e sententious reply.

"Pooh!" remarked the matter-of-fact Ned; "angels don't wear clothes and
boots."

"How do you know?" inquired Jerry.

"Why, I never heard they did," answered Ned.

"Did you ever hear they didn't?" continued the old man. "I never believed
in 'em much afore then, and I sartin hain't bed no reason to, on this
trip, so far as I know. Now, judge, you're the first one I ever told that
story to; and it's true, every word of it. What do yer reckon become of
him, if 'twain't angels?"

"I can't say, Jerry," was my reply. "That is one of the secrets of the
desert, which I cannot answer."

"Well, I reckon I've talked, about as long as I ought to, at this time of
night; but I've never come this way since then, without thinkin' thet
perhaps I might see him again. I never shall, though, I reckon; and I
s'pose I'd better give up all hopes of it, and may as well go to bed
again."

As soon as he had gone, Ned crawled over to my side, and said, "Do you
really believe that it was an angel Jerry saw?"

I endeavored to explain to the boy, that Jerry had been the victim of one
of those strange illusions defined in Sanskrit, as "The thirst of the
gazelle," which is frequently experienced by travellers in the desert,
causing them to imagine they see those objects in which their souls most
delight, but which exist only, in their imaginations. Nor is it possible,
ever after to convince the beholder, that the vision was not real.

The following day's journey carried us out of the arid, desert country,
through magnificent groves of oak, over beautiful green prairies, and by
ranches, whose cattle were, in truth, "feeding on a thousand hills." The
contrast was as surprising, as it was graceful and pleasing; and, when at
last we reached the summit of the high land that overlooked the beautiful
blue waters of the Pacific, and saw, cozily nestled on the plain below
us, facing the sea, the quaint old town of San Diego, with its
magnificent date-palms, and rare old architecture, we all fairly shouted
for joy.

The dangers and perils we had passed through, the privations we had
suffered, the petty jealousies that had arisen, the unkind words spoken,
--all were alike forgiven and forgotton in the rapture caused by the sight
of that "shining shore" we had travelled so many weary miles to see.

Our arrival at San Diego was most opportune, for there was a great
scarcity of goods in the market, which enabled us to dispose of ou