o one, who has read so far, can think I am unduly prejudiced in favour of America and the Americans. I have tried to write fairly, and point out in what respects their institutions, habits, &c., excel ours; but, on the other hand, I have criticized in no sparing language what I consider are faults or peculiarities distasteful to outsiders, and possibly there is more blame than praise in the foregoing pages. If now, therefore, I write strongly in favour of the great capital of Western America, it ought to be accepted as truth.

I have travelled much and seen many cities and towns in different parts of the world, but I have seen nothing to equal San Francisco—not in size of course, but in every respect which makes a town a desirable residence.[7] Climate is the most important, so I will dilate on that first. There is much about it that puzzles me, and that I cannot explain. I leave the solution to others, and confine myself to the facts. There are no extremes of temperature in San Francisco, neither the days nor nights are ever either uncomfortably hot or cold. In summer the usual temperature is warm enough before noon to wear light clothing, but about one o'clock a breeze sets in from the bay and the ocean which reduces the heat considerably, and which sometimes blows stronger than is quite pleasant. This is the only possible fault that any one can find in the climate, and the said periodical wind only lasts for the three or four midsummer months. Winter there differs but little from summer, frost and snow are unknown, and inasmuch as in winter the said periodical sea-wind is quite absent, I have heard many of the inhabitants aver that winter is, in the daytime at least, warmer than summer! Whether this be so or not, it is a fact the winter days are very charming, for as a rule there is a total absence of clouds, fogs, or mist, and the sun shines merrily in a bright blue sky from sunrise to sunset. In that latitude (38°) the sun has considerable power even in the winter. The want of rain on the Pacific coast, south of latitude 42°, applies of course to San Francisco. I was there about five weeks. It only rained twice, and not more than one quarter of an hour each time. I stupidly forget what the yearly rainfall is, but very small, I know. How odd, by the bye, are the variations of rain in different parts of the world. Let us guess San Francisco at ten inches, I doubt if it is so much. Here in England put it down at thirty-two inches, though the west coast of Ireland is, I expect, nearer fifty inches. In the tropics, say, 130 inches, though I have been in one place where 300 fell. But there is a spot in Bengal which has the largest rainfall in the world, viz. 600 inches. Fancy, fifty feet of rain! The place is a hill-station, by name "Cherra Poonjee," and the country is so steep none of the rain can lie on it.

With so little rain, fine weather at San Francisco is nearly continual the year round. The air is very dry. It is seldom too hot, never too cold; there are no dark, gloomy days. What more can any one desire? Verily it is, without exception, by far the finest climate on earth.

But there is an odd feature. The above is the climate of San Francisco; it is not the climate of a dozen miles off, either north, south, or east (the west is of course the ocean). For instance, Sacramento, a large town lying north-east about fifty miles, is a very hot place, and abounds with mosquitoes, which are unknown in the capital.

San Francisco resembles New York in the paucity of cabs. Here again nearly every one travels in the street cars. Horses are used in a few of them, but with most the motive power is steam at one end of the route, which works an endless rope. This wire rope runs on rollers under ground between the rails, and there is an orifice from end to end in the roadway above the said rope. Through this said orifice or narrow slit, a pair of pinchers, connected with the car, descends and nips the rope, which runs continually. The said pinchers are made to grip and loose the rope as required.

When you first see these monster cars, with no apparent motive power, rushing about the roads and streets and climbing the steep hills of the town, the effect is very strange. When I first did so I made sure they were driven by electricity. The said cars are of great size, and most luxuriously and conveniently fitted up; with excellent springs and smooth rails, they glide over the ground at about eight miles an hour, with no perceptible motion. A ride in them is most enjoyable.

