ol delightful salmon-trout, full two feet in length; I ate part of
one, and a charming fellow he was. Leaving our deer to the varmints, we
returned to the rancho at noon, dined, and again boot and saddle; struck
the road, and six or eight leisurely leagues brought us to the
settlement of Puebla de San Jose. Here I was most civilly received, and
entertained by an American gentleman, Mr. Ruckle, to whom I bore a
letter. Supper, good old sherry, a cigar, and four hour's sleep; up
betimes, and sent the jaded animals on to the Mission of Santa Clara for
a bite of grass. I remained to break my fast at the house of an
agreeable white-toothed lady named Pico, and then, accompanied by Mr.
Ruckle, we hurried along the road which traverses the plain, shaded by
noble avenues of oaks and willows. The Mission stands but a league from
the Puebla, presents a tolerably flourishing appearance, with a
well-preserved church, clusters of out-buildings, and well-cultivated
gardens. It is by far the most important and respectable settlement of
its kind in this portion of the territory; and since the dispersion of
the priests, and confiscation of church-lands, has still fortunately
retained a mite of its former wealth and influence. The good Padres, a
score or more years ago, were pleased to live well; and their
well-filled granaries, cultivated grounds, and myriads of horses and
cattle--in all praise be it said--were the first to induce the native
Indians, who, in brutish ignorance and social degradation are even now
but a remove from beasts of the field, to devote their time to some
useful employment. By these means the shrewd Fathers never lacked
comfortable houses to shelter them, nor raiment to clothe their sleek
skins.[2]

Tarrying but a few minutes at Santa Clara, and selecting the best horses
of the cavallada, I parted with Mr. Ruckle and continued my journey; the
first fifteen miles was wearisome labor with our worn-out beasts, and we
stopped for breath at a ranchito of a pretty little widow, who did the
amiable most refreshingly by handing me a dish of raspberries and cream.
Seeing a filthy Indian poke them out of a bottle with a stick,
occasionally giving it a suck, did not enhance the flavor of the fruit.
A short league beyond, we came to another mud-built rancho, and our
horses having apparently determined to proceed no farther, accordingly
tumbled down; there were half a dozen women and children about the hut
busily employed in c