Newspaper Clippings, 1884 - "From Eastern Nevada"

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday. . . . . . . . . . March 16, 1884

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

March Ethics and Strawberry Moralizing—Small-Souled Thieves—John Booth's Death—The Sudden and Unexpected Ending of a Varied and Busy Life—Another Pioneer Gone Home—Obituary Notice of a Noted Printer.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 14, 1884.

All local weather sharps agree in saying that March came in like a lamb, but it had been charging abut like a belligerent ram ever since—butt end foremost. Austin people are never happy without plenty of March weather—"wind and cloud and changing skies," etc. We read of people in Los Angeles and other effeminate localities gorging themselves on strawberries and all that sort of thing without any feelings of envy. We have plenty of such things—even ripe cherries, green peas and string beans, in cans, yet believe in a season for all things. It is no good eating strawberries the year round; they would become too common to be properly appreciated. Even ice is plenty enough now, but we prefer ice cream and iced punches in the Summer—not in March. Moreover, it is Lent, and all who can are disposed to resist the temptations of appetite, frown upon the great affluence of mortal sin, which smiles and allures us at every turn—wrestle with the devil, as it were, and practically realize what poor, frail, wicked creatures we are. Yet, after all, we feel that it is a comfort to know that

WORSE PEOPLE

Live over in Nevada county, California. There, according to the local papers, the conventional footpad, with his cloth or pasteboard mask, infests the public roads, robbing indiscriminately, ranchers, charcoal men, and all who come along, taking even plugs of tobacco or second-hand toothpicks. Miners in any of the little one-horse quartz or drift mines, when payday comes, have no sort of show for getting home with their wages, and road agents are getting so numerous that they frequently waylay and rob each other in order to make business lively and turn an honest penny. Highwaymen used to do a good paying business on the old Comstock Divide until church fairs got too numerous in Gold Hill and Virginia.

SUDDEN AND NOTABLE DEATH.

All printers and newspaper men in this section have known Uncle John Booth, but personally they will know him no more, for very suddenly he has laid down his composing-stick and pencil, and gone to join the vast silent majority, out in the mythical beyond. He was the hardest-working newspaper man I ever saw, and his paper always showed good editorial and typographical work. Literally he was the hardest worked man in his own employ, driving himself more incessantly and unrestingly than anybody else. But such work wears heavily, even upon the most rugged constitution, and the final wear out was among the inevitable. For some weeks past he was not able to do half the work that he tried to force upon himself, and he frequently complained of being tired, and unable to get rested. Yet he felt driven to do all he could in his office, and to carefully oversee all the details of his business. Thriftily he made money, and liberally he spent it, for the benefit of his family and himself; yet he had accumulated some little worldly wealth, and looked forward to future enjoyment thereof; latterly, however, moments of depression have clouded his spirits occasionally, and symptoms of breaking down have become more and more apparent. Evening before last, however, he was about town, and his friends all noticed that he seemed to be in an unusually pleasant and genial mood. He went home to his residence before 9 o'clock, and seemed very happy in the society of his family, yet complained sadly of being "tireder than ever before in his life." About an hour afterward he went to bed for the night. Half an hour later his wife was suddenly aroused by violent struggles on his part, accompanied by gasping and rattling of the throat. She sprang out and struck a light, and summoned the assistance of their son, Ed., sleeping in the next room. The old man was writhing about, foaming at the mouth, in an evident attack of apoplexy, perfectly speechless, and directly he subsided into a quiet degree of insensibility, only opening his eyes for a moment when L. W. Getchell, his son-in-law, came in and spoke to him, and then closed them forever. Ample surgical aid was summoned, but he was past all human aid. He lay insensible, with his whole body paralyzed all that night and the next day, the only sign of life being his quick, labored breathing, until about 7 o'clock last evening when he quietly subsided into the long, dreamless sleep that knows no earthly waking.

