The wit of a mining camp is _sui generis_. It partakes of the occupation, and grows out of it as naturally as the necessities. Indeed, it is of itself a necessity,—for the instance of a miner without humor or a relish for it, if it be of the appreciable kind, is very rare. One must be versed in the idiom of the camp to always understand it. As for example, if, in speaking of another, a miner says, “I have panned that fellow out and couldn’t get a color,” it means the same as if he had said, “He’s a man of no principle, dishonest, or a scamp.” So if, of another, he says, “He’s all right, clear down to bed-rock,” it means, “He is honest and reliable.” A hundred expressions of this kind are in common use in a mining camp. Common parlance has long ago wrung the humor from all these oddities of expression; but every now and then something new springs up which has its run through mining communities as a bit of fun, before its final incorporation into the epidemic vernacular. It occasionally happens that a genuine loafer turns up. This is not common; for a man without money or employment, among miners, especially if he evinces an indisposition for work, is a pitiable object. Nobody cares for him. His very necessities are subjects for ribaldry, and his laziness affords ample excuse for a neglect which may end in absolute starvation. There is no lack of kindness among miners,—their generosity is only bounded by their means in meritorious cases, but it is cruelly discriminative against bummers and loafers. They must live by their wits,—and sometimes this resource is available.