Now, what do I mean by the Far West: a
term often used, but with a most indefinite
application? About New York, the term is applied
to the region of which Chicago is the centre. If
you go to Chicago you will find that the railway
companies are advertising the " Far West" as
Omaha. At Omaha, on the Missouri, Utah seems
to be that bourne: while, again, at the city of
the saints it is Oregon, or California,—
somewhere about the Pacific at all events. Whether
the people of the Pacific coast have any place
where they "locate" the "Far West," it is
hard to say; probably China and Japan would be
about the nearest whereabout of that
geographically-relative locality. The scene of the
following sketches will lie, broadly speaking, in
the region on either side of the Rocky Mountains;
somewhere in the wilds of those new
states and territories which are now and again
springing up out of the wilderness; which are
peopled by an ever moving and adventurous
people, not by any means barbarous, yet
far from refined—in fact, of that peculiar
type known well enough in those parts of the
world as the "western man." It is with the
ruder type of newspaper, produced in such
out-of-the-way places as lie within the shadow
of the Rocky Mountains, the Sierra Nevadas
of California, or the Cascade Mountains of
Oregon or Idaho, with their characteristics,
and with their humour, that I propose to
deal.

The flourishing state of ephemeral literature
on the shores of the Pacific (associated as it
will ever be in our minds with bowie knives
and nuggets), cannot be better expressed
than by stating, that in the city of San
Francisco alone, numbering one hundred and fifty
thousand inhabitants, and nineteen years ago
consisting of only a few cotton tents on some
sand-hills, there are published no fewer than
forty-five periodicals, comprising ten dailies,
eight monthlies, one semi-weekly, one tri-
weekly, and two annuals. Of these, three are
published in the German language, three in
Spanish, and two in French. The gold of
California has attracted men clever in every
department of brain and handicraft, and, accordingly,
we find these periodicals edited with
good ability and even refinement. It is only when
we get up in the interior that we find the
western editor in all his crudity. Suppose that
it should ever fall to the lot of a wise man of
the East to ride some summer day into one of
these quiet little western towns, situated on a
prairie or by some river with a not euphonious
name, where it is difficult to say when the
town commences and the country ends, or
which is which, and where the inhabitants,
in their dolce far niente languor, seem to
wish, like the lotus eaters, as they tilt their
rocking chairs on the shady side of the street,
in front of the " grocery" door, that " it was
always afternoon." Before he has well taken
off his jingling Mexican spurs, or imbibed a
preliminary " drink" with the landlord of the
"Ho-tel," he will be accosted by a shabby-genteel
individual whom, by the shrewdly telling
questions he puts, the traveller will have no difficulty
in recognising as the local editor. If he has
not done so already himself, Colonel Homer
S. Smith, mine host, will soon take upon
himself a western landlord's privilege, of introducing
you to " Dr.," " Captain," " Judge," or
"Mister Ossian E. Dodge, editor of the Swampville
Flag of Liberty (and one of our most
distinguished citizens, sir)." If he be not of
the same way of thinking in political matters,
it is immaterial, for this civility will only be
delayed a few minutes until the opposition
editor, from across the way, makes his appearance
in his shirt sleeves to take his meridian
"cocktail," and to squeeze out of the new
arrival all the public news he may possess
for the public good (in a professional way), or,
true to his country, matters of private history
for his own private satisfaction.

As you get better acquainted with your
friend you will find that he is far from being
such a truculent fellow as his leaders and
"personal items" might lead you to suppose. He
will hospitably ask you to " come up to my
office, Cap.; write your letters there, sir;" and
when you look into his office, which is generally
press room, composing room, and study, with
little furniture beyond a saliva-rusted stove, a
spittoon, and a huge rocking chair of cheap
construction, you will find that it seems to
be a general loafing place for the more idle
of the citizens of the political opinions which
the "Flag" professes. There they are, all
smoking, chewing tobacco, eating apples, or
ruminating with chair tilted back, or sitting on
the step in front of the office door, only
occasionally moving over to the neighbouring
bar room to " put in a blast," or " to hist in a
drop o' pisin." The editor will now and
then, if not better employed, rush out to ask
a passing acquaintance "if he has not such
a thing as an item about him," or will bolt
round the corner of the street to pump a rusty
gold miner who has just now wearily trudged
into town for the week's supply of pork and
beans. Shortly afterwards, you will see the
two adjourning to " take a drink;" or, if news
from the diggings at " Mad Mule Cañon," or
"Shirt Tail Bar,"* is of a particularly spicy
character; the miner will adjourn to the
office. There his news will be " set up" in due
course, and he will be invited to "take a
char," doubtless not only in hospitality, but also
with eye to the policy of keeping him out of the
way of the " opposition," already on the qui
vive; for in these dull, die-away mining or
rural villages in some mountain valley of the
Far West, a man with news is an important
personage, and comports himself (most properly)
as one from cities. The telegraph and the mail
may bring matters of general interest to all
alike, but the local items of a " difficulty"
down at Greaser's Camp or a gold " strike" in
Black Jack's Claim at Yuba Dam* are matters

* Well-known mining localities in California.