JOHN BOOTH

Was born in York, England, March 16, 1818, consequently would have been sixty-six years old on Sunday next. He came to the United States in 1835, went to Cincinnati, Ohio, and shortly afterward to Louisville, Kentucky, and finally to Alton, Illinois. At the age of eighteen he went to Mobile, Alabama, and served a four-years' apprenticeship in a printing office. Subsequently he went to Georgetown, Ohio, where he was employed for some time in the office of the Political Examiner, a Whig paper. February 28, 1840, he married Miss Jane Price, his present widow, in Georgetown, and from 1840 to 1852 was engaged in general merchandizing. In 1853, with his wife and three children, he crossed the plains to California, arriving at Vallecito, Calaveras county, on the 10th of October. He kept a hotel, and had an orchard at or near there for a number of years. In 1874 he was engaged in freighting across the Sierra Nevada, to Virginia City, and subsequently to Ione, in this State. He came to Austin in that same year, and in the year following ran a four-horse coach between here and Ione, carrying passengers, mail and express. He quit the stage business in the latter part of 1865, and went to Virginia City, where he worked for three years as a printer in the Enterprise office. His family joined him there, from Vallecito, and went with him in August, 1868, to Bloomington, Illinois, where he published the Weekly Republican for a year, and then returned to Gold Hill, Nevada, being meantime rejoined by his family. In 1870 he was publisher and proprietor of the Silver State, Unionville, Humboldt county, Nevada; in '71 he ran the Carson Register; in '72 the Pioche Record, and in '73 bought out the interest of John H. Dennis in the Reese River Reveille, with Andrew Casamayou as partner. For three years they also owned the Belmont Courier, Booth personally running that paper. Upon the death of Casamayou in 1877, Mr. Booth traded with the widow of deceased, she taking the Courier and he the Reveille, also trading residences, and thus he removed permanently to Austin, where he has resided with his family ever since, conducting the Reveille with notable success, financially and otherwise. Eleven children were born to himself and wife, five of whom are still living—three sons and two daughters—M. P, Booth, at Tuscarora; W. W. Booth, Belleville; J. E. Booth, Austin; Mrs. Laura Wing, Reno, and Mrs. L. W. Getchell, Austin. J. E. (Ed) Booth, now working in the Reveille office, was recently editor of the Shoshone Rustler, Idaho, on the Oregon Short Line Railroad, fifty miles south of Hailey.

John Booth was among the most energetic and public-spirited of Austin's citizens. He was a Master Mason, belonging to the Lodge here, and President of the Society of Reese River Pioneers at the time of his death. Conscientious, and of strict integrity in all his business dealings, a kind husband, and most notably a true father and never-failing friend to all his children under all circumstances, he has gone to his just reward, and numerous warm friends will deeply regret his loss. A very varied and busy life has suddenly ended, and John Booth's funeral will take place on Sunday, the sixty-sixth anniversary of his birth. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Wednesday. . . . . . . . . . March 19, 1884

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

St. Patrick's Day—The Funeral of Uncle John Booth—Two Old Pioneers Buried the Same Day—Not Many of the Old Boys Left—A Medicine Man's Bad Luck—A Warning to Scrub Doctors—What "Tribal Relations" Can Do.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 17, 1884.

Again St. Patrick's Day is with us, and throughout the world the sons and daughters of the Green Isle will do honor to the memory of their good patron saint, who neutralized so much sin and evicted from the soil of old Ireland the meandering snake and the gymnastic frog. It is poetically recorded that "St. Patrick was a jintleman, and born av daycint payple," which brief biographical sketch is generally accepted as true. This anniversary day will not be publicly celebrated this time in Eastern Nevada, except by balls in the evening at various points, one of which—in Austin—will be given at International Hall, under the auspices of the Irish-American Benevolent Society, in first-class style, as usual. Yesterday looked more like a celebration day, so far as a parade of the military, with martial music, was concerned; but, alas ! it was on the occasion of two funerals. And it happened that they were of two old Reese River pioneers. The first was the

FUNERAL OF JOHN BOOTH.

