely.

DEPARTING FRIENDS.

Rev. R. S. Eastman, who for the last three years has been pastor of the Episcopal Church in this town, having resigned, will preach his last sermon here next Sunday (Easter), and on Monday morning will depart with his wife and child for the East. He has accepted a call to assume pastoral charge of the Episcopal Church in Laport, Indiana, and, making that place their future residence, they may find a more agreeable position and surroundings nearer the old home and friends of their youth. But they will meet with no truer or more appreciative friends than they leave both here and on the Comstock, all of whom will most cordially join in wishing Mr. Eastman and his estimable wife a full measure of happiness and genuine prosperity.

AUSTIN AMENITIES.

As was anticipated, the recent St. Patrick’s ball was the most popular and well-attended affair of the kind ever given in Austin. Everybody went, and International Hall was the most densely crowded place in Eastern Nevada. It was not until about 5 o’clock next morning that the festive assemblage got sufficiently thinned out to allow of free and comfortable dancing. A comic operetta, with an orchestra of ten pieces, all local talent, is the next thing on the docket, and the Odd Fellows propose giving a ball shortly. Speaking about local talent, there is a concentration of it in Austin, and of all varieties—base-ball players, musicians, singers, theatrical actors and all that sort of thing. There are no liars here, however, since Fred Hart left.

THE POETIC WIDOW.

Our mutual friend Spykens has "made a mash," to use the language of the worldly. He incidentally became acquainted with the Widow McWinzle at a church social last Fall. She has now come to the conclusion that he is her natural affinity, and wants him for her fourth husband. Her strong suit is poetry, or, as she expresses it, "human, esthetic rhyme; the sweet, responsive echo of soul to soul."

"Dear Mr. Spyens," sighed the widow the other evening, puckering her mouth down to the size of a shirt button-hole, as it were, "you have lived and loved. The mellifluous profundity of your sympathetic soul has always required that you should."

"Ah, yes, Mrs. McWinzle, you bet, I—"

"Call me Hitty, dear; my name is Mehitable, and those most endeared to me always call me Hitty."

"All right; Hitty goes."

"Well, as I was about remarking, my nature was aboriginally poetic; away up among the embrasured clouds of heaven’s sublimated artillery. My first husband was a dear, genial spirit, attuned to poetic harmony, but nothing could rhyme with his name. It was Tulkington. I used to weave it into poetic verse by abbreviating it to Tulky, but even then it never would make a smooth rhyme with any other word. Two short years he loved and languished, and then sank to eternal rest as softly as though the springs of his couch had been the Springs of Parnassus."

"Beautiful! Beautiful" exclaimed Spykens, "what a rattling good obituary you must have written for him!"

"Ah, me," sighed the widow, "I tried over a year to write seven verses suitable, and perhaps might have succeeded had I not been wooed and won by Jason Babcock. My new married life was bright and hopeful till I tried to merge it into poesy. The culmination came when I composed twenty-seven verses, each one rhyming his name, the best of which were mason, basin, face-on. Then he closed the doors of his heart, took his overcoat and valise and bade me farewell forever. I never saw or heard of him more."

"What a miserable, narrow-gauge, unappreciative wretch he must have been."

The widow gave a responsive roll of her dark gray eyes toward the sympathetic Spykens, as she continued:

"Yes, the rythmatic music of poetry did not abound in his worldly soul, and my own longing heart almost perished before I procured a divorce on the ground of desertion. Then I married my old friend and schoolmate, Timothy McWinzle. He had a soul full of sympathy, and when he realized how my poetic nature was crushed by the very idea of making rhymes of his name, or any part of it, he earnestly, yet rashly, attempted it himself. For days and weeks he wrote and went about the house muttering to himself binzle, crinzle, dinzle,finzle, ginzle, hinzle, and his last words, as he died in the insane asylum, were minzle, pinzle, stinzle, zinzle."

"How dramatically sad," moaned Spykens, as he reflected upon the rhyming possibilities and calamities of his own name.

