A jail has just been opened, for the herdsmen of the district are unruly, and the prison of San Jose is a long way off. Pigeons flutter in the roadways, lending to the town an air of poetry and peace.
Some offshoots flow from Main Street into open fields, in which Swiss-like chalets nestle in the midst of peaches, grapes, and figs.
One church stands on the left, a second on the right of Main Street, and folks step in and out of these churches as neatly dressed as visitors at Shanklin and Torquay.
Now here's a place to open your eyes like a cocktail, eh, Colonel?
cries the settler.
I am not a colonel.
So far as I have anything to do with arms, I serve Queen Victoria as a private in the Inns of Court Volunteers.
Then you are equal to a colonel!
Sir, a man must have a title if he wishes to escape notice, as a gentleman in this country would like to do. Once I was crossing Firebaugh ferry, on San Joaquin River over here, beyond the range, when the old boatman