Newspaper Clippings, 1883 - "From Eastern Nevada"

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Territorial Enterprise. Alf Doten's "From Eastern Nevada" columns

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TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….April 15, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA

Weather Speculations and Telescopic Observations—Emigrations and Spring Tramps—The Land of Promise—Connubial Felicitations—Mineral Wealth and Ruby Silver—My Dear Hubbell—The Infernal Regions.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 13, 1883.

"Ha ! ha !" exclaimed Professor Snider last evening, as the hail, snow and sleet came whirling down over the roofs and around the corners. "We’re getting plenty of it, just as I predicted we would, this month. Wiggins hoodooed March; anyhow, it was by all odds the mildest, pleasantest March we have had for years, just as I told you it would be, and here now you see my snow-storms coming according to programme. Winter lingers in the lap of Spring." Snider claims that last remark to be original with him, but then he also claims to be the author of "The Beautiful Snow." The mountain ranges are well whitened, and enough snow has fallen his month to insure good crops and a prosperous farming season throughout the Reese River section. East of here there has been less of it, and the ranchers are calling for more. The Professor says these "April showers" will continue all through the month.

ZODIAC FALLACIES.

Snider attributes Wiggins' failures as a weather prophet to too much faith in old Zodiac, the disreputable looking crank who is pictures out in the almanacs, standing so complacently with his stomach and intestines exposed in hari-kari style, and a lot of sheep, goats, lobsters, crabs and other shell-fish performing a war dance around his remains. Observations through his huge telescope on the summit of Mount Prometheus are what give the Professor his wonderful knowledge of the weather. He was a little puzzled, though, the other morning. His telescope is mounted across a couple of granite ledges, and when he went to take his usual before breakfast observation he was very much surprised to see what was evidently old Capricornus himself, one of the most popular and influential signs of the Zodiac. The head, horns and gray beard could not be mistaken, and looked of mammoth proportions. Snider gave his telescope a roll for a more favorable position, when out bounced a stray goat, which had crawled in there for shelter and repose the night before. This circumstance put him more against those almanac signs than ever.

THE SPRING EXODUS.

The population of Austin is constantly increasing through home accessions, and holds its own sufficiently to keep all the houses occupied, with the help of a few outsiders, who come to make their residence here for mining, business or other purposes. But enough Austinites leave to give place to any newcomers. Especially is this the case every Spring. Several of the old settlers have left within the last few weeks, or are preparing to leave. Some of these miners or "tributers," who have had the good luck to unearth a pocket or so of rich ore, made a good "crushing”"at the mill, and now go on a visit to the "old country." Others, who have carefully saved up their earnings from mechanical business or agricultural sources, desire to make their home in some more genial and productive section, where something naturally grows besides the everlasting, monotonous sagebrush. They are dreaming of grapes and grassy hillsides and tall timber, and it is not strange that their eyes and their footsteps turn to the great and promising Northwest, where the noble Columbia river flows incessantly toward the blue Pacific. August Betz, one of our old-time, hard-working citizens, left a few weeks ago for Oregon. He returned the other day, having purchased a nice little farm of 200 or 300 acres on Rogue river, seventeen miles from Jacksonville, for $3,500. He will soon take his family from here to their new home, and hopes to pass the rest of his days raising hops, spearing salmon and rolling in clover. S. Markwell has sold his little ranch on Big creek, near here, for $5,000, and with the product of last year’s crop, $5,000 more, will start shortly with his family, in two wagons, bound for Washington Territory. He expects to find the home his heart has been dreaming of on the borders of Puget Sound, and there while away the rest of his days among the lofty pines, firs and tamaracks, and die happy, leaving his family well fixed. Some of the lucky tributers who went on a visit to their friends in the old country last year, write that they are coming back shortly. Others who have left more recently, or are now about leaving, will not fail to remember how they prospered and met with good luck here, and they, too, will come back. And so Betz and Markwell may by and by tire of Oregon rains, fogs and Puget Sound monotony and experience, and desire to return to the livelier old companionship, clearer atmosphere and brighter skies of sagebrush Nevada.

MATRIMONIAL.

And this is the season of the year when the chronic Austinite, who cannot emigrate or does not care to do so, turns his attention more particularly to matrimony. He may escape during the rest of the year, or from season to season, but the genial Springtime is liable to induce a desire within his breast to browse around in the fair field of matrimony, and then it is that he can be lassoed with the connubial halter, if ever. Sundry marriages have already taken place, and more are being talked of. There is one where both parties lay aside the weeds of matrimonial bereavement to form a new and presumably happier alliance, and if financial wealth be any factor in the production of the desired happiness, each has plenty of money. Another is where neither party has any coin worth mentioning, but he is one of the most deservedly popular gentlemen in Eastern Nevada, and she a most sensible and estimable young lady. The cupboards are being built, the carpets and other furniture made ready, and they will go to housekeeping as soon as the wedding is over. All Austin stands ready to pat the festive bridegroom on the back and wish him an eternal bonanza of happiness. Even the Widow McWinzle feels more hopefully inspired, and Spykens has to keep out of her way. She wears a wilder fizzle-bang, and her montagues hook upward on each side of her countenance, like the curling breakers of the sea of eternity splashing against the Rock of Ages. (That’s the way Spykens eloquently expresses it, but not to her.) She has been writing some intense poetry and he knows it, but he carefully dodges all chances of her serving the papers on him.

