Stockton is a beautiful town, that has ceased to think of becoming
a very large place, and has quietly settled down into a state of
serene prosperity. I have my boots repaired here by an artist who
informs me that he studied in the penitentiary; and I visit the
lunatic asylum, where I encounter a vivacious maniac who invites me
to ride in a chariot drawn by eight lions and a rhinoceros.

John Phoenix was once stationed at Stockton, and put his mother
aboard the San Francisco boat one morning with the sparkling
remark, "Dear mother, be virtuous and you will be happy!"

. . . .

Forward to Sacramento--which is the capital of the State, and a
very nice old town.

They had a flood here some years ago, during which several blocks
of buildings sailed out of town and had never been heard from
since. A Chinaman concluded to leave in a wash tub, and actually
set sail in one of those fragile barks. A drowning man hailed him
piteously, thus: "Throw me a rope, oh throw me a rope!" To which
the Chinaman excitedly cried, "No have got--how can do?" and went
on, on with the howling current. He was never seen more; but a few
weeks after his tail was found by some Sabbath-school children in
the north part of the State.

. . . .

I go to the mountain towns. The sensational mining days are over,