head, and when the driver had got his reins in hand he gave the word, all the horses were let go at once, and away they went on a spring, tearing over the ground, the driver only keeping them from going the wrong way, for they had a wide, level pampa to run over the whole thirty miles to the Pueblo.  This plain is almost treeless, with no grass, at least none now in the drought of midsummer, and is filled with squirrel-holes, and alive with squirrels.  As we changed horses twice, we did not slacken our speed until we turned into the streets of the Pueblo.

The Pueblo de los Angeles I found a large and flourishing town of about twenty thousand inhabitants, with brick sidewalks, and blocks of stone or brick houses.  The three principal traders when we were here for hides in the Pilgrim and Alert are still among the chief traders of the place,—­ Stearns, Temple, and Warner, the two former being reputed very rich.  I dined with Mr. Stearns, now a very old man, and met there Don Juan Bandini, to whom I had given a good deal of notice in my book.  From him, as indeed from every one in this town, I met with the kindest attentions.  The wife of Don Juan, who was a beautiful young girl when we were on the coast, Dona Refugio, daughter of Don Santiago Arguello, the commandante of San Diego, was with him, and still handsome.  This is one of several instances I have noticed of the preserving quality of the California climate.  Here, too, was Henry Mellus, who came out with me before the mast in the Pilgrim, and left the brig to be agent’s clerk on shore.  He had experienced varying fortunes here, and was now married to a Mexican lady, and had a family.  I dined with him, and in the afternoon he drove me round to see the vineyards, the chief objects in this region.  The vintage of last year was estimated at half a million of gallons.  Every year new square miles of ground are laid down to vineyards, and the Pueblo promises to be the centre of one of the largest wine-producing regions in the world.  Grapes are a drug here, and I found a great abundance of figs, olives, peaches, pears, and melons.  The climate is well suited to these fruits, but is too hot and dry for successful wheat crops.

Towards evening, we started off in the stage-coach, with again our relays of six mad horses, and reached the creek before dark, though it was late at night before we got on board the steamer, which was slowly moving her wheels, under way for San Diego.

As we skirted along the coast, Wilson and I recognized, or thought we did, in the clear moonlight, the rude white Mission of San Juan Capistrano, and its cliff, from which I had swung down by a pair of halyards to save a few hides,—­ a boy who could not be prudential, and who caught at every chance for adventure.

As we made the high point off San Diego, Point Loma, we were greeted by the cheering presence of a light-house.  As we swept round it in the early morning, there, before us, lay the little harbor of San Diego, its low spit of sand, where the water runs so deep; the opposite flats, where the Alert grounded in starting for home; the low hills, without trees, and almost without brush; the quiet little beach;—­ but the chief objects, the hide-houses, my eye looked for in vain.  They were gone, all, and left no mark behind.