fishermen on the coast, who are so happy to impart any information
regarding their own calling, and from whom I learned many a valuable
lesson.

From Santa Barbara we went down the coast to a little railroad landing and
took the train bound inland; after leaving the beach the road passes
through dense, fragrant orange-groves and rich, fruitful vineyards. A ride
of twenty-five miles brought us to Los Angeles, a town with the same
beautiful surroundings. It was, at that time, a quaint, old, dilapidated
Spanish place, with an air of shabby gentility, but the subsequent tide of
immigration and trade has doubtless transformed it. We returned to the
coast and took the steamer to San Diego, which, with its arid, sandy
waste, has little to recommend it to the visitor, save its truly, palatial
hotel, which must have been built in anticipation of the many projected
railways diverging from this point.

While there, our hearts were rejoiced by a meeting with Dr. Baird and his
wife, a pleasure known only to those who, exiled from home, see a "dear
familiar face."




CHAPTER XXXI.

"All that's bright must fade,
The brightest, still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made,
But to be lost, when sweetest."