This took pace at 2 o'clock P. M. Our local military company volunteered to do escort duty, with their finely-uniformed band, and they did it in very soldier-like style. They escorted the remains from the family residence to the Episcopal Church, where the religious services to place, after which the funeral procession formed and proceeded down Main street to the cemetery, the band playing a dirge and the military marching with arms reversed. Lander Lodge No.8, of the Masonic fraternity, followed and the society of Reese River Pioneers; then came the hearse, with Masonic pall-bearers, followed by carriages containing members of the family and mourning friends of deceased, succeeded by the longest procession of citizens on foot that has been seen in Austin for many a day, several more carriages bringing up the rear. At the cemetery the burial services were conducted by the Masons according to their peculiarly beautiful and impressive ritual observances on such occasions. The weather had been temporarily sunny and pleasant during the march to the grave, but now, as the burial services were being concluded by the usual march of the Masons around the open grave of their deceased brother, singing as they cast their cypress offerings into it, a ponderous snow-cloud came slowly sweeping across Reese River Valley and along the ghostly snow-sheeted peaks of the Toiyabe range. The broad, heavy flakes came fleecing gently down as a silent tribute from the darkened heavens, covering the coffin with a thick, pure white blanked shroud, and as the large assemblage turned away, leaving the remains of Uncle John Booth reposing quietly in their narrow bed among those of numerous old friends and neighbors he has followed thither in times past, so, too, the snow-storm passed away.

THE SECOND FUNERAL

Was that of Ralph Woodward. The services, held at the Catholic Church, were concluded as the procession returned from the cemetery, therefore directly the band came returning down Main street, escorting another long procession. Ralph Woodward was an old man of about the age of John Booth. He was a quiet, unassuming little man, and was elected Public Administrator, on the Democratic ticket, at the last election. He leaves no family or relatives here, and no enemies. For some time past he has been employed as a miner out at Yankee Blade, but his health and strength failing from a severe cold, which culminated in pneumonia, he was brought in from there last Tuesday, and died on Friday. The Society of Reese River Pioneers have dwindled down to a mere handful. A dozen more such drafts upon their ranks as that of yesterday would wipe them all out.

PIUTE RETRIBUTION.

The latest and newest howling doctor, or medicine man, in the Piute camp, on the hillside south of town, having recently lost three cases, and been otherwise professionally unfortunate, they were obliged to kill him last Thursday evening. His predecessor was similarly unfortunate, so when they went down among the pine groves of Churchill county last Fall to gather nuts they took him along and killed him. This last doctor could out-howl any I have yet heard, and when he had a case of sickness his wild, unearthly shouts and howlings at the door of the campoody, in his frantic efforts to exorcise or drive away the evil spirit that was afflicting his patient, were as meritorious as they were inefficient. He stood in like a Christian bugler, and when tuned up to concert pitch, and sailing in on his merits, he could be heard all over town. His losing three patients in succession was considered ample and just cause for his judicious removal, although he never had any pay for his professional services, but it was also ascertained that he was a witch, from his having worked on sundry occasions for D. B. Starratt and John Booth, both of whom have died, thus proving him to be a deadly witch, and therefore all the worse for a responsible doctor. The legal patience and forbearance of the tribe was exhausted, consequently they held a council, and decided to kill him. So they deputized and instructed Big Bob to do the job. Bob visited him with an axe in the evening, while he was asleep, smashed his head, and after stripping the body, to save the clothes, they dragged it over back of the hill, made the job surer with a few rocks, and then threw the corpse into an old prospect hole, where it still remains. One of his numerous "brothers" got on the vendetta war-path next day, whetted up his tomahawk and scalping knife, and wanted Big Bob. But B. B. heard of it, and very judiciously vamoosed to some unknown locality where the sagebrush twineth more securely. This matter is not a legal subject for interference on the part of the white people, as it is a case coming under the head of "tribal relations." And tribal relations are therefore left to settle these disagreeable little tribulations among themselves. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Tuesday. . . . . . . . . . April 1, 1884

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

A Local Snow Boom—Its Influence—A Legend of Reese River—The Piute Doctor's Grave Filled, but Not His Place—Medical Justice—Political Movements—A Harvest for Austin—Apoplectic Deaths—How the Pilgrim Followed Copy—Farming—Profit and Loss—Dry Moon.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 28, 1884.

