and frothed at the mouth as if a very marvel in silver discoveries had transpired.  If the mine was a “developed” one, and had no pay ore to show (and of course it hadn’t), we praised the tunnel; said it was one of the most infatuating tunnels in the land; driveled and driveled about the tunnel till we ran entirely out of ecstasies—­but never said a word about the rock.  We would squander half a column of adulation on a shaft, or a new wire rope, or a dressed pine windlass, or a fascinating force pump, and close with a burst of admiration of the “gentlemanly and efficient Superintendent” of the mine —­but never utter a whisper about the rock.  And those people were always pleased, always satisfied.  Occasionally we patched up and varnished our reputation for discrimination and stern, undeviating accuracy, by giving some old abandoned claim a blast that ought to have made its dry bones rattle—­and then somebody would seize it and sell it on the fleeting notoriety thus conferred upon it.

There was nothing in the shape of a mining claim that was not salable.  We received presents of “feet” every day.  If we needed a hundred dollars or so, we sold some; if not, we hoarded it away, satisfied that it would ultimately be worth a thousand dollars a foot.  I had a trunk about half full of “stock.”  When a claim made a stir in the market and went up to a high figure, I searched through my pile to see if I had any of its stock —­and generally found it.

The prices rose and fell constantly; but still a fall disturbed us little, because a thousand dollars a foot was our figure, and so we were content to let it fluctuate as much as it pleased till it reached it.  My pile of stock was not all given to me by people who wished their claims “noticed.”  At least half of it was given me by persons who had no thought of such a thing, and looked for nothing more than a simple verbal “thank you;” and you were not even obliged by law to furnish that.  If you are coming up the street with a couple of baskets of apples in your hands, and you meet a friend, you naturally invite him to take a few.  That describes the condition of things in Virginia in the “flush times.”  Every man had his pockets full of stock, and it was the actual custom of the country to part with small quantities of it to friends without the asking.

Very often it was a good idea to close the transaction instantly, when a man offered a stock present to a friend, for the offer was only good and binding at that moment, and if the price went to a high figure shortly afterward the procrastination was a thing to be regretted.  Mr. Stewart (Senator, now, from Nevada) one day told me he would give me twenty feet of “Justis” stock if I would walk over to his office.  It was worth five or ten dollars a foot.  I asked him to make the offer good for next day, as I was just going to dinner.  He said he would not be in town; so I risked it and took my dinner instead of the stock.  Within the