"Did you ever read Thaddeus of Washoe?" asked she, beaming her loving eyes, full of literary intelligence, full upon him as she gently laid her hand on his coat-sleeve.

Spykens owned up that he hadn’t, and tore himself away from her sweet presence, pleading pressing business engagements. The widow has money in bank, and a whole pile of stocks, and is looked upon as a desirable matrimonial investment, but when Spykens reflects, musingly, upon the sad fate of those three husbands, two killed and one driven away by her infernal poetry, assisted materially, no doubt, by Her large, cold, clammy feet, he concludes to remain single.

SMALLPOX.

Since the disappearance of the mumps everybody has taken cold, and there is more influenzial coughing and sneezing going on in Austin than anywhere. Bhte meanest man hasn’t got it yet, but he will, because there is plenty and he can get it for nothing. Smallpox never thinks it worthwhile to come here and is not liable to, for various reasons. That objectionable disease favors more populous and eligible localities. I see by the papers that they have it over in Nevada City, California. I also notice that the local papers eagerly assert that there is no occasion for any scare on the part of the timid public; that the disease cannot spread, etc. But they record that it does spread, however, at a very lively rate; that the public schools close in consequence; the city officials are taking active measures to corral and squelch the dread malady, and a general scare prevails in spite of all the admonitions to the contrary. Now, why not come out in honest, square recognition of the much and justly-dreaded disease and treat it accordingly? Call it smallpox and treat it as such. Alarm everybody and put them on their guard. The newspaper editors should be among the first to catch the disease, in order that they might write more judiciously and intelligently regarding it.

ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….April 1, 1883.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Lack of Moisture—Beef Realities and Possibilities—About the Flood—Some Hailstones—Bonanza Tributers—Going to See the Old Folks at Home—Ducks and Geese—Poetic Delights and Capabilities.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 30, 1883.

The inclination of the weather to be stormy during the last three or four days has been very encouraging to the hopes of most everybody, the ranchers especially. Only about enough of hail, snow or rain, however, has fallen to moisten the surface and law the dust. Two inches of snow fell yesterday morning, and in the evening we had a very eligible hail squall. Eastern Nevada stands sadly in need of a goodly amount of snow, rain, or something of the sort at this present time. Even a cloudburst would be welcome. This section has not been thoroughly saturated with heavenly moisture for several years, or since 1874. In October of that year there was an overplus of water, so far as Austin was concerned, a fearful cloudburst occurring on the 16th, which created a disastrous flood. A huge river suddenly generated and turned itself loose down Main street, sweeping everything before it. The Postoffice, Reveille office and other buildings were totally demolished, including their contents. Awnings, porches, sidewalks and all that sort of thing went down stream, and one man was drowned. For awhile even the stoutest old sinners felt paralyzed, and would not have been surprised in the least had the last vestige of Austin been washed down into the graveyard at the mouth of the canyon.

THE FLOOD

Has ever since been spoken of as a stated era in the history of Austin, and all the old pioneers date previous or subsequent events accordingly. Children’s ages are reckoned from it, as being before or after the flood, and all other current events, historical, financial, political or otherwise are dated from that same memorable standpoint. The old pioneer stiffs who can’t die are eternally giving all newcomers powerfully exaggerated reminiscences of that remarkable flood, and prognosticating a recurrence of the same liquid calamity, evidently standing more in fear of water than of whisky. In fact there seems to be a sort of antediluvian aristocracy grown out of that watery epoch, all who have come here since the flood being looked upon as emigrants, so to speak. Old Jim Sloggins, who is a prominent representative member of the Society of Reese River Pioneers, gives more of the details of that flood than anybody, and is willing to swear to all he tells. He says it came down street with a breast twenty feet high, of quartz wagons, mules, cordwood, houses and other debris, rolling, foaming and plunging. And as for the storm itself, “it was like every drop of rain was a continuous stream from a fire injun, and all the side hills simply slopped whole sheets of water down into the ravine.” Day before yesterday a hail squall passed over here which rattled down some coarse hailstones about the size of marbles or walnuts, but Jim said they were nothing but mustard seed in comparison with the hail that fell “at the time of the flood. Them hailstones,” says Jim, “was bigger’n baby’s heads; they was even too big even for the Piutes to play base ball with next day.” Speaking about