Market Street is the principal one. It is a noble thoroughfare, at least twice the width of Broadway in New York, with trees on either side, and very wide pavements. The buildings, mostly stone, cast into the shade anything we can show in London, and nowhere on the Continent have I seen such a main artery to any town. The Palace Hotel in it is by far the largest and finest in America, and even those we have here in Northumberland Avenue are more or less small in comparison. It is an enormous, very lofty quadrangle, with inner verandahs on each story, built round a spacious court, which is glazed in at top of the building. I forget how many hundred bed-rooms it contains. The interior is also a model of luxury and comfort. In every department money has been lavishly spent, and the result is that the Palace Hotel is possibly the largest and best in the world. The charges also, considering the comforts offered, are by no means high. I believe it was built by one man out of the enormous fortune he accumulated in the first gold days, but what is the result of the speculation I could not ascertain.

There is a large and very beautiful park outside the town. Trees, shrubs, and flowers from all parts of the world are collected therein, while for those that require tropical temperature huge glass buildings are provided. All testifies to a luxurious growth, and the smooth, closely-shaven, mossy grass is of a picturesque bright emerald green. It is all artificial! Neither grass, shrubs, flowers, or trees would grow at all did they depend on rain alone. Everything is irrigated. Below the surface a network of waterpipes runs in all directions with taps available everywhere. I was much struck by the way the turf is watered. The water is forced with great power through minute orifices in the large splay metal end of a hose, ascends some thirty or forty feet, and falls exactly in the form of very fine rain; thus every blade of grass is moistened. Wonderful indeed is the effect as you stand at the park entrance and compare the scene outside and within. The dry, baked soil, innocent of vegetation on the one hand, the luxurious growth of many lands combined on the other, interspersed with a green sward you long to fling yourself down and roll on!

The Bay of San Francisco is the finest harbour in the world. The navies of all nations could congregate and manoeuvre in it. It is simply a huge inland salt-water lake communicating with the ocean. There is only one entrance, the Golden Gates, possibly one-third of a mile wide. It is commanded by fortifications, built on the rocks on either side, but these being stone appeared to me ill adapted to the enormous forces gunnery can exert to-day. Just outside the Golden Gates, lashed by the waters of the Pacific, is a large solitary rock, called the Seal Rock. Hundreds of seals live on it, finding their food in the ocean. No one is allowed to molest them, but the fishermen on the coast cannot regard them with favour, for they must devour tons of fish daily. The said rock, covered with seals, some sleeping, some playing, rolling off into the water, and clambering out of it, is a very curious and characteristic sight as you enter the bay.

Living in San Francisco is very cheap as regards the cost for food. Fruit, as I have said, is far cheaper there than anywhere in the world. It is quite incredible what a few pence will procure in that way. Enough of splendid grapes, apricots, greengages, currants, strawberries, and what not to last three or four people several days. The price of meat too is very low. Mutton or beef, which costs here in England say 10d., per pound, can be had there for 3d. to 4d. Vegetables are the same. Bread is cheap too, say three-quarters the price it commands here. Thus very little will keep body and soul together in San Francisco, but outside bare necessaries in the way of food, most things are dear. Groceries are about the same cost as in England. Furniture, and the many things required in a house, are all much dearer, but this of course only affects the poor in a measure. There are no beggars, no very poor, in San Francisco, for labour is in demand; the climate necessitates but a small outlay for fuel and clothes; and as for food, what better meal than bread and grapes, the latter to be had almost for the asking.

San Francisco is a very cosmopolitan town. All nationalities are to be found there. In the first gold fever days crowds poured in from all parts of the world, and they or their descendants are there still. Perfect as San Francisco is as a city, it is not thirty years since a small fishing village alone stood there. How such a perfect town has been erected in the time is truly a wonder, more wonderful still that in so many respects it should excel other capitals.

There are curious stories told of those gold-fever days. How law and order there was none. A man there at that time held his life by a frail tenure, viz. only as long as he could himself take care of it—

"The good old rule, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can,"

held in California at that time. Later, as San Francisco enlarged, as the first attempts to put down violence and bloodshed were made, gambling in the gold stocks and mines assumed huge proportions. New mines, or new water-courses rich in gold dust, came forward daily. Shares often attained one hundred times their original value in a week. Beggars became rich, the millionaire a pauper in the same time. We shudder when we read of a suicide at "Monte Carlo" once or twice in the season. At the time of which I write there were often two or three at San Francisco in a day! That it should be so, was perhaps natural, for never, I believe, in this world's history were there such violent and sudden ups and downs as California then witnessed.