RICH ORE

Has always been a peculiar feature of the mines of this locality, from the earliest times. The veins being small and highly concentrated, the ore may be comparatively scarce at times, but it is rich. And even at this late day new strikes of rich ore veins are occasionally made. Over at Yankee Blade, three or four miles north of here, on the same ore belt, several new developments of rich ore have been made within the last few months, and that locality contributes very considerably toward keeping up the present unusually long and lucrative run of the Manhattan mill. I was yesterday shown a piece of ore from the most recent strike at Yankee Blade, about as big as a teapot, which was simply a solid mass of black antimonial and ruby silver, worth $2 or $3 a pound. The vein is a foot or so in width, but, if it is largely composed of such ore as that, it may be considered a big thing.

"MY DEAR HUBBELL."

Day before yesterday J. C. Hampton, of Virginia, and W. S. Gage, of San Francisco, both partners in the firm of Gage, Curtis & Co., grocers, Austin, were here, having arrived the night before from Virginia. They had with them Hon. Jay A. Hubbell, ex-member of Congress from Michigan, and famous as Chairman of the Republican Congressional Committee. Mr. Hubbell was brother of C. P. Hubbell, partner in the firm of Gage, Curtis & Co., who died in San Francisco last Fall, and he is in this section for the purpose of settling up his brother’s estate. Hampton and Gage were, of course, perfectly at home here, and met lots of friends, and they trotted Hubbell around lively and kept him feeling good. Hubbell being only fifty-three years old, however, skipped around as lively as either of them. He has the square-set, resolute, self-possessed style of a down-East whaling Captain, and would figure well on the quarter deck as commander of a double-turreted monitor in active engagement with the enemy. There is more to him than there looks to be, and he certainly has proved himself to be a very able and active political generalissimo, both financial and executive. By reason of a letter from Garfield to him, in which he was addressed as "My Dear Hubbell," falling into the hands of the Democracy, that vexatious party has fixed that affectionate cognomen upon him—no doubt somewhat to his annoyance, from frequent repetition.

Spykens sought and was honored with an introduction. He was cordially received, and mutual compliments, etc., passed.

"Yes, I recollect the name very well, Mr. Spykens," said he, "and am pleased to make your personal acquaintance."

"Thank you. I hardly thought you would remember my name, but of course yours is known throughout the Nation. Here in Nevada even the Democracy familiarly know you as My Dear Hubbell."

"Ugh ! (with a snort like a grizzly) I’d like to know where in h—ll I ain’t known that way."

And Hubbell slammed the lapels of his coat across his breast and buttoned himself up with an impatient jerk, as he bobbed his figure-head and tacked the ship out of the door, where he got into the wagon with the rest to go to dinner.

It is not to be inferred that Mr. Hubbbell meant to insinuate that Nevada was the infernal regions, or that he is even known in Hades at all at present.

Hubbell, Hampton and Gage left for Ione and Grantsville yesterday morning, where Gage, Curtis & Co. have business connections established, and will return here to-morrow, taking the cars for Virginia and San Francisco next morning. Hubbell proposes staying on the coast two or three months. ALF. DOTEN.

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TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….April 22, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA

A Festive Wedding—Concealed Comstock Bonanzas—Smallpox—Sour Grapes—The Vineyard of the Lord—a Conscientious Proposition.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 20, 1883.

One of the approaching weddings shadowed forth in my last week’s letter took place evening before last, and was the most popular affair of the kind that ever transpired in Austin, although there was nothing ostentatious about it. It was the wedding of Alexander C. McCafferty and Miss Mary E. Barrett, both well known and popular residents of Austin. Alex. was elected County Assessor last Fall, and has more friends than anybody, and his bride is also very highly esteemed. Their wealth otherwise is not great, consequently they are all the happier. The wedding took place at a private residence, which, in Austin, does not mean an extensive house, but numerous friends managed to squeeze in and partake of the marriage feast and other hospitalities. The whole town considered itself present, anyhow, and everybody sympathized. The Lander brass band turned out in full force, and never did better. They played "Haste to the Wedding," "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," "Sweet By and By," and other significant pieces, and people all over town patted time to the music. Occasionally those on the back streets banged away with gun or pistol, and even the Chinese quarter testified its approbation with the explosion of a wheelbarrow load of fire-crackers and bombs. The Chinese band did not perform, but the drummer got out on the porch of their little red-faced Masonic temple and rattled away for over an hour, without pausing to grease his elbow. The happy pair received a most magnificent outfit in the way of bridal presents—a whole load of silver-ware, big pictures and a sack of flour. The "Tasty Club," an association of bachelors who have eaten together for several years past, and of which Alex. was the Presiding Elder, passed a resolution to fast for a week, and as an appropriate token of their esteem, presented the newly-mated with a full set of silver spoons, knives and forks. The Widow McWinzle sat up all night trying to compose some poetry equal to the occasion, but utterly failed through her usual bad luck in rhyming the name. Yesterday Alex. had a delivery wagon out all over town, taking wine and cake to friends who were not present at the wedding. Everybody wishes him and his fair bride a big bonanza of luck in the promising mine they have located on the uncertain ledge of matrimony, and that their assessments may all be dividends.