PIONEERS,

The pioneers of Reese River and Austin were from California and the Comstock. Many of them are here yet, and they still form a leading influential element in the population. The old time energy which adventured them here, so to speak, still remains with them, and they continue making their mark. Among the miners swinging their picks down in the small, but wonderfully rich veins of this silver ore belt, are numerous old Comstock miners, who rank among the best, as they naturally should.

BONANZA KINGS.

Bonanzas are not so large in these mines as they are in the Comstock, but they are more frequent, and, owing to the system of working “on tribute,” or by contract, the miners frequently find themselves bonanza men, which they could not be on the Comstock, unless they struck it in stocks instead of through legitimate mining. A “pitch” pocket strike of rich ore, two or three feet wide, means something in these mines, and the tributers get well rewarded occasionally for their long-continued, patient hard work exploring and developing. The result, quite frequently, is shown in some of the boys taking a trip home to the “old country.” Dick Mitchell, brother to Johnny Mitchell, who used to be foreman of the Justice mine, has been working for the last two or three years in the Plymouth shaft of the Manhattan Company, with two or three other lessees, or tributers. They did very well at the previous run of the mill, nearly a year ago, and one of the boys went back to see the old folks in England. During the present run of the mill they have done still better, and Dick proposes taking trip with his little family to visit relatives in the old home of his birth. Redruth parish, Cornwall. He expects to start about the 10th of next month, and don’t know whether he will come back or hot. But he will.

ABOUT BEEF.

Eastern Nevada is famous for the production of choice beef for the markets of the Comstock section, as well as of California and eastward. We ship our best beef, and use the rest in the way of home consumption. That’s business, of course, yet let it not be understood that we do not have a few choice steaks and cuts of the very best ourselves, while also assisting in working up or eating up the poorer stock. We have six butcher shops, employing about twenty men, ten horses and half a dozen carts, to slaughter and distribute the beef to some 2,500 customers, who are supposed to chew or otherwise consume this beef. Every shop makes a good showing of beef and each and every one is provided with a good sausage-chopping machine, which is kept busily employed. There is probably more tough beef chewed, naturally or artificially, in Eastern Nevada than anywhere else on the Pacific Coast. If this were not thus, how could six butcher shops be supported in a little place like Austin?

A HUNTER’S PARADISE.

Nimrod is mentioned as a mighty hunter, among the ancient sports, and no doubt he did very well in his way, and in his day and generation, but he would be considered rather tame and commonplace among the hunters of this section, so far as duck or goose shooting is concerned. J. A. Wright, one of Austin’s best shotgun manipulators, went down to the Humboldt river the other day, seeking what birds he might slaughter before the game law should prevent him. He went to one of his favorite haunts, some sixteen miles above Battle Mountain, and for three days luxuriated among a perfect affluence of fat ducks and geese, and armies of sandhill cranes, with necks and legs as long as fence rails. He was joined at Battle Mountain by Dunn, Sprigg and other congenial sports, and they killed about a car-load of game. They had a boat, and sailed, waded and swam, as they saw fit. Wright says they were fairly overrun with game, and merely shot all they wanted. He thinks no other place in the world can equal it.

THE WIDOW AGAIN.

Spykens is apparently doomed, so far as the widow McWinzle is able to doom him. She will not leave the poor fellow alone, but now insists that he must have an autograph album, in order that she may fill it with autographic poetry. She has the following delicious morsel toSpykens as a starter for the album he was going to set up for himself:

May your manhood’s voyage be bright,

And ever with fair wind said

O’er seas of blue ethereal light,

Is the hope of

HITTY McWINZLE.