While I was at San Francisco an English man-of-war came into the bay. She was an object of great interest, and crowds flocked on board to see her—the result a wholesome appreciation of England's naval power. The fighting power of the United States at sea is very limited. She has really no navy to speak of. Odd that it should be so, but it is no less a fact. Congress is well aware of this, and admits it. But it will not be long thus, for the Americans realize how truly helpless they are in this way, and have commenced to remedy the defect as fast as they can. The United States, almost as much as England, need fear no foes except from over the water, but her position to-day in that respect is a sad one. Did war occur between Great Britain and the States, there is not a town on her sea-board which could not be annihilated by British men-of-war. America, isolated as she is, need fear no European or Asiatic convulsions, and the time is distant, if it ever come, that Canada, without England's support, though her neighbour, will be able to cope with her in the field. But to give her a voice among nations, a navy is a necessity, and, as I have said, she has now fully realized that fact.

Of the United States' army I can say but little, for I saw but little of it. That little I was not favourably impressed with. No one who recalls the war between the North and South, can doubt the material is at hand, the question is whether the best is made of it. The physique of the American (national physique can only be spoken of generally) is perhaps not equal to the physique of some European nations, still the inferiority, if it exists, is slight, and physique has not so much to say in battle now as in times gone by. A soldier is more of a machine to-day than he was then. Courage given, it is discipline, coolness under fire, self-reliance, all teachable qualities, which makes the individual valuable. Has the American soldier these qualities in perfection? I rather doubt it from the little I saw. I have trained soldiers myself, and from rough materials (I raised a cavalry regiment of Albanians during the Crimean War, and previously served with the native army in India), so I speak with experience.

While armies and navies of large dimensions are necessities for nations to-day, is it always to be so? Because one nation, as Germany, has bloated armaments, must others have the same? Is there to be no limit to the fighting-power each nation must have on hand, with the waste of labour, the misery, the poverty entailed on the masses thereby? Cannot international arbitration supersede the roar of the cannon, the brute force which now decides the differences of nations? The Almighty has made man a reasoning animal, and yet in spite thereof the ultimate resort is senseless slaughter. Shame to the age that it should be so! Why cannot Cobden's great idea of an international Court, to decide national disputes, be carried out? The difficulties in its way are, I believe, more imaginary than real. I have thought on this matter so long, and most willingly would I lay down my life to-morrow to see the attempt made. Suppose two or three powerful nations, say France, England, and one other, commenced it. At the request of either of two nations disputing, both should be called on for the facts, and the judgment given. The powers composing the Court should be bound by united action and force of arms to compel obedience to their mandate. The Court once formed would issue invitations to all other powers to join, that is, to appoint members and delegate them to the said Council. Those kingdoms that did join would realize the advantage that their representatives would form part of the deciding body in any case in which they were directly or indirectly interested, while those that held aloof would lack this benefit, and yet be amenable to the decision, if the opponents in any quarrel asked for the judgment of the said Court. What nation would eventually hold aloof? Verily none, I believe, for though in any possible case it might be that the establishment of such a Court was not approved of, yet once constituted, to keep out of it would necessarily be a losing game. The only way that any power could keep clear, and still hope to hold its own, would be by holding fighting forces in hand equal to, or superior, to the combined power of all the nations forming the Court, which would be simply impossible.

Such a Court once established would increase in numbers quickly, until the whole civilized world had joined, and then war, among the said civilized nations, would be at an end, or rather, if there was war, it would be the many against the one, a justifiable, a quick, decisive war, with only one possible ending. The first would probably be the first and last!

Then would armies be reduced to the small dimensions necessary to enforce order in each country. Then would the sufferings, the dreadful horrors entailed by war, cease. Then would the millions sterling of expenditure on bloated armaments, representing incalculable labour wasted, come to an end, and thus allow of light taxation. Then would there be food for all, and, as a consequence of less want, less crime. Then could great works, benefiting all mankind, be executed. Then would man progress as he has never done yet. In a word, the millennium, at present a religious myth, would then be realized!

