The streets presented a scene of intense bustle and excitement. The side-walks were blocked up with piles of goods, in front of the already crowded stores; men hurried along with the air of having the weight of all the business of California on their shoulders; others stood in groups at the corners of the streets; here and there was a drunken man lying groveling in the mud, enjoying himself as uninterruptedly as if he were merely a hog; old miners, probably on their way home, were loafing about, staring at everything, in all the glory of mining costume, jealous of every inch of their long hair and flowing beards, and of every bit of California mud which adhered to their ragged old shirts and patchwork pantaloons, as evidences that they, at least, had “seen the elephant.” Troops of newly arrived Frenchmen marched along, en route for the mines, staggering under their equipment of knapsacks, shovels, picks, tin wash-bowls, pistols, knives, swords, and double-barrel guns--their blankets slung over their shoulders, and their persons hung around with tin cups, frying-pans, coffee-pots, and other culinary utensils, with perhaps a hatchet and a spare pair of boots. Crowds of Chinamen were also to be seen, bound for the diggings, under gigantic basket-hats, each man with a bamboo laid across his shoulder, from each end of which was suspended a higgledy-piggledy collection of mining tools, Chinese baskets and boxes, immense boots and a variety of Chinese “fixins,” which no one but a Chinaman could tell the use of,--all speaking at once, gabbling and chattering their horrid jargon, and producing a noise like that of a flock of geese. There were continuous streams of drays drawn by splendid horses, and loaded with merchandise from all parts of the world, and horsemen galloped about, equally regardless of their own and of other men’s lives. Two or three auctioneers might be heard at once, “crying” their goods with characteristic California vehemence, while some of their neighbors in the same line of business were ringing bells to collect an audience--and at the same time one’s ears were dinned with the discord of half-a-dozen brass bands, braying out different popular airs from as many different gambling saloons. In the midst of it all, the runners, or tooters, for the opposition river-steamboats, would be cracking up the superiority of their respective boats at the top of their lungs, somewhat in this style: “One dollar to-night for Sacramento, by the splendid steamer Senator, the fastest boat that ever turned a wheel from Long wharf--with feather pillows and curled-hair mattresses, mahogany doors and silver hinges. She has got eight young-lady passengers to-night, that speak all the dead languages, and not a colored man from stem to stern of her.” Here an opposition runner would let out upon him, and the two would slang each other in the choicest California Billingsgate for the amusement of the admiring crowd.