CONCEALED BONANZAS.

It is amusing to any practical old Comstocker to notice that the regular periodical yarns and specious reports are again going the rounds of interestedly concealed ore bodies in the lower levels of the Comstock. They say that there is plenty of rich ore all along the old lode, developed by the deep drifts and winzes away down in the hottest places and mythical meanderings of the pick and diamond drill. And they say these bonanzas are kept carefully concealed and avoided until the powers that be shall obtain more desirable control, and get things their own way. All sorts of reasons, definite and indefinite, are given for this state of things, but the whole proposition, although rather encouraging, if true, partakes too largely of the intangible and mythical. Unfortunately there is no more probability in it now than there has been in times past. For it has been ever thus since childhood’s hour, in the history of the Comstock. Somebody has always been trying to delude innocent stockholders or ambitious possessors of a few dollars into such hopeful, concealed bonanza beliefs. But the history of the Comstock shows too little reality in the proposition. A new ore discovery or valuable prospect in any portion of the lode may have been held back from the knowledge of the general public for a few hours, but never for a few days, for the powers that controlled were always more than willing and anxious to produce good ore, bring it to the surface and financially realize as soon as possible. It is true that the first rich symptoms of the Crown Point bonanza were to some extent held from the public knowledge until Superintendent Jones could secure control, but meanwhile the good prospect leaked out, and the stock bouncing upward indicated something new and important in the mine. The miners themselves could not fail to make their knowledge of the situation available to themselves and friends. The fact is apparent and well known that the good prospect developed into something that really exceeded the most sanguine expectations of the ever and over-sanguine Jones himself. He had very little real knowledge of the actual value of the new find ahead of the general public, and has always been given credit for more than he was entitled to in that respect. He had no diamond drill or other means of looking beyond the face of the drift, but like all other watchful mining Superintendents he naturally had a few hours the advantage over outsiders, and good luck backed up his sanguine investments. That’s all. As to the Consolidated Virginia and California bonanza, the general public knew about as much as the insiders from the start, and in the matter of the left-handed Sierra Nevada, too much was known—or unknown—for more insiders than outsiders were slaughtered. The future history of the Comstock will show that there are no bonanzas concealed at the present time, but that some are being disadvantageously neglected and allowed to remain undiscovered in the old upper portion of the lode, above the level of the Sutro tunnel, where all past bonanzas have been found.

SMALLPOX

Has always been considered a dread disease, yet the spotted fever so fatally afflicting Carson seems far worse. The suggestion of the Appeal that it proceeds from the numerous foul privy vaults and cesspools of the town, and that they should all be cleaned out and purified forthwith, may be correct enough, yet it would seem advisable that the town should be totally evacuated by the inhabitants while that process of purification was going on. Smallpox is heard of at various points, yet does not seem to be as fatal as it is alarming and disagreeable. Over in Nevada City, California, it still rages, and seems peculiar to the inhabitants. Indeed, it seems not only peculiar, but influential in that respect, for a family who years ago used to reside in Nevada City are not reported to have the disease in Visalia.

GRAPES.

Whether grapes can be grown successfully in Nevada is being discussed some in the newspapers at present. One says it is an "experiment which has never been tried." That’s a mistake. J. M. Tailleur, down on Carson river, just above Dayton, has been raising grapes and making wine from them for the last three or four years. He planted a few vines near his house some years ago, to have them run over the porch by way of ornament, and was quite surprised to see that they not only grew very thriftily, but also bore good grapes in due time. He consequently and subsequently planted a nice little vineyard, with excellent success. Others in favorable localities throughout Nevada can do the same. Even in Gold Hill, the writer of this grew several bunches of grapes two or three years ago. Those grapes cost about six bits apiece, but they grew all the same, and became very sour.

CONSCIENTIOUS.

Speaking of vineyards, a young man in Austin, who is willing to work in the vineyard of the Lord occasionally when his services are called into requisition, attends Sabbath school regularly, and takes an interest in it. In the absence of the pastor he has been sometimes called upon to preside, and has kindly and efficiently done so. But he does not always seem to be perfectly at home and in his proper element, but a little nervous and not up to the regulation religious standard. The other Sunday, for instance, a studious young miss of ten year asked him: "Mr. Jenkins, will you please tell me what is the Resurrection and the Second Death?" Jenkins hitched around uneasily as he gently, yet conscientiously, replied: "Well, my child, I’d rather not try to explain that to you, for I don’t believe any part of it myself !" ALF. DOTEN.

