movements are like a flash. I did
succeed once in holding one long enough to examine his beautiful
steel-blue bands. The babies are as delicate as if they were made of
glass, and as light and airy as if they belonged to fairy-land. They
run, all the time, backward and forward, just for the pleasure of
moving, over the sidewalk, and under it.

When I read in the papers, every week, about the people who kill
themselves in San Francisco,--and they generally say that they do it
because there does not seem to be any thing worth living for,--I wonder
if it would not make a difference to them if they lived in the country,
and saw how entertaining the world looks to the lively little creatures
about us, who think it worth while to move so quickly, and look well
about on every side, for fear they may miss seeing something.

JULY 2, 1878.

When we first came here in the spring, and found the ground all blue and
yellow and white with blossoms, I thought how interested I should be, to
watch the succession of flowers. But that was all. In these dry places,
we have only _spring_ flowers. I did, though, the other day, see
something red in the distance, and, going to it, found a clump of
thistles, almost as tall as I am, of a bright crimson color. The fields
are very dry now, and it seems to be the season of the snakes. Under the
serpent-like branches, we find nothing but the cast-off skins of the
snakes.

There are some curious old men here who tend cattle, sitting under the
trees, with their knitting. I think they are Germans. They do not appear
to understand when I speak to them. I thought they might be "broke
miners," who are generally the most curious people here-abouts.

One of these "broke miners" is employed to take care of two little
children near us, whose mother is dead. He dresses them with their
clothes hind-side before, and liable at any moment to drop entirely off;
but seems to succeed very well in amusing them, quilting up his
dishcloths into dolls for them, and transforming their garments into
kites. His failing seems to be that a kind of dreamy mood is apt to
steal over him, in which he wanders on the beach, regardless of hours;
and the master of the house, coming home, has to hunt high and low for
him, to come and prepare the meal. On the last bright moonlight night,
he wholly disappeared.

OCTOBER 15, 1878.

We have finally been driven off by the wind from our cottage on the bay.
Margie has been so