Oh! that abler pens than mine, that some great statesman, would take this subject in hand. That the press would agitate it, that nations would try and carry it out, not on the rude outlines I have given, so faulty in all but intention, but on the collective wisdom of the great and wise on earth. If it failed, what harm? If it succeeded, what millions yet unborn would bless their efforts!

As I write I see that the great European Powers are about to deliver an ultimatum to Greece, backed with force if disregarded, to stay her warlike preparations against Turkey and disarm. Of the wisdom of the step, both in the interests of Greece and the said great Powers, there can be but one opinion, viz. that it is well. But of the right so to act on the part of the Powers, of the justice thereof, I do not think there can be the same unanimity in the affirmative. I for one think the Powers are in no way justified. Were Greece a great kingdom instead of a very little one, they would not do so. The fact of her being weak can be no argument in favour of the course taken. When France wantonly tried to invade Germany some years back, there was quite as much, nay more, reason for united action to restrain her. But such an idea was never mooted, simply because France is a great Power. As things are, and always have been, any nation can, and does, make war on the most frivolous pretexts, often wars of aggression and conquest on no pretext at all. How often has England done so! What right, except conquest, have we to the whole of Hindustan which we hold to-day? How would England, or any great Power, have brooked interference such as is exercised in the case of Greece now? No. As things are among civilized nations to-day, I see not how the action of the powers in this case can be defended, except on the score of expediency, for, in truth, the interference is most unjust and arbitrary.

But what is wrong now would have been right had an international court been previously convened, and had Turkey asked for arbitration. What is taking place to-day, and the result, if the Powers are firm, viz. the avoidance of a bloody war, and the risk of other nations being drawn into it, Europe possibly in a few months in a blaze—all this evil set aside, by the action of the many against the one, is surely an example in favour of an international Court to settle national disputes.

Arbitration has made progress in nationalistic public favour during the last few decades. But, alas! it is only when both disputants sue for it that it is exercised. As I have said, my idea is that the proposed Court being formed at the request of one of the parties, judgment should be given. If neither applied, then let them fight it out. But this last, I think, would be rare, and more, I think many will agree with me, that when in a few years the advantages of the Court would be recognized by all nationalities, and its members were consequently many, they would with general sanction enact that all national disputes should be laid before them for decision.

Such are my crude ideas on this all momentous subject. There is none on earth with a tithe of its importance. Will international arbitration ever be an accomplished fact? I think yes for the following reasons:—

Much as it argues degradation in man, or want of even common sense if he allows the present state of things to continue, it has lasted for all time, and may well, therefore, march yet awhile. But there are forces at work which will compel him, sooner or later, to ponder the subject. I think possibly the progress of Socialism will one day cause the masses to refuse to fight, and lay down their lives for the ambition, the purposes, of the few. But if this fail, and it is, I admit, only a possibility, there is still looming a more potent and likely hindrance to war in the wonderful power of attack over the power of defence. Already, by the use of torpedoes (still in their infancy) the largest iron-clads can be destroyed by two or three men in a small boat. Can we suppose that invention in this respect will stay where it is? In a few years it may well be that either in this direction or some other we wot not of, the whole of a national fleet will be in the power of one man with destructive engines at command. Will this not stop maritime warfare? Further, think you invention, science, will be idle as regards the annihilation of armies? How many new destructive agents, how many new modes of applying them, the last few years have brought forth. Is there to be no more progress? Is it not reasonable to suppose that, in time, even armies will be at the disposal of a few? When that day comes, how can nations continue their senseless wars? What then will remain but international arbitration? This generation may not see all the above, but science is no laggard in these days, and the next possibly will. Why wait for it? Let us do now what they will be obliged to do then, and avoid all the intervening misery.

But enough, for this book is supposed to be on America, and the above is a sad digression.

