Years ago Mr. Blaze was an agent of the California Stage Company.  There was a formidable and well-organized opposition to the California Stage Company at that time, and Mr. Blaze rendered them such signal service in his capacity of agent that they were very sorry when he tendered his resignation. "You are some sixteen hundred dollars behind in your accounts, Mr. Blaze," said the President, "but in view of your faithful and efficient services we shall throw off eight hundred dollars off that amount." Mr. Blaze seemed touched by this generosity.  A tear stood in his eye and his bosom throbbed audibly. "You will throw off eight hundred dollars--you will?" he at last cried, seizing the President's hand and pressing it passionately to his lips. "I will," returned the President. "Well, sir," said Mr. Blaze, "I'm a gentleman, I am, you bet!  And I won't allow no Stage Company to surpass me in politeness.  I'll throw off the other eight hundred, and we'llcall it square!  No gratitude, sir--no thanks; it is my duty." _______________ I get back to San Francisco in a few weeks, and am to start home Overland from here. I do not leave the Capital of California in a light-hearted and joyous manner.  But "leaves have their time to fall," and I have my time to leave, which is now. We ride all day and all night, and ascend and descend some of the most frightful hills I ever saw.  We make Johnson's Pass, which is 6752 feet high, about two o'clock in the morning, and go down the great Kingsbury grade with locked wheels.  The driver, with whom I sit outside, informs me, as we slowly roll down this fearful mountain road, which looks down on either side into an appalling ravine, that he has met accidents in his time, and cost the California Stage Company a great deal of money; "because," he says, "juries is agin us on principle, and every man who sues us is sure to recover.  But it will never be so agin, not with me, you bet." "How is that?" I said. It was frightfully dark.  It was snowing withal, and notwithstanding the brakes were kept hard down, the coach slewed wildly, often fairly touching the brink of the black precipice. "How is that?" I said. "Why, you see," he replied, "that corpses never sue for damages, but maimed people do.  And the next time I have a overturn I shall go round and keerfully examine the passengers.  Them as is dead I shall let alone; but them as is mutilated I shall finish with the king-bolt! Dead folks don't sue.  They ain't on it." Thus with anecdote did this driver cheer me up. _______________ V. WASHOE. We reach Carson City about nine o'clock in the morning.  It is the capital of the silver-producing territory of Nevada. They shoot folks here somewhat, and the law is rather partial than otherwise to first-class murderers. I visit the territorial Prison, and the Warden points out the prominent convicts to me thus: "This man's crime was horse-stealing.  He is here for life."