en successful, they can each only
irrigate a small area; but here we are in the valley."

We had been passing through some deep cuttings lately, and had now
entered a vast plain bounded by distant hills. No trees of any kind
were in sight, the soil sand, but browner than most I had seen. Every
few feet was a little shrub, some two feet high, what I know not,
but a miserable specimen of vegetation, and besides this not a stalk
or leaf anywhere. A more miserable site I have never set eyes on. We
passed miles and miles, all the same, till we came to where I had
been told to have my letters sent, "Lancaster City"! The last two
miles before arrival, an attempt had certainly been made at
cultivation. A few acres of alfalfa (a productive American grassy
crop), some rye, Indian corn, vegetables, and what not. But the whole
area was not fifty acres, the cultivators inhabiting plank huts
alongside. The train stopped at the station, and lo! Lancaster City
lay around. It consisted of one decent-sized, two-storied building,
viz. the hotel, two stores, a saloon, and half a dozen huts. Not
another edifice, and the dreary plain described for miles and miles
around. This was the haven, the Eden, I had come some six thousand
miles to attain!

The hotel, quite close to the line, had an open verandah to the upper
story, and the rail in front had some thirty or more pairs of boots
and shoes apparently attached to the top bar. Still it could scarcely
be so, for only the soles were visible. Presently, as the train drew
up, some of the boots disappeared, and men took their place.
Gradually it became evident that each pair of soles represented an
individual, who lay luxuriously poised on the back legs of a chair,
with his feet up in the true American posture, which, however, mind
you, I in no way decry, being much given to it myself. I had
telegraphed to my sons to meet the train, and there they were as I
got out. But they were both so sunburnt I scarcely knew them. Luckily
the train stayed half-an-hour, so there was time to arrange matters.
I plied them with questions. The answers were all to the same effect,
viz. that the Antelope Valley (they had seen it from end to end) was
in every part as what lay before us. That there existed no hope of
doing anything in it, and that the only wise thing was to get away as
quick as possible. They told me that the same agent who had sent me
out, had also induced all the boot-owners in the verandah to com