I have not much more to say about San Francisco (its pet name is Frisco), and this reminds me of the great affection some Americans have for California, and especially its capital. On my way west I met a man in the train who had lived a long time in California and knew the capital well. In answer to my inquiries, he replied, "California is God's country, I can't say more." He did, however, say a great deal more, for he lauded it in every way, and as for "Frisco," he only wondered how any one, who could live there, lived anywhere else. Others also spoke to me in the same way. I need scarcely say my later experience, while corroborating their opinions of the capital, stopped short there. The real fact is that the State of California has been very much overrated—"distance has lent enchantment to the view,"—for while San Francisco is truly next door to a Paradise, the said state cannot with truth be much eulogized. It is the first fruit country in the world, and when irrigation is possible it is in many parts wonderfully fertile; but, like all spots on earth where there is a deficiency of rain, the general outlook is far from pleasant. Up north of San Francisco it is, I believe, better, for there is much more rain, but I did not go there.

One of my objects in going to America was to start my sons on land of their own, and though much disappointed with what I had seen of California, I inquired there about land. I found it could be had from the Government on very easy terms, but that all worth anything had been taken up long ago. There were enormous tracts, millions of acres, free, but it was either forest, necessitating a large outlay to clear it, or some equally valid reason why it had not been hitherto appropriated. It was, of course, possible that, travelling about and spending months in searching, some land well worth having might be found, but after much inquiry I had come to the conclusion that cattle-raising was the best thing to go in for, and I need hardly say that California, with its small rainfall and consequent want of grass is not a good cattle-raising state. Still I continued my inquiries. I found there was any amount of land held by private owners for sale, but that very high prices in every case were asked. The idea of all landowners there seemed to be that it was only a question of time before numberless emigrants of all classes would pour into California, and that when that day came even much higher prices than now asked would be realized.

I came to quite an opposite conclusion, and have not wavered from it since. I do not think there will ever be a large tide of immigration into California; and I think, moreover, that, ten years hence, the present owners of land there will be glad to take far less than they ask for it now. Great efforts are being made at San Francisco, by a large and well-organized staff, and in a most efficient way, sparing neither time, money, nor labour, to attract immigrants into California from all parts of the world. Numberless pamphlets and maps, describing the country, where and how land can be had, what it will grow, the enormous crops produced, its wonders as a fruit region, &c., &c., are being published, and sent to many countries, as well as all over the States. In all these there is much truth, and I need scarcely add, the source being American, much exaggeration, and, worse still, important omissions. The great feature of the country, want of rain, though allowed in a passing way, is made light of, and the facilities of irrigation dwelt on. I doubt not the said publications have, and will, attract (I am one instance), but as few will be satisfied after arrival, the real truth will eventually be known, and therefore, I think, the great tide of emigrants looked for will fail.

Though California, as I have said, is not well suited for raising cattle, I was surprised to find at San Francisco that cattle ranches existed, and several were advertised for sale. I determined to go and see one. It was situated down south, possibly two hundred miles from the capital, and not far from the Pacific coast. I took one of my sons with me. We went down in a coasting-steamer, stopping at different places en route. The coast was the same in character all the way down, patches of cultivation here and there where irrigated, but otherwise brown-baked earth, be it hill or plain, with nothing on it. I have never seen a less inviting coast. We landed at some of the places we called at, and inspected the country as far as we could in the given short time. The towns were clean and nice, and some houses had gardens attached, but outside the town limits always the same dry-baked earth and no vegetation or trees. The heat, which more or less prevails in inner California, is tempered by the Pacific on the coast. "Charming climate, woful country," my son exclaimed, and I quite agreed with him.

