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Volume 3 (1858-1859) (592 pages)
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Page: of 592
104 HUTCHINGS’ CALIFORNIA MAGAZINE.
FOREST CITY, SIERRA COUNTY.
We present, on the preceding page, a
view of Forest City, which, it will be remembered, was recently destroyed by
fire. The view represents the town as it
appeared previous to the fire. It is situated at the junction of the north and
south forks of Oregon creek, about eight
miles southwesterly of Downieville, the
county seat of Sierra. The public buildings consist of a Methodist Church and
Odd Fellows’ Hall, in which, also, the
Masonic and Temperance organizations
meet. The Masonic Fraternity are now
building a fine Hall, for their own use.
The character of the mining is what is
termed, “Tunnel Diggings,” and is on
the “Great Blue Lead,” the richest probably in the State, and very extensive ;
having been traced already from twenty
to. thirty miles in length, and nearly a
mile in width. It is supposed to be the
bed of a large and ancient river. The
tunnels are works of considerable magnitude, some of them being over two thousand feet in length, and worked by steam
engines. There are over twenty companies in all, some of them having been
profitably at work over four years, and
their claims still paying well.
FAMILY PICTURE.
BY G. T. SPROAT.
The husband set by the parlour fire,
The babe upon his knee;
While puss upon the hearth-rug slept,
So warm and cozily:
The old house-dog lay dozing there,
Beside his master’s chair,
And heeded not the playful tricks,
Of children romping there.
The old clock in the corner struck
The early hour of seven:
The stand was drawn before the fire
On that bright winter’s even ;
The young wife sat beside it there,
Her sewing in her hand;
Her work-box and her work were laid
On the old household stand.
The grandsire sat in the easy chair,
His locks were thin and gray ;
He talked and smoked his pipe by turns,
Chatting the hours away.
Of the revolutionary war
He loved the most to tell ;
How the old patriots conquered there;
What mighty heroes fell.
The grandame sat beside him,
Turning her needles o’er;
She smiled and listened to his talk,
Though often heard before,
It never was one word too long,
For in that old man’s strain,
She heard the story of her life,
And lived it o’er again.
The pitcher stood upon the hearth,
With well-pressed cider filled ;
And russet apples, by its side,
Upon the hearth were piled. [passed ;
The clock struck nine—two hours had
That circle gathered there ;
The grandsire reverently knelt,
And closed the hour with prayer.