Eastern Nevada is enjoying a glorious boom of beautiful snow weather at present, which seems exclusively for the benefit of this particular section, taking in Eureka and contiguous localities, and quite a distance south of here, but not north to Battle Mountain and along the Central Pacific. It commences snowing just at sunset every evening, regularly, and deposits from four to eight inches before morning. Over six inches fell last night. The sun comes out every forenoon and melts off some of it, and in the afternoon it clouds up again for the night's performance. If it would only give some rain, instead of all snow, it would seem some like the famous Winters of '49 and '52 in California, when there were big hail and snow squalls with steady rain between. Now is the Winter of our discontent, in some respects, for ranchers, wood haulers and other outsiders can't come to town conveniently to bring things for sale and spend their money for things they need; consequently, business is dull, and the mill being shut down, does not help matters any in that respect. The mines, however, are working right straight along, and accumulating much rich ore for another prosperous run of the mill.

REESE RIVER BOOMS.

It is very rarely that Reese river gets up on its hydraulic ear, floods the valley and goes booming through to a conjunction with the Humboldt. About once in a dozen years, though, it is said to do that. But it has to flood and thoroughly soak the valley first, and have the aqueous material to do it with. George Watt, the veteran rancher and legislative statesman, and Alex. McCafferty, our popular Democratic County Assessor, who takes an interest in water occasionally, both inform me, on their honor as old pioneer settlers, that in the Spring of '74 Reese river ran a good, big stream, booming, rolling and flowing clear through to the Humboldt, for fully two months, every day and regularly. This is corroborated by many other old timers and Piutes, and perhaps this confoundedly stormy March, with its chronic storms and huge piles of snow, may produce a similar boom in this famous river. And they say that trout and sturgeon as long as fence rails come up from Humboldt Lake, which I believe, because Mr. Dadd and John Leutgens say they fished for them, but when they come to remark that whales, crocodiles, unicorns and other nautical monstrosities also came paddling up the mighty Reese, they can tell that to the horse marines and other proverbially credulous persons.

INTERRED.

In my last I made mention of our Piute fellow citizens being obliged to kill their latest medicine man by braining him with an axe and some rocks, on account of his having lost three patients in succession, and being also discovered to be a witch. They saved the clothes from the body, and dragged it over to the other side of the hill, where they chucked it into an old prospect hole. There it would have remained exposed till yet, had not some interested friends and relatives of the deceased growled about the matter, and taken upon themselves to go and fill up the hole. By reason of their having to kill their two last medicine men, no other Esculapian or hygienic Piute has felt impelled to generously volunteer his services in the good cause, but some one will, for a heroic ambition for medical honors and distinction inspires them, and they recognize the justice of the fatal contingency. We boast of our civilization, yet see how much the Piutes are in advance of us. Why should the spirit of white mortals be proud? Give it up.

POLITICAL.

A meeting of the Lander County Republican Central Committee is to be held here to-morrow evening for the purpose of making arrangements for the requisite primaries for the election of delegates to the State Convention at Virginia City, April 30. That convention will select the delegates from the State to the National Convention at Chicago, June3, which is supposed to nominate the next President of the great American Republic. It is gratifying to know that the Democracy have decided to hold their State Convention June 30, here in Austin. Not that Lander County requires the injection of any fresh backbone material, for there is plenty of it here already, but it will bring welcome railroad, hotel and saloon receipts, which cannot fail to be admiringly appreciated. One hundred drinks apiece for 111 delegates, at two bits a drink, will be no insignificant or unacceptable sum, to say nothing of the army of attendants and interested hangers-on, all of whom will necessarily contribute to Austin's financial aid and comfort. Perhaps, however, it is all for the best, so far as the Republican party is concerned, in that the Democrats may furnish some horrible examples of social and political depravity and demoralization, which may inure to the benefit and advantage of the Republicans and give them the county at the grand election. Anyhow, it will give our local railroad from Battle Mountain a boom, even at half price, and help out future dividends.