Some twenty hours on board brought us to our destination, the port of San Obespo, and a short railway took us up to the town, where we hired two saddle-horses on which to go out and see the ranch. English saddles, the Americans call them pancake saddles, are quite the exceptions in mid-America and out west. Nothing but Mexican saddles are used. I have ridden on many kinds in different countries, but for keen discomfort the Mexican, in my opinion, beats them all. There is a peak in front, about a foot higher than the saddle-seat, which is capped by a wooden pin with a large wooden button on the top. The object of this is to twist the lasso round when, after a successful hunt behind cattle, wild or tame, the struggling beast is at the other end. But however useful it may be, it is not a pleasant appendage to a saddle, and must give cruel wounds to the rider if he is thrown forward. There is also a cantle behind, higher than any saddle cantle I have seen, and between these two the seat of the saddle slopes down before and behind, forming an obtuse angle between the slopes, which obtuse angle you sit on! When in the saddle you feel possibly like Mazeppa did on the wild horse, safe not to fall off, but very uncomfortable and helpless. The stirrups—but no, never mind them or any other part of the saddle, the whole affair seemed to me ingeniously constructed for the purposes of torture, and when I returned in the evening, I had not lost "leather," in the way it is understood in England, I was simply raw, not only on the part over the obtuse angle aforesaid, but for many inches higher, before and behind, owing to the lasso pin and cantle described. It was some weeks after ere I could sit down comfortably. My son was more or less used to these ingenious Mexican torturing machines, and declared that I too would by use arrive at the same state, but when I did succeed in dismounting that night (a difficult gymnastic feat at any time, sore as I was, a very trying operation), I vowed never to trust myself to a Mexican saddle again, and never did!

The ranch, as I expected, disappointed us. It was large, above 1000 acres, an undulating valley bordered by high mountains. But grass, as we understand the word, there was none. Still the land was not bare. There was a scanty vegetation on it, and here and there much wild oats, which is, I believe, good food for cattle. I do not doubt cattle could be raised there, and that they would thrive more or less. It was well watered by two running streams. But, in both my son's and my opinion, the vegetation was far too scanty, and the price asked for it, above 2l. per acre, was, I thought, much above its value, and I don't believe the owners will ever get anything like that figure. I declined in any case to become the purchaser.

There was a very decent hotel at San Obespo, where we slept that night. There is one thing common in rooms in America which it would be well to introduce in England. Above all the doors are glass window-frames, working on a centre pivot, so that they can be either opened or shut. When open into the passage, staircase, or hall, you thus obtain fresh air, and being high up near the ceiling, the privacy of the room is not endangered thereby, while its altitude prevents draught. Thus in a bedroom, when the weather is too cold to sleep with the outer window open, this inner one supplies fresh air. The ventilation thus secured is utterly wanting in English rooms. You can't have a bedroom door open, and if the outer window is shut the same air is breathed over and over again all night long, which is a monstrous evil in a sanitary point of view.

Another matter, though a small one. At meals, in America, as pepper is shaken out lightly from a perforated castor over food, so can you do with the salt, which is in similar receptacles. This is a great improvement over our English salt-cellars. We have the salt castors in India too; we call them muffineers there. In India, as a rule, each individual has both a salt and pepper muffineer before his plate. If you doubt how far it is an improvement, just try it.

The steamer we came down in was a very fairly comfortable, well-appointed, and quick boat, but as she went down much farther south, she would not be due on her way back for some days, and I cared not to wait. A small passenger-steamer, on the way to San Francisco, was expected next day, and we returned in her. She was in every way a most miserable craft. She called at all the coast stations, and took forty-eight hours en route. There were many Americans on board, but few of a good class. The saloon was as dirty as any pig-sty, and the table-cloth must have been in use many days to judge by its coloured appearance. It could not have been designedly, but there was a capital gravy map of North America in the centre. Knives were much in vogue, to the exclusion of forks and spoons. It really was wonderful the practice some had attained with the weapon. A combination of meat and vegetables was carefully, but quickly, adjusted on the said knife, and then a slight turn of the wrist, and presto—it disappeared. As the performer's mouth was nowhere near, what had become of the greasy mass at first puzzled me, but watching closely, for the sleight-of-hand was marvellous and the passage between knife and mouth instantaneous, I realized it all!

"You can't say these people eat with their knives," I said to a nice and exceptional American by me.

"No," he replied, laughing, "you must go to Germany to see that. My countrymen—I hope, however, we don't all do it—have left that vulgar and dangerous practice far behind. The knife, you see, is used only as a propeller, and very neatly they do it."