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TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….April 29, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

A Piute Wiggins’ Prognostication—Austin Belligerents—Less Blood than Thunder—The Manhattan Mill Shut Down—Some Austin Festivities—Piute Orchards—Young Winnemucca—Sutro Tunnel Propositions and Westward Possibilities—Reno and Carson Antagonistical Meanness—Both Places Not So Bad as They Might Be.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 27, 1883.

Winter continues to linger, etc., and if it really is a fact that "April showers make May flowers," the Reese River section will be one grand universal bouquet shortly, to the exclusion of all other vegetation. Showers and passing squalls of hail and snow are the order of each day and the programme of each night, and the whole country, from the peaks of the mountain ranges to the surface foundations thereof, reposes coolly beneath a ghastly, gleaming wilderness of the beautiful snow. Strange to say, however, thirty miles east of here, in Smoky Valley, no snow or other style of moisture has fallen since the first storms of Winter, and the whole broad valley is dry as powder, with little or no snow visible on the neighboring hills and mountain ranges. Colonel Charley, the Piute Wiggins of this section, after a careful canvass of all the weather signs—animal, vegetable and otherwise—deliberately promulgates his prediction that there will be snow in every month of this year. It does look very much like it at present.

THE SPRING FIGHTS

Have opened out lively here in Austin, the principal leader in that line being one between to rantankerous members of the press, day before yesterday, on the most public street, at noonday. It was a one-sided fight, where one did all the fighting, was arrested for it, paid $30 fine, and growled because he "hadn’t got the worth of his money." Perhaps nothing worse may result from this disagreeable muss, but the stormy atmosphere is oppressively sulphurous with rumors of future desperate encounters, flowing wounds and blood-sprinkled sidewalks. Even the solitary crow that camps on Mount Prometheus and flies over the town occasionally croaks portentously and looks more like the ghost of an old sexton than ever.

MILL SHUT DOWN.

The Manhattan mill stopped work day before yesterday, after a prolonged and prosperous run of six months. It has merely shut down for a couple of weeks, in order to make certain necessary repairs, when it will star again with plenty of ore. This has been the longest and best run the mill has enjoyed for years, and, judging from the amount of ore on hand and in sight at the various mines, the next run may be fully as long and as prosperous as the last has been. These mines are mere surface workings as compared with those of the Comstock, and as they show no signs of exhaustion, they certainly are liable to continue their good yield for numerous years to come. In fact, there is far more ore in sight in them now than there was a year ago, and they are in better shape for productive working. The shutting down of the mill does not seem to affect the general prosperity of Austin to any very perceptible extent at any time. Things wag along in the old settled groove, regularly and without excitement, while the mill is resting the same as if it were running in full blast. Nobody in the business community seems to be getting rich, but everybody slips along in a quiet, humdrum sort of way the year round, and were it not for an occasional episode like the journalistic muss of day before yesterday, the newspapers would have a tough job to get up anything in the shape of local items.

FESTIVITIES.

Last night the Odd Fellows had a grand ball, the finest of the season. It was very fully attended and ran till daylight this morning. Yesterday was another high jinks day with our Mongolian residents. They flew one big red flag with a white border, and a brilliant green silk banner floated above it from the top of the mainmast, while along the front of their joss house and Masonic Temple numerous other flags were displayed. A large amount of firecrackers and bombs were exploded during the day and evening, their band of very barbarous musicians played on the upper deck of the temple, and there was a sound of promiscuous revelry throughout the celestial quarter. What it was all about they did not explain, other than to say that it was a "belly good time," which doubtless means a feast. These Chinese may be heathens, but judging by the frequency of their festivities they have more fun than anybody.

THE INDIANS’ ORCHARD.

Newspaper mention of the recent visit of a United States special timber agent to the nut pine regions of Como, to look after the timber on the public domain, reminds us of a similar circumstance which occurred nearly twenty years ago, when I was a resident of that same locality. On the 12th of October, 1863, young Winnemucca, the noted war chief of the Piutes, came to Como, accompanied by about a dozen of his braves, all mounted on horseback. At their request quite a number of the principal citizens met them at the chief saloon, kept by "Martin, the Wizard." Winnemucca was rather a fine looking Indian, of about thirty-five years, full average hight, straight and dignified, face painted brick red, a few eagle feathers stuck in his hair, and he wore shoes, pants and a gray blanket, but no hat. All the rest of his crowd wore hats—and clothes. He addressed us through an interpreter to the following effect: He had learned that the whites were cutting and destroying the nut pine timber which so bountifully covered the hills of that section, and had come to request them stop doing so. They were welcome to use all the dead timber which strewed the hillsides, for firewood, but they must not cut the live trees. Those trees were the "Indians orchard." For hundreds of years they had harvested the nuts that grew on them so plentifully, "same as white men catchum apples in his orchard," said he. "Injun mans no cuttum white man’s orchard trees—no likum white man cuttum Injun’s orchard all same." These were the instructions officially given from Chief Winnemucca, and it was his urgent request and command that they should be abided by. These lands belonged to the Piute tribe, and until some definite treaty should be made, their rights must be respected, and their nut orchards held inviolate by the ruthless ax of the miner or the woodchopper. The instructions of the great Chief were received with due decorum and assented to. During the interview, Winnemucca spoke not a word of English, but watched every man and motion very carefully and intelligently with his keen, bright eye, and at the conclusion mounted his pony with an agile leap, waving his hand royally by way of farewell as he rode away, with his dusky escort. Young Winnemucca died several years ago, and was a very different sort of a man from the old peace Chief Winnemucca, who died last Fall. The Indians’ orchards about Como are not there now. Nobody quit cutting the timber as long as there was any left to haul to market.