FOLLOWING COPY.

Is it in the air, or why is it that so many people have recently died very suddenly and unexpectedly, and from apoplectic causes. Only a few weeks ago, D. B. Starratt, one of our leading business men, and a most exemplary citizen in every respect, was thus stricken and in a few short hours was dead. John Booth met with a similar death, and now Alex. McKenzie, so well-known among the mining and social circles of the Comstock and the State, has suddenly stepped out into the mythical realms of the eternal, the lost and the irrecoverable. Speaking of John Booth's death, reminds one of a queer incident in his journalistic career, while running the Carson Register, in 1871, Hazlett, the well-known "Pilgrim," tramp printer, who has for many years traveled from office to office all over the United States, happened along one Friday, and, as usual, the poor, luny little chap was given a job at "distributing" type to earn his food. Being short-handed, Uncle John put him at work at a case next morning setting up reprint "copy." Knowing his liability to incorrectness, he told the Pilgrim to strictly "follow copy"—be sure and follow copy at all hazards. It was in the hottest part of the season, but the office being in the second story, with all the windows open, a fine draught of air was circulating through. Suddenly a strong gust of wind whirled in, and away went the piece of copy which Pilgrim was at work on out through a side window. He watched its disappearance, and, remembering his strict orders to "follow copy," made a headlong dash after it out of the window. His tumble was a fearful one, but he did not break his neck, and shortly afterward came limping up the stairs with his rescued copy in hand, looking hilariously triumphant although somewhat dilapidated.

GENERAL NOTES.

Farmers beyond the borders of the local snow range, to the northward, are getting in their crops at a lively rate, and as soon as the snow will get out of the way the upper Reese River ranchers will resume work to that effect.

According to the papers, Governor Adams is reported to have sunk $20,000 in his Nye county mining operations. Who raised what he sunk, or who made what he lost? Some papers publish the item in a hilarious strain, yet Adams most probably sees nothing particularly funny in the proposition. He was reported last year to have made $20,000 in a good cattle speculation. Some fun in that, and if one offsets the other he comes out even.

The backbone of this chronic Winter has been broken at various periods of late, yet here is another to be broken. How many more backbones has it got?

Who said this was a dry moon?

ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday. . . . . . . . . . April 13, 1884

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

A Measly Epidemic—Musical and Military-True Human Inspiration—The Mining Groundwork of Our Prosperity—Milling and Bullion Prospects—A Genuine Comstock Pump in the Reese River Mines—Some Speculative Ideas.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 11, 1884.

The greatest and most domestically extensive sensation prevailing here at the present time is the measles and scarlet fever. The two diseases seem to have made an offensive and extremely effectual combination against the peace and welfare of this community, not neglecting any child or young person who has not thereby been afflicted before. Only one or two cases have resulted fatally thus far, but others are now verging upon death. The epidemic apparently commenced with the measles, about six weeks ago, yet one physician declared the presence of scarletina or scarlet fever from the first, and the result indicates that he was right. Ordinarily the measles is regarded as among the necessities and accomplishments of childhood, something no well-constituted youngster should do without. For one to be able to say that he never had the measles, merely indicated that his early training had been sadly neglected, or his preliminary constitutional requirements were not completed, a crime which nothing short of malignant confluent smallpox could expiate. But scarlet fever is much more to be dreaded from its more fatal results and the lasting effects which it is said to entail upon the constitution, sometimes real and sometimes purely imaginary.

A MUSICAL EPISODE.