Spykens is of a very romantic, musical disposition, and has employed his surplus talent and time “picking dump” near the Paxton incline for the last year or two, but this poetry business of the widow makes him nervous. He thinks he shall have to go prospecting somewhere as soon as the weather gets warmer.

ALF DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….April 8, 1883.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

The Bullion Value of Snow—Barley and Beef Prospects—That Nevada Cadetship—An Austin Boy—Public School Matters—Pacific Coast Exposition—Spyken’s Big Luck—A Second John Mackay—How the Wicked Flourish Sometimes—Baseball Boomers.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 6, 1883.

The storms of the last few days have been of incalculable benefit to this section, and the fall of snow, although not very heavy, was worth its weight in bullion. It still whitens the face of the country, and the thirsty earth greedily absorbs it as it melts. And the white-peaked summits of the mountain ranges, gleaming in shrouded sullenness against the still threatening sky, betoken a goodly reserve of snow, preserved there for future reference. There had been so little snow up to the 1st of the present month that the grain crops bade fair to be a complete failure, and although agreeably favored at present, unless more snow or rain supplements what has fallen already, the crops are not secured against failure by any means. Cattle will get along well, with plenty of grazing and water, and in fact horses, cattle and sheep are in better condition now than they have been at a corresponding stage of the season for years. The prospects for tender mutton chops and less durable beef steaks are very encouraging.

THE NEW CADETSHIP.

Regarding the new cadet allotted to this State at the West Point Military School, it is not pleasing to hear that Congressman Cassidy has decided to appoint an eligible young man to the position, even though he be from Eastern Nevada. Availing himself of his prerogative to do so cannot give as general satisfaction as though he were to institute a competitive examination and allow the smart boys of all parts of the State to contend for the coveted position on equal terms. It will be borne in mind that the young aspirants sent from Nevada to the military and naval schools of the Government in times past, have not all turned out so well as expected, by any means, although some have well improved the golden opportunity, aided by their own natural talents and ability, and are to-day a credit and honor to the State. None but the fittest and best should be selected, and our worthy Congressman should not rely altogether upon his own judgment in this important matter. There are a goodly number of eligible young men in the western part of the State as well as in Eureka and elsewhere, and we can present at least one here in Austin. The friends of Robert Eames respectfully submit him as a candidate for the proposed honor. He is a worthy young man, of good family, well qualified morally, intellectually and physically, and in a competitive examination would stand more than an average show for success.

THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS

Of Lander county are in a very flourishing condition, and are well supported financially, all having a surplus of funds in their treasuries. Here in Austin about 300 scholars are in regular attendance. Professor C. M. Ritter is Principal, and under his able and efficient management the school will bear comparison with the best in the State. Young Eames, referred to above as candidate for West Point honors and privileges, is one of his pupils, and will graduate at the close of the present term. A pert little nine-year-old miss, in one of the school departments, the other evening, remarked to her teacher: “Oh, dear; I’ve missed in my written spelling two days in succession. I do hope I shall be perfect to-day; I’ve been altogether too two lately.”

PACIFIC COAST EXPOSITION.

The suggestion of the San Francisco Daily Report to make the grand Triennial Convocation of the Knights Templar at San Francisco next August the occasion of an Exposition of Minerals of the Pacific Coast is not a bad one, by any means. Thousands of Knights and their friends from all parts of the nation will be present, and the suggested Exposition would be eminently appropriate and form one of the most important and interesting attractions of the occasion. The report suggests that the State Mining Bureau, which now has the finest collection of ores and minerals in the United State, be made the nucleus of the proposed Exposition. California took no part in the Denver Exposition last year, and Nevada, although represented very richly there, hardly did justice to herself. This exhibit being right at home, both States would naturally take an extraordinary interest in it, and satisfactorily demonstrate their ability to show the grandest, richest and most varied and interesting collection of ores and minerals ever seen in the United States or the world. Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Idaho, Utah, Oregon and Washington Territory could materially contribute, even at short notice; but even a grand showing of California and Nevada mineral products alone would be a rich and magnificent affair, redounding to the credit and material advantage of both. This Pacific Coast Mineral Exhibition idea should not be lost sight of, but vigorously acted upon, promptly and forthwith.

