Bradley takes no stock in the "keep your seat, Horace!" story. He
considers it a fabrication. In his opinion, the romancers - Bret Harte,
Mark Twain, et al. - have done California more harm than good. He also
has a thinly disguised contempt for "newspaper fellows and magazine
writers." Nor does he believe in the "Mother Lode" - that is, in its
continuity - in spite of the geologists. He prefers to speak of the
"mineral zone." In fine, Mr. Bradley is a man of definite and pronounced
opinions on any subject you may broach. For that reason, his views,
whether you agree with them or not, are always of interest.

Hanging in the office of the Cary House is a clever cartoon, by William
Cooper, of Portland, Oregon, entitled "A mining convention in
Placerville;" in which Mr. Bradley is depicted in earnest conversation
with a second Mr. Bradley, a third and evidently remonstrant Mr. Bradley
intervening, while a fourth and fifth Mr. Bradley, decidedly bored, are
hurriedly departing.

Indeed, one glance at Mr. Bradley is enough to convince you that he is a
man of unusual force of character. No one introduced me to him. I was
merely informed at the Cary House that he was the person to whom I
should apply for information concerning the old times. I accordingly
started out to look for him and had not proceeded fifty yards when a
man, approaching at a distance, arrested my attention. As he drew
nearer, I felt positive there could be only one such personage in
Placerville, and when he was opposite me, I stopped and said, "How are
you, Mr. Bradley?" "That's my name, sir; what do you want?" he replied.

They take life easily in the old mining towns. No wonder the spectacle
of a man with a pack on his back caused comment, in that heat, tramping
two or three hundred miles for pleasure! Beyond the trivial necessities