Lieutenant governor Laughton's unexpected visit here, last week was an unexpected visit here last week was an occasion of as much holiday hilarity as if a circus had come to town. Our local brass band turned out and serenaded him on his arrival in the evening, and next morning early they serenaded him again. The band consists of sixteen pieces, and with their handsome new uniform they presented a very creditable appearance. Being attached to Austin's crack military corps, the National Guard, it was appropriate that they should thus do honor to the Adjutant General of the State Militia. And they did not neglect him in the least, but serenaded him some more, every time they thought of it. All day, in the frequent intervals between refreshments they played either from the balcony of the International or their armory, or on the street, or somewhere, and until away late in the night some of them were still unabatedly blasting away. It was in reality a spontaneous impromptu musical ovation, of which Laughton might well be proud. This is now the best band in the State, outside of Virginia City. In the afternoon they succeeded in corralling Laughton in one corner of the armory drew a fiddle on him, and in compliance with unanimous request he favored them with a few choice specimens of his well known artistic skill on that king of all instruments. Jeff. Hall, ex-County Commissioner, and a leading member of the band, was right off from a bed of sickness to which he had been tied for several weeks with a sort of rheumatic fever, and as he sat wearily on a bench, slowly rubbing his rheumatic legs and complaining of his painful weakness, Laughton was tuning up the violin. Then he drew out a few harmonious flourishes, and launched forth on a bright rippling stream of operatic melody which made Jeff fairly squirm in his seat. He swung his ears forward like a Washoe mule and took it all in, and when, with a richly rounded musical peroration, Laughton concluded, Jeff sprang to his feet spry as a bucking goat, slapped him on the shoulder, shook him by the hand, and hilariously declared that no such music had been heard in Austin since Parepa Rosa was here several years ago. It is seldom that one sees a poor, miserable convalescent so suddenly and effectually galvanized into life as was Jeff Hall on this occasion. The band couldn't play without him all the rest of that day, and he has felt better for his harmonious medication, so to speak, ever since. This military company includes among its members a number of excellent marksmen, but they could do no credit to themselves with the old fifty-caliber guns they were provided with. They have not just received a full supply of first-rate forty-five-caliber guns from Lieutenant Governor Laughton since his return to Carson. With these new guns they feel sure they can knock out a chipmunk's eye at 100 yards in less than six weeks' practice.

MINING OPERATIONS.

The Manhattan Mill still reposes in status quo, getting ready for another prosperous run, and will start up again about the 1st of next month. Meanwhile Superintendent Curtis has been actively advancing his mining work in all directions, and the result is a goodly accumulation of ore, with plenty more in sight and in prospective, so that when the mill starts again it will not lack for ore to keep it running for a good long time. All the various mining works of the Manhattan Company are in good effective condition, and operating to the best and most economical advantage. Owing to the famous narrowness and eccentric variations of these ore veins, a large amount of prospecting and dead work has necessarily to be done all the time, but the whole is conducted systematically and with excellent judgment, constant watchfulness and engineering skill being brought to bear throughout.

PUMPING IMPROVEMENT.

For the first time in the history of this mining district a genuine Cornish plunger pump is being introduced, or, rather, a pair of them. And they are from the old Comstock--two ten-inch pumps, from the Sierra Nevada new works. The pump bob is that of the Woodville works, Lower Gold Hill, and notably strong enough for anything that can be required of it here for several years to come. These pumps are about being placed in the Frost shaft, and will pump from a perpendicular depth of 570 feet. This will correspond with the 800 level of the Lander shaft and the 1800 level of the Paxton incline; in fact, forming a new water level 200 feet below the present general workings, with the best possible facilities for extending as much deeper as may be required in future operations. An immense excavation has been made in the solid rock at the west side of the shaft, for the bob and the pump engine, two new boilers and smokestacks have been placed in position, and under the efficient supervision of John Frost, the well known old chief engineering mechanic of the works of the company for nearly twenty years, or since its first organization, the work is being properly and substantially done. The principal part of the material, even to the pump rods, of Oregon pine timber, ten inches square and sixty feet long, are on the ground, and the huge castings for the pump gearings, etc., are being made at the Fulton foundry, on the Comstock—not that they could not be made here as well, but there is not the requisite iron on hand. When these pumps are placed in full working operation, they will keep all these mines drained with perfect ease, and not work half the time.

SPECULATIONS.