THE SUTRO TUNNEL.

If about half of the Sutro tunnel could be cut off and brought to Austin, it would be a valuable acquisition and of material assistance in the deep working of these mines, for no such tunnel exists or is projected in this locality. And to an old Comstocker it seems a pity that the Sutro tunnel should not be made more available than it is in the development of the old lode. Surely its westward mission has not ended. With the compliments of Superintendent Thomas I received, a few days ago, a copy of the recent annual report of the company. That of a year ago indicated a desire to push the tunnel still further westward, but this says nothing about it. The supposed west wall of the Comstock, the hard syenite or "diorite," as Professor Gunning calls the country rock of Mount Davidson, should not be considered the "pent-up Utica," confining the progress of the Sutro tunnel westward. A thousand feet further might develop bonanza wonders. Grand golden treasure possibilities and probabilities remain unexplored and unrevealed within the deep abdominal fastnesses of old Mount Davidson, and the Sutro tunnel is the keyhole to the mystic realm of boundless wealth. Will the key never be turned, the door opened and the problem solved?

DISEASE AND DEATH.

Speaking of mines, we residents of Eastern Nevada are taught by the newspapers of Reno and Carson to believe those places to be perfect mines of deadly disease—festering bonanzas of corruption. Reno looks fair enough on the surface, but its substratum has imbibed enough descending filth to constitute one vast reservoir of seething rottenness, on top of which Reno stands like a poultice on a boil, liable to be disrupted and devastatingly demoralized at the first hot spell of weather. Carson is represented as an outspread saturation of privy vaults and cesspools that people live on top of, waiting for a hot-weather epidemic to wipe them out. Why should fair Carson and promising Reno be rivals in such matters as well as in everything else? The chances are, however, that neither place is as bad as it is represented, or as it might be. ALF. DOTEN.

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TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday .... February 11, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Cold Comforts and Solid Beef -- Austin Amenities and Festivities -- The Water-God Flower -- Railroad Legislation -- Too Much Confidence

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., February 7, 1883.

EDITOR ENTERPRISE: During the last few weeks the temperature of the "Great East" portion of Nevada has ruled unusually and unnecessarily low, the thermometer ranging from twenty or thirty degrees above zero to forty or fifty degrees below. The cattle ranges being altogether in the numerous valleys, where the coldest weather prevails, there has been considerable suffering among the four-legged friends, servitors and victims of the human race. Cattle do not suffer so much from the severe cold as from the freezing up of the streams, springs and ponds, cutting off their water supply, and were there no snow many would have to perish from thirst. Snow rarely falls deep enough to prevent sheep from getting along comfortably, and the abundant white sage forms a never-failing source of nutritious food supply for cattle and horses throughout the Winter season. Along the Humboldt Valley section the cold is far the most intense, and it is said that the butchers, after slaughtering, have to work lively to get off the hide before the animal freezes solid. In cutting off steaks and roasts they run the petrified carcass through a sawmill. Here in Austin, the oldest inhabitant, who is a member of the Reese River Pioneer Society, repeatedly declares that he never before saw the like anywhere for cold weather. We are all getting so used to it, however, that it only seems uncomfortable when it gets above zero.

AUSTIN DIVERSIONS.

Following close upon the debilitating result of the general election in November came the mumps. That uncomfortable disease descended upon the population of this venal burg as a sort of righteous retribution for degenerating from its former glory as a Republican city, and deliberately gravitating into the arms of the Democracy. Yet it afflicts all, both great and small, regardless of sex, age or previous condition of politics. No fatal results have ensued thus far, but mature sinners have suffered severely from it, and the doctors are all wallowing in affluence. The average Austinite, however, has not let the mumps get down into his feet. He bags his head and extra amount of cheek, and mumps about for a few days, and then goes to a dance and kicks out the last lingering mump from the festive points of his toes and heels. And we have lots of dancing parties, balls, socials and all that sort of thing, and just as good halls as those of the Montezumas to do it in, and as for music, here is where it naturally exists, evolves and trots out The Lander Brass Band is one of the best military bands in the State, and we have two good quadrille bands, to say nothing of a Chinese band, which for brass, string and general outlandish anti-musical cussedness cannot be beaten this side of Tophat. At the recent famous masquerade ball, in International Hall, the various characters taken were so perfectly sustained that you could hardly distinguish "Pluto" from the "Abolition Oil Man," the "Sailor Boy" from "Mrs. Langtry, " or the "Chinese Mandarin" from the "Swiss Peasant Girl," but we had lots of fun and explained all the characters in the newspaper report. Then there was the sheet and pillow-case ball the other night, where everybody danced and sweated in their bed-clothes, and whisperingly confessed identity to each other, so that nobody was surprised when the unmasking came. The annual ball of Manhattan Hose Company No. 2, and that of the Austin German-Americans were also "away up." The coming Valentine party, to be given by our German-American citizens, will doubtless be the most popular and socially enjoyable event of the season. All these festive assemblages are invariably very fully attended, whole families as well as parts of families being present, and juvenile Austin as he skips about the floor or sits waiting for a chance, admiringly contemplates the ambitious terpsichorean efforts of some noble old pionerrs, and hopefully looks forward to the day when he, too, shall be able to come down in the double shuffle or the fore-and-after like a Starratt, a Crockett, or a Cresenzo.