A WINDFALL. Our mutual friend, Spykens, has struck it at last. He has just received a Down East newspaper, which brings the unexpected, yet agreeable information that he is a millionaire, or a high private in an army of millionaires. The story is substantially as follows: William Bradford, who was the third Governor of Plymouth Colony, and one of the Pilgrims who came over from England in the Mayflower, landing on Plymouth Rock, December 22, 1620, left a munificently valuable estate when he died. He received a large amount of wealth with his second wife, Alice Carpenter, who inherited the same by the death of her first husband, an English nobleman. Bradford died a widower, and left his great wealth unbequeathed. Like sundry other valuable properties in England, the Bradford estate has, through the apathetic honesty and protection of English law, been allowed to lie untouched, and increasing in value, for over two centuries, until now it amounts to fully $100,000,000. It lies in the Bank of England, and has been the subject of active litigation for the last hundred years, there being numerous claimants, of course, in this country. They are much scattered, many living in Ohio, but the most numerous and direct still live in old Plymouth. Sarah Bradford, the last lineal descendant in the sixth generation, died there last year, in the one hundredth year of her age. Spykens, whose full name is Ephriam Bradford Spykens, is all right, that venerable lady being his own aunt. He was born in Plymouth, and traces his lineage direct to Governor Bradford and his big fortune. There being only about 10,000 legal heirs to that $100,000,000, Spykens’ share will be $10,000—not bad to take—when he takes it. He has filed his claim, together with that of his sister, over in California, and when he receives his inheritance will devote the remainder of his days in spending it, even if he has to start a new daily newspaper in Austin to do it.

SCATTERED FINDINGS.

Speaking about windfalls, Austin is the queerest old place for scattered relics and pick-ups anybody ever saw. The old-timers were evidently loose and broadcast in their ways, and even those who have come in since the flood (which occurred August 16, 1874, and not October 16, 1864, as you printed in my last week’s letter), contrive to follow suit pretty well in the way of scattering things. Observant and industrious children can pick up more old spoons, buckles, coffee-mill handles, door knobs, parts of pistols, clock wheels and other things, than they could almost anywhere else in creation. Many a youngster is rich in the possession of three and four jack-knives and several pieces of pipes of various patterns, which he has picked up in the course of his daily meanderings. The wickedest man in Austin one day last Fall picked up a huge brass key on the street. A two-line advertisement brought the grieving owner in possession of his key again. Next day he found a good jack-knife with seven blades, and a little advertisement found the happy owner. A month after he picked up a bundle, early one morning, containing two clean shirts, he needed them, but his native honesty induced him to advertise and lose them, same as he did the big brass key and the seven-bladed jack-knife, not even receiving the inexpensive thanks of the respective owners thereof. Yesterday he picked up a $20 gold piece which gleamed cheerily from the mud of the gutter. He wondered how long it had been there, and who lost it. The more he concluded he would not advertise. It is worth something to find a $20 piece, and he only charged that for finding it. It is common enough to see jack-knives, and even whole bunches of keys, advertised as lost or found, and men even advertise their wives, but nobody ever sees golden “twenties” thus advertised as found; not even greenbacks, yet money is proverbially easy to lose. If one could only contrive to find it as easily as it is lost, how nice that would be.

BASE-BALL.

The annual boom in base-ball is commencing to pervade the atmosphere of this section, and the Austin base-ballers are already shouting defiance at the B. B.’s of Eureka. Last year the Albion club came over from Eureka and got licked. The chances are that the Eureka boys may get themselves well-practiced, and some fine day walk away with the prize fixings. Those Eureka boys remember a thing or two from last year, and doubtless have additional points to go on. Anyhow, there’s lots of fun in base-ball—even more than there is in base metal ores.

ALF. DOTEN.