"It must take a lot of practice," I added.

"Doubtless, and so does a Yankee's power of spitting. Their aim in that way far beats the knife exhibition," he replied with gusto. He was a Southerner, and evidently no friend to Yankees. "Ah now," he continued, "that's bad, and I object."

"Yes," I replied, "so do I," as a fat man opposite sucked his knife first to clean it, and then helped himself to butter. "The liberty of the subject entitles him to do as he will with his own food, but scarcely with that of the masses," I added.

As other knives were shortly used in the same way, neither my companion nor I cared to have butter, and contented ourselves with cheese, which luckily was cut at a side-table, and presented to us in large blocks, in the shape of dice, mathematically correct as to planes and angles.

I shall never forget the berth I was given on board that steamer. It was a lower one, and as to sheets and bedding clean enough, but the cabin, a deck one, was very low, and thus the space for two berths, one above the other, was confined. There was only about fifteen inches' space between the two, entailing when lying down a painful sensation of confinement. But to get in at all was the difficulty, only exceeded by the difficulty of getting out. The only way of getting in practicable was by lying quite flat on the projecting board, considerately, I presume, placed there for the purpose, and wriggling in like a worm; to get out much the same, except that the upper sheet and blankets came out with you, and increased the difficulty. They say one gets used to everything, but this I do deny; I should never have got used to that berth, for entering or leaving it was a gymnastic and painful puzzle.

There was an American stewardess on board, to whom I complained of the berth in my cabin. She bristled up dreadfully as she replied, "Cabin! I guess you're a Britisher. I presume you mean your state-room. As for the berth, I guess again it whips what you're accustomed to the other side of the water," and she sailed off with great dignity.

I felt crushed, of course, but I called after her, "Well, it is a state-room in one sense, for the state I get into before I succeed in crawling in quite—" But she had slammed the saloon door, and could hear no more. True, I had the last word, still I did not feel I had come off victorious.

The Americans know the value of time; anyhow the way they despatch their meals argues it. When the bell rings for dinner on board ship or at an hotel, there is a strange scene. As the time approaches, so eager is the expectation, conversation lulls. Some, anxious to get a good start, congregate near the companion ladder or the door. Tingle, tingle, at last goes the bell; every one jumps up, and away they go to the dining-room pell-mell, as men crush in for the best seats in the pit of a theatre. Seated, they devour their food as if eating against time, and the stranger who cares not to be left a course or two behind, has to look sharp too. Dinner is naturally soon over, and then they lounge out in striking contrast to their mode of entrance. Half an hour at the outside, and the table is clear. I asked my American friend, a travelled man, to account for it all, striking as it is in its contrast to the European mode.

"I can't do so," he replied, "for of course here on board ship they have nothing to do afterwards, and at hotels most of them lounge about for an hour or two after dinner. It can only be habit; but it does not hold in good society anywhere in the States, and down south, whatever the society, meals are taken in a leisurely way."

It is a great mistake to suppose the antagonism between north and south has died out. Of course I know not what it was, but it exists very plainly now. They are really separate races in thoughts and habits, and will not easily amalgamate. Courtesy is the rule in the south, the exception in the north, and the southerners naturally resent this, both for their own sakes and the national credit.

Will the United States continue for all time as one united republic? I doubt it, if for no other reason, because of its size. Were all Europe one united kingdom, should we expect it so to remain? And yet the cases are nearly alike. Leave out one-third of Russia, and the two areas are about the same. Nevertheless all works well now.