CHINESE NEW YEAR

Commenced to-day, but the moon-eyed, long-tailed sons of Confucius so numerously residing here, commenced celebrating before dark last evening. Wheelbarrow loads of fire-crackers, bombs, etc., were exploded, and the Chinese band paralyzed the devil with some of the most soul-harrowing fulminations from their tom-toms, gongs, hewgags and squiljees that he ever heard. Chinatown was a blaze of glory, freshly stirred up stinks and hilarity. The Joss-house was brilliantly lighted, and the gaudily painted Joss himself seemed to wear an agreeable smile on his celestrial features. Feasts of roast and stewed hog and chicken, cakes, nuts and pic-led chow-chow indescribable were spread in various houses, everybody visited each other, drank rice brandy, got celestially happy and had lots of fun. To-day the big dragon flag rollicks gaily in the breeze from the flagstaff of the little red-faced Chinese Masonic temple, and John is quietly taking a rest and a smoke, or cruising about in his best dangaree pants and silk jumper. This is a happy, hopeful and satisfactory occasion for John. This is the day when he forgives all his creditors, puts himsefl through bankruptcy, wipes out all his old scores and opens new accounts for himself for another year. This is his annual clean-up, so to speak; therefore it is most emphatically and essentially John's "Happy New Year."

CELESTIAL HYACINTHS.

We have all admired the beautiful Chinese lilies or hyacinths which are to be found growing so luxuriantly at this particular time of the year in parlor windows and barrooms most anywhere in this State as well as in California, and right now they should be in their fullest glory of blooming fragrance. They grow best in bowls or dishes filled with stones and water, no other nutriment or cultivation being required, and the onion-like bulbs are imported in large quantities fresh from China every year, not being propagated in this country at all. It is a very interesting plant, and in Mongolian circles it is considered to have cabalistic and oracular bearing upon the Chinese New Year, as well as Celestial luck generally. Most carefully and anxiously does each Chinaman consider the growth of his lilies, and endeavor to regulate their floral development. If every bud is in full bloom on the China New Year's Day he is in a bonanza of luck and prosperity for the whole of the year, but every flower that droops or fades on that day is a sure sign of a death in his family - if all should wither, ruin and death must be his portion before the next new year. Ah Quy, or "Charley," the Chinaman whom all the old Comstockers remember as being for several years employed in the Bank Exchange Saloon at Gold Hill, told me the following nice little legend regarding this peculiar flowing plant, which is now put in print for the first time:

THE "SOI SIN FWAR,"

Or Water-God Flower, is only found in one particular province away in the interior of China, and nowhere else in the world. A good many hundred years ago a very rich and prominent mandarin died, and his eldest son, in accordance with law and national custom, suceeded him as legal heir to the family title and possessions. He was a bad, arrogant and ambitious man, and about the first thing he did was to turn his mother and younger brother out of doors. Indeed, he wanted to kill them, in order to destroy all chance of their eventually succeeding to the estate, instead of his own children. The poor mother gathered up a handkerchief full of nuts and dried fruit, took her little boy by the hand and fled for safety she cared not whither.

Three days afterward they found themselves away out in the midst of a broad desert country covered with stones and water, and not a tree, bush or even a blade of grass in sight. It was New Year's Day, and with bleeding feet and broken hearts they sank down weeping and exhausted upon a rock, unable to go any further, and concluded they must die. Pretty soon a little gray-haired old man came tottering along and sat down beside them. "Why do you weep?" said he. They told him their story and wept afresh. The old man looked very sad, tired out and hungry, and the little boy gave him what few nuts and dried apple they had left.

Then the little old man raised up without the assistance of his stick and smilingly remarked, as he patted the astonished boy on the head: "Now I know you. Don't you cry any more. I'll make you ten times richer than your big, bad brother ever was or ever will be. Just stand up upon this rock and I'll show you something."

They both stood up there beside him and he pointed with his stick.

On all sides, far and near, they saw those beautiful hyacinths, with full white blossoms, growing in the water among the stones and rocky crevices.

"There, now," said the genial old gentleman, with a hilarious nourish of his stick, "all this vast tract stones and water is yours. I give you everything in sight. Not one flower is withered or drooping. Sell them and be as rich and prosperous as you like."

A heavy cloud of rich perfume, like incense from the throne of Joss, floated across their delighted nostrils, and they turned to thank the old man, but he was gone.