Sometimes I wonder if the rest of the world is as well favored with snow as Eastern Nevada. It did not snow much last night, but we had a full inch the night before, and snow-squalls prevailed yesterday and last evening. The sky is comparatively clear this morning, but the chances are in favor of more snow before night.

The farmers of Reese River, Smoky and adjacent valley ranges are hilarious over their prospects for big crops of grain and everything else this season. The Austin baby crop is turning out liberally, but not altogether owing to the weather. It seems to break out periodically, something like the measles.

Blaine men are plenty enough in this section in the way of ideals for the next Presidency, but there are also numerous warm indorsers of the old chief, Grant, for that highest and most honorable American office, regardless of special prejudices against second, third, fourth or any other particular number of terms. What the Republican party substantially requires is success in that very important and essential matter, and the strongest element or elements should be brought to bear to that end. And let it not be forgotten that the unterrified Democracy have similar ideas on the subject themselves, although in a different and perhaps more effective direction.

Why is it that a writer for the press cannot possibly write the letter u (you), in a proper name so that the intelligent compositor will not make an n of it? He may form the letter ever so laboriously, underscore it, and all that sort of thing, but it will come out wrong in spite of all precautions. I have come to firmly believe that were the intelligent compositor aforesaid to set up his own obituary, he would obstinately and designedly spell his own name wrong, if it was the last act of his life.

ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday. . . . . . . . . . April 27, 1884

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Pioneer Weather Records and Speculations—Good Trout Fishing—Political Straws—The Blaine Boom—A Desperate Medicine Man—In a Bad Fix—Military and Musical—A Big Horn—Rubeola—Melting Snows—Canned Limberger—Lingering Winter.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., April 25, 1884.

An old Pacific Coast pioneer, who is about fifteen years ahead of the Reese River pioneer in the matter of truth-telling, naturally relates some very interesting stories and reminiscences regarding Spring weather on this coast. March has generally belied herself in the matter of being considered the stormiest month of the year, and May, the gentlest, floweringest month, has frequently exhibited some very unexpected, as well as uncalled-for and unseasonable weather eccentricities. Of course, all the old-timers tell wonderful stories of hailstorms in July, and we all even remember how Tom Fitch, the silver-tongued, etc., was forcibly interrupted in the midst of one of his best Fourth of July orations, a few years ago in Gold Hill, but the tremendous roar of a fearful hail-storm rattling upon the roof of Homestead Hall, in which the exercises were being held—every hailstone as big as a small potato. But for regular heavy snow-storms, May has always stood in handsomely and done more than her part. Last May we had three inches of snow here on the 1st, three or four more on the 6th and 7th, about four inches on the 15th, three inches more on the 17th, and a heavy hail-storm, by way of variety, on the 3st. But the old-timers here tell of heavy snowfalls sometimes in June. A. S. Learned tells me that about the middle of June, 1872, he was out on a little fishing and hunting excursion with General E. S. Davis, J. A. Wright and two or three others, on the headwaters of the Reese river, when a heavy snow-storm gave them fully eighteen inches of snow to wade through. They were fortunate in finding a lumber camp on one of the forks of the river, and they piled up a lot of timber, forming a very comfortable shelter. They also had a good supply of whisky along, and filled up on hot toddies and punches, and were able to shout hilarious defiance at the unseasonable elements. And they found plenty of fish and game also, and, better than all, came home to Austin with over 900 fine trout, to say nothing of rabbits, quail and other small game.

