in a bedbuggy berth, on board of a packet-boat on one of the
lakes. In my younger days I used to allow myself to be stretched upon
the Procrustes bed of other people's opinion, though I have got bravely
over such folly, and now I generally act, think, and speak as best
pleases myself. I slept two glorious nights on the bare turf, with my
saddle for a pillow and God's kindly sky for a quilt. I had _heard_ of
a bed of thorns, of the soft side of a plank, and of the bed-rock. But
all my _bodily_ experience, theoretical or practical, sinks into
insignificance before a bed of cobblestones. Nothing in ancient or
modern history can compare with it, unless it be the Irishman's famous
down couch, which consisted of a single feather laid upon a rock, and,
like him, if it had not been for the name of it, I should have
preferred the bare rock. They _said_ that there was straw in the
ticking upon which we lay, but I should never have imagined so from the
feeling. We had neither pillows nor sheets, but the coarsest blue
blankets, and not enough of them, for bedclothes; so that we suffered
with cold, to add to our other miseries. And then the fleas! Well, like
the Grecian artist who veiled the face whose anguish he dared not
attempt to depict, I will leave to your imagination that blackest
portion of our strange experiences on that awful occasion.

What became of Mr. ----, our host, etc., on this dreadful night, was
never known. Mrs. ---- and I held council together, and concluded that
he was spirited away to some friendly haystack, but as he himself
maintained a profound silence on the subject, it remains to this hour
an impenetrable mystery, and will be handed down to posterity on the
page of history with that of the man in the iron mask, and the more
modern but equally insolvable riddle of "Who struck Billy Patterson?"

As soon as it was light we awoke and glanced around the room. On one
side hung a large quantity of handsome dresses, with a riding-habit,
hat, gauntlets, whip, saddle and bridle, all of the most elegant
description. On the other side, a row of shelves contained a number of
pans of milk. There was also a very pretty table-service of white
crockery, a roll of white carpeting, boxes of soap, chests of tea,
casks of sugar, bags of coffee, etc., etc., in the greatest profusion.

We went out into the air. The place, owned by our host, is the most
beautiful spot that I ever saw in California. We stood in the midst of
a