Then they knew it was the great Water God, Choon Tung, whom they had thus profitably entertained. They loaded themselves with the lovely fragrant blossoms and struck out for the nearest city. They sold at fabulous prices, and directly had coolie trains packing flowers to all parts of the empire, even supplying the Emperor and his entire court, at a magnificent profit.

When the bad elder brother heard of all is he went on an opium jamboree, and died inside of a week, leaving the young man and his mother sole inheritors of the situation. They settled down on the old homestead, and he became in due time a two-sworded Mandarin of the red button, in prime favor with the Emperor, making his mother one of the highest ladies in the land.

In appreciative gratitude and honor they named this beautiful hyacinth Soi Sin Fwar, or the Water God Flower, which name it bears to this day, and their descendants, heirs and assigns continue selling the bulbs.

RAILROAD MATTERS.

It is pleasing to notice that our legislators at Carson are standing up to their respective party platform pledges regarding the monstrous railroad monopolies, which are trying to develop the resources of our otherwise poverty-stricken State. Buncombe and partisan rivalry can get up political platform resolutions, but it requires good, square legislative brains to carry out the desired propositions. Previous Nevada Legislatures have found this railroad problem a difficult one to definitely arrange with equitable justice to both sides, and at the same time keep in view the future prosperity of the State, which can be developed, enhanced and supported more by railroads than most anything else; and the chances are that the present Legislature may arrive at the same honest sagebrush conclusion. The railroad between here and Battle Mountain has not made whisky money or its unfortunate proprietors in the last two years, and can stand no squeezing discouragement whatever; the Nevada and Oregon road certainly cannot, and, what other road can? The people of this section have little confidence in any decisive benefit to be derived from any of the proposed railroad bills. No harm, however, can be done by agitating the subject, even though no definite action should be taken. Our legislators have a right to show that they recognize their platform requirements and are "fly to the racket." Speaking of

CONFIDENCE,

The other day a well-known and active young man of this town unfortunately exhibited too much confidence. He was on top of a building, fixing a private telegraph wire, and when he got through, jumped from the fire wall, some four or five feet, down upon an awning covered with sheet iron. This gave way beneath him like so much paper, and he shot through to the sidewalk below, falling about seventeen feet. He looked before he leaped, but did not calculate on going so far. Luckily, he did not break his neck or any other bones, but says he would rather have the mumps than do that circus act again.

ALF. DOTEN.

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TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday ..... February 18, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Valentine Amenities — An Autograph Epidemic—Chirographic Sublimity—Water Pipe Calamities—Juvenile Ambition—Railroad Legislation—Government Rations and Piute Prosperity

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nevada, February 15, 1883.

Saint Valentine's Day came in as a sort of wind-up to the Chinese New Year festivities, and was further complicated with the commencement of Lent. One circumstance operated as an offset to the other, however, to some extent. The Chinese had their big dragon flag flying all day, and the Jews danced at the grand ball given by our German citizens in the evening, but the good Catholic Christians stayed at home, under the restraints of Lent. The average American Austinite, however, tried to make a festive day of it. A violent snow-storm gave about eight inches of splendid sleighing, and in the afternoon and evening, numerous gay cutters and spanking teams were dashing about the streets. The ball was very well attended and much enjoyed, every person present receiving a valentine, besides having lots of social fun. The Post office did a huge business, especially in the forwarding and exchange of cheap, wicked and acrimoniously exasperating valentines. Schoolboys got even on their teachers by sending them the meanest and most soul-harrowing of these cheap missives, and many a reflective citizen slyly sought grim satisfaction for past or existing grievances in the same way. And it is of no use saying that these villainous pictorial exaggerations do not hit strongly or have any effect. One hard business man received three, apparently from different persons, but all three were alike. He stood over an hour before a looking-glass, swearing that he had no such nose and ears and did not love money to the extent so aggravatingly set forth in those horrid valentines, and then he went and got drunk.

AUTOGRAPHIC

The autographic album epidemic is more annoying and permanently distressing than the mumps. I’ve young or old miss in Austin has at least one of these nefarious concerns, and they are afflicted with an abnormal desire to get them filled up autographic remarks and names, quantity and number being apparently the main object in view. Thus, for one autograph of any note or prominence they have forty never heard of before, or likely to be even remembered for any length of time. The young gentleman of unfortunately high popularity among them naturally falls an easy victim to general desire for his autograph, and the way they pile the little albums in upon him is really oppressive. Where he fails is in attempting to sling a verse or two of poetry into each of them, instead of simply recording himself "Yours, eternally, J. Bilkington Boggs," or something after that style. Many persons, too, seem to be saturated with the idea that they can write themselves into prominence through the mediumship of these autograph albums, therefore they go for them, and seek to improve the glorious opportunity. The result is that the whole motley assort­ment, from the two-bit affliction up to the $3 pictorial atrocity, gets filled with more bad penmanship and still worse spelling than any other style of registry in the English language. And they will so exasperatingly slop over into the poetics and try to do the sublime thing, with their expressions pointing heavenward, like the tail end of their demented pens. For instance:

Darling Betsie:

Among the holy Angles may you forever sore

When from this Worldly earth you part forever more. Your sincere friend and vell visher.