What to do after my return to San Francisco became a question. My sons, from all they had seen in America, liked the idea of breeding cattle best, and thought to possess a good ranche was the best way to make money. I was inclined to the same opinion, and discussing the matter after my return, we decided that a ranche should carry the day. But California is not the country for ranches, and we determined to go elsewhere. They had both been a long time in Colorado, and seen many ranches in that state. There, they said, was any amount of grass, making Colorado one of the best, if not the best, ranch country. I had heard much the same from others, and Colorado was eventually decided on. Between decision and departure not many days elapsed. Our stay at San Francisco had still further limited my means, there was a ranche to buy and pay for, and thus economy was more necessary than ever. We took third-class tickets to Denver, the capital of Colorado, and for a part of the way, luckily, got an emigrant car, in which we could find room for our mattresses, and so managed to sleep at night. But, as I have said before, accommodation for emigrants is given westward only, and I know not why this exception was made over a part of the line; but this I do know, when, during the last two nights and one day of the journey, we were put into a second-class carriage because there was no third, and had to sit up on seats all night, it was very trying.

Every one knows the Americans spit a good deal, but few know the extent to which they carry the nasty habit. The second-class carriage was far worse in this respect than the emigrant car. The floor was literally covered with saliva, and sit where you would, for it was crowded, you did not feel safe. True, they are good shots, and can generally make sure to three square inches of the spot they aim at; still, when you are surrounded with shooters, as we were in this car, you feel nervous, especially at night when the dim light makes it more than ever hazardous. In the Pullman car spitting on the floor is not allowed; the class so travelling are naturally more considerate in this way, nay, possibly, we will hope, steer clear of the habit, but to some even there it is a necessity, and entails an open window or frequent rushes to the spittoon, put considerately out of the way, so that in the Pullman car you avoid the nuisance.

I may as well group nasty subjects together, then the fastidious reader can skip them. The toothpick is more in vogue in America than in any country I have seen. A prolonged use of it is made after each meal, but some people are never without it. It is held in the hand when an argument is enforced with manual action, and when the speaker is satisfied he has proved his case, it is transferred to the lips, as if that was its natural place, while the owner leans back and surveys you blandly. If you are convinced, it probably remains there; if you are not (though some have acquired the power of speaking without removing it), the hand grasps it once more, and brandishes it like a dagger. I must though, in justice to the American, state that the most inveterate toothpick-man I ever met was an Englishman who had been in America since boyhood, and crossed the Atlantic with me on my return. He always, morning, noon, and night, had one either in his hand or projecting out of his mouth. It signified not what was his occupation, the little stiletto was always to the fore. We used to speculate on board if he so slept, and the ayes were in the majority.

California is about 800 miles from north to south, but across, from west to east, the average width is only, perhaps, 200 miles. The rail line, the direct one from San Francisco to New York, was the line I ought to have taken when bound west, as I explained before. Owing to the northerly course the rail takes after leaving San Francisco, some 300 miles in California, not 200, has to be traversed ere you reach the next state, Nevada, and having left the western capital in the afternoon we crossed the boundary next morning. I could not, of course, see much of the Californian scenery at night, but the general character of the country we passed through seemed to be much as I had seen in other parts of that state, very fertile where water for irrigation was at command, but barren otherwise.

Before finally leaving California I must add the last I heard of that "almighty swindle" (so styled by an American I met, who was one of the victims) the Antelope Valley. Every one who could leave it had done so, but there were many who could not, who had spent their all to get there. Some of these had wives and children, and their condition was of course most pitiable. There was naturally no work to be had there, and I heard that many of them were living on charity. The hotel-keeper in the valley, a most charitable man, and his good wife, did all in their power to mitigate the suffering, which was excessive. What became of the colony after I left I know not. Some who departed to return to England vowed they would be revenged on the agent in London, and if there was no legal redress (which I imagine is the case) thrash him well! I hope they did, but I have heard nothing, except that I saw in the paper one of the victims appeared before a London magistrate, and detailed the case. How he had sold up everything in England to go there, induced to do so by the said agent's representations, and on arrival found himself landed in a vast desert. But it did not appear that the magistrate could help him.

I can only hope the Antelope Valley episode will be a warning to emigrants. The United States is too well known, the country too much explored, to make it likely that any spot, or El Dorado, with the advantages the Antelope Valley was said to possess can exist unutilized. The Americans are far "too cute," if they found such a place, to tout for occupants from England.

As this is the last I have to say about California, I will close this chapter.