women of Sutler’s household told the secret, which was too big to be kept in hiding, to a teamster, and he, overjoyed, in turn told it to Merchant Smith and Merchant Brannan of the Fort.  The “secret” was out in brief space, and like an eagle with outspread wings, it flew away into all quarters of the globe.  Poor Sutter, strange to say, it ruined him.  The gold seekers came from the ends of the earth and “squatted” on his lands, and he spent all the fortune he had amassed in trying to dispossess them.  But his efforts were unavailing.  The laws, loosely administered then, seemed to be against him, and fate, relentless fate, spared him not.  Almost all that was left to him in the end was the ring which he had made out of the lumps of the first gold found, and on which was inscribed this legend:  “The first gold found in California, January, 1848.”  It tells a melancholy as well as a joyous tale, in it are bound up histories and tragedies, in it the happiness of multitudes, and even the fate of immortal souls!  The California legislature at length took pity on Sutter, and granted him a pension of $250 per month, on which he lived until he was summoned, at Washington, D.C., on June 17th, 1880, by the Angel of Death, to a land whose gold mocks us not, and where everyone’s “claim” is good, if he be found worthy to pass through the Golden Gate.  Marshall, too, died a poor man, August 8th, 1885, having lived on a pension from the State of California, which also has seen fit to honour his memory, as the discoverer of gold, by erecting a monument to him at Coloma, the scene of the most exciting events in his life.  The names of these two men, however, will endure in the thrilling histories of 1848 and 1849, as long as time lasts—­for all unconsciously they set the civilised world in motion, gave new impulse to armies of men, spread sails on the ocean, filled coffers with yellow gold, and added new chapters to the graphic history of San Francisco and many another city.  When the tidings of the discovery of gold reached the outside world thousands on thousands set their faces towards the El Dorado of the Pacific slopes.  There were many new Jasons.  The Golden Fleece of the sunny West was beckoning them on.  New Argos were fitted out for the new Colchis.  The Argonauts of 1849 were willing to brave all dangers.  It is Joaquin Miller who sings—­

       “Full were they
  Of great endeavour.  Brave and true
  As stern Crusader clad in steel,
  They died afield as it was fit—­
  Made strong with hope, they dared to do
  Achievement that a host to-day
  Would stagger at, stand back and reel,
  Defeated at the thought of it.”

There were three ways of reaching the gold fields.  Men could travel across the plains in the traditional emigrant wagon.  It was a weary, lonely journey, life was endangered among hostile Indians, and happy were those who at last were strong enough to toil in the mines.  Alas, too many fell by the way and left their bones to bleach in arid regions.  It is the experience of life.  We have our object of desire.  We often come short of it.  Ere we reach the goal we perish and the coveted prize is forever lost.  Not so is it to him who seeks the Gold of New Jerusalem.  The Gold of that land is good, and all who will can find it and enjoy it.