NAPOLEON SNODGRASS.

Dear Maggy: Our friendship has budded

Temporarily on Earth. May it blossom out

Perminently in heaven. Yet While through

Lifes speer, we wonder here, remember Me.

Your loveing schoolmate.

JOB MELNOTTE.

Some of them remain on earth and talk glibly about birds, flowers, cottages, the wild sea waves and other human realities and possibilities, but the whole proposition is simply a willfully delusive, pleasant little humbug

FROZEN WATER PIPES.

The natural congealing of water pipes in Austin, Virginia, Gold Hill or any other leading points in Nevada constitutes a public calamity whenever and wherever it happens to occur. You get your water supply from the Sierra Nevada, and we get ours, here in Austin, from the bosom of the Toiyabe range. It matters not where the water comes from to fill the pipes which supply the town, however, so long as it does not freeze in the pipes. But it does. Men who go to church have felt compelled to swear about it, and even women have felt profane, although they said nothing - aloud - when they twisted the domestic faucet unavailingly. At times this Winter, Austin men have felt compelled to drink whisky, beer or similar beverages from lack of water. They really did seem to miss it.

MUMPS.

That peculiar disease, plurally designated as the mumps, continues to be peculiar to Austin, and the favorite complaint of her citizens. Its chief merit is its impartiality, afflicting the mature as well as the juvenile citizens. In fact the youngsters have come to regard it as a sort of maturing or finishing touch to manhood. The present Austin boy feels unhappy and discouraged unless he has had the mumps, or has promising hopes in that direction. He gazes admiringly upon the swollen joles of his old "Pop," and exults in the prospect of soon catching the same or worse himself. He will consider his manhood properly evolved and secured only after he has had the mumps.

PLATFORM PLEDGES.

The Democratic wing of our legislating Salons at Carson is unfortunate in being arbitrarily hampered and instructed by platform resolutions, as well as by the general expression of their party, to assume and maintain the aggressive against all the railroads, whether such action shall be right or wrong. Hence their fecundity in the matter of hatching out bills to regulate and reform railroad matters. They have gained much new light on the subject since bringing their legislative brains to bear upon it, and know more about it now than those who concerted the platform resolutions for their guidance. They cannot very well see how they can overhaul and regulate the railroad situation to the most satisfactory advantage, but they feel obligated to make some sort of a showing in the way of railroad bills. The safest idea, under the circumstances, consists in presenting bills that are unconstitutional and therefore sure to be defeated, or which are essentially similar to others which have failed in previous Legislatures. Then they can very plausible, lay the defeat to the overpowering, mercenary Republican majority. The Republicans are not quite so badly hampered, being simply bound by their platform resolutions to demand from Congress wholesome and effective legislation on the subject, and also to adopt “such a course of enlightened legislation as will extend to railroad and all other corporations doing business in this State the same rights before the law as are accorded to individuals - no more and no less.” They are expected to regulate and equalize freights and fares on all railroads within this State, but they are also expected to study well the true interests of the State, as connected with railroad matters, and to take no action against railroad progress and development which shall work material injury to the future prosperity of the State and its people. As to platform pledges or dictation, it will be borne in mind that both parties in the Legislature are thus absolutely pledged to provide for a Constitutional Convention to revise the State Constitution, instead of trying to amend it themselves. They have the same right to ignore their platform pledges or instructions on the railroad as on the Constitution propositions. That's about the size of it, as viewed from a Reese River standpoint.

STARVING PIUTES.

It is gratifying to know that Government has ordered 5,000 worth of rations to be distributed to the Piutes of the northern border of this State, who were reported to be in a starving condition. So long as there is no "reservation” jobbery and interested manipulation in the matter it is all right. There has been too much of that already, and in that direction. The Piutes in other sections of the State never complain of suffering and starvation. Here in the Reese River section, they flourish and multiply finely. There are some hundreds of them living in and about Austin, and they are all fat and comfortable. The squaws do a little washing and housework, and the men chop wood. In this way they manage to keep themselves well clothed and blanketed, and they can always pick up enough food among the whites. In fact, they all have their regular eating routes, so to speak, which they go over every day or at stated times. If they get nothing at one house they are likely to get something at the next. They never refuse to eat, if it is forty times a day, and what they cannot eat they take home to their campoodies on the hillsides. In the Fall they lay in plenty of pine nuts, and they also improve their time in that way during the fishing and hunting season, generally taking a trip down on the Humboldt about that time. Colonel Charley, with his wife and pretty black-eyed daughter Hattie, returned recently from a two-months’ visit to the Sink of the Humboldt. They came home in fine condition and brought several big sacks full of ducks and geese, all frozen solid. Charley was regarded as a bonanza man by his fellow-Piutes at first, but he has had bad luck at poker the last few days and has but few ducks and mud hens left. But he and his will never starve so long as there is fish, game and pine nuts in the country and second-hand grub in the kitchens and slop barrels of the whites. ALF DOTEN.

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