THE REPUBLICAN PRIMARIES

On the 12th instant passed off very quietly, and three good Blaine delegates were elected to the State convention in your city next Wednesday. Only about three dozen votes were cast, but there was no opposition, and the Presidential preferences indicated on the tickets were nearly unanimous for Blaine. Only one patriot voted in favor of Grant, evidently with the idea that he did not like to see the grand old American chief left entirely out in the cold. Straws are said to show which way the wind blows, and surely this three dozen votes was a mere straw as compared to the real Republican vote of this populous locality. As goes Austin, so goes the nation, of course, consequently Blaine will be hilariously nominated at Chicago on the first ballot. It is pleasing to note the general unanimity and enthusiasm of Blaine's numerous admirers in this section as well as elsewhere, and few of them have any doubt of his nomination, any more than they have of his being qualitied for and deserving the Presidency. Yet very few seem to question the real political expediency of his nomination, or to consider the possibility that the Democracy may put up a man whose political record is cleaner and more popular, and whom the solid South, in combination with some millions of Republicans, may elect in preference to Blaine, the plumed warrior from the tall timber of "away down East." Blaine is apparently the most popular of Presidential aspirants, but all practical Republican party men will bear in mind that the candidate possessing not only popularity, but the greatest elements of strength, is the man required. In politics, success is everything, and defeat is simply an unpardonable crime. Eastern Nevada, however, seems determined to mount the Blaine hobby with the rest of the country, and ride it regardless of all chances of losing the race.

HOWLING FOR DEAR LIFE.

The new medicine man of the Piutes, in their little village on the hillside south of town, is now doing his level best in the way of medicated howling, so to speak, every night, and as often as he can raise his voice during the day, against the evil spirit of disease which is assailing their little community. The fate of the doctor whom they took down in Churchill county last Fall and stoned to death, and his successor, whom they also felt obliged to similarly dispose of a few weeks ago, stares him in the face, and nerves him to more strenuous efforts. He has lost one patient already, and a second is very shaky. Too well he appreciates the chances of retribution upon his devoted head in case of a third being lost, and the poor aboriginal medico hardly eats or sleeps, and is hoarsely howling, literally for dear life. He dares not leave, for he knows they would follow and kill him, and he can only stay and battle with disease and manifest destiny. At one time last night his second patient had a sort of measly cramp or colic for a few minutes, and the way the poor doctor did bounce out of the campoodie and desperately howl was piteous to contemplate.

MILITARY AND MUSICAL

As heretofore remarked, we have a well organized military company here in Austin which has just been supplied with a full set of new regulation forty-five-caliber guns by Adjutant General, Lieutenant Governor Laughton. The boys are very proud of their new weapons, and have a grand uniform and target excursion every Sunday. Their greatest ambition is to beat the record of the once famous Sarsfield Guard, of Gold Hill. It is said that Cara's noted brass band, in your city, has fallen into a decline, in which case the National Guard band, here, is the best in the State. Two or three of its members formerly played in Cara's band, and one of them, Fred O'Brien, is unequaled as a performer on the tuba—the big horn that a man gets inside of, as it were, blows around himself a few times and discharges a continuous stream of ponderous notes from the smoke-stack, over the top of his head. Notwithstanding its ungainly appearance it is an essential power in the band, and yields good music under skillful manipulation. It used to belong to Dick Chegwidden of Gold Hill, and during the few years he played it in the brass and string bands of the Comstock he stuffed it full of harmony, which O'Brien finds easy to blow out as occasion requires.

RUBEOLA.

The measles, or rubeola, as it is professionally termed, is abating very rapidly. The epidemic disease which has to thoroughly swept through among the juveniles of Austin during the past few weeks resulted fatally in only three instances, although there has been over 200 cases of it. Generally speaking, it seemed to be a cross between Measles and scarlet fever, mild in most cases, but bad in others. Measles should never be called anything but rubeola hereafter, for most people are eternally getting the singular and plural of measles worse mixed than the disease itself.

STRAY NOTES.

The snow along the summit of the Toiyabe range has melted off considerably under the benign influence of the nice Spring weather of the last few days, and loads of wood are once more being hauled to town from the ranches of the Smoky Valley slope.

A prominent grocery man was paralyzed a day or two ago by a man inquiring for canned limburger. He rallied, however, and informed his would-be customer that it had been found to be impossible to confine limburger in cans, but when hot weather came, by-and-by, if he could find a swelled can of rotten oysters he would save it for him.

It rained and snowed finely here yesterday. The backbone of Winter seems to be again fractured, but the weather is still anything but settled. As Blauvelt, of Gold Hill, used to so originally and felicitously remark, "Winter still lingers in the lap of Spring."

ALF DOTEN.