in that sphere patience ranks as a cardinal virtue, the ass will have a better pasture-ground than many of its rivals.  The donkey’s small size is against it.  Most people are cruel toward dumb beasts, and only when animals have power to defend themselves, does caution make man kinder.  He hesitates to hurt an elephant, and even respects, to some extent, the rear extremities of a mule; but the donkey corresponds to the small boy in a crowd of brutal playmates.  It is difficult to see how these useful animals could be replaced in certain countries of the world.  Purchased cheaply, reared inexpensively, living on thistles if they get nothing better, and bearing heavy burdens till they drop from exhaustion, these little beasts are of incalculable value to the laboring classes of southern Europe, Egypt, Mexico, and similar lands.  If they have failed to win affection, it is, perhaps, because of their one infirmity,—­their fearful vocal tones, which in America have won for them the sarcastic title of “Rocky Mountain Canaries.”

[Illustration:  Midwinter in California.]

[Illustration:  A Californian burro.]

[Illustration:  Romeo and Juliet.]

Westward from Los Angeles stretches the famous “kite-shaped” track which takes the traveler through the most celebrated orange and lemon districts of the State.  Starting upon this memorable excursion, our route lay through the world-renowned San Gabriel Valley, a glorious expanse ten miles in width and seventy in length, steeped in sunshine, brilliant with every shade of yellow, emerald, and brown, and here and there enriched by spots of brighter color where beds of wild flowers swung their sweet bells noiselessly, or the light green of orange trees, with mounds of golden fruit heaped in profusion on the ground, relieved the sombre groves of eucalyptus whose foliage was so dark as to be nearly black.  Occasionally, however, our train traversed a parched area which illustrated how the cloven-foot of the adversary always shows itself in spots unhallowed by the benison of water.  In winter and spring, these sterile points would not be so conspicuous, but on that summer day, in spite of the closed windows, dust sometimes filled the cars, and for a little while San Gabriel Valley was a paradise lost.  For seventy miles contrasts of hot sand and verdant orchards, arid wastes and smiling valley, followed one another in quick succession,—­and down upon it all frowned the long wall of the Sierra Madre.

[Illustration:  San Gabriel valley.]

[Illustration:  Gathering poppies at the base of the Sierra Madre.]