notes of the day's doings.

In front of the government offices, squads of agile horses awaited
haughty riders. A merry cavalcade watched for Captain Miguel
Peralta. He was to be escorted out of the Pueblo by the "jeunesse
doree" of Alta California.

Clad in green jackets buttoned with Mexican dollars, riding leggings
of tiger-cat skin seamed with bullion and fringed with dollars,
their brown faces were surmounted by rich sombreros, huge of rim.
They were decorated in knightly fashion with silver lace. The young
caballeros awaited their preux chevalier. Saddle and bridle shone
with heavy silver mountings. Embossed housings and "tapadero," hid
the symmetry of their deer-like coursers.

Pliant rawhide lassos coiled on saddle horns, gay serapes tied
behind each rider, and vicious machetes girded on thigh, these sons
of the West were the pride of the Pacific.

Not one of them would be dismayed at a seven days' ride to Los
Angeles. A day's jaunt to a fandango, a night spent in dancing, a
gallop home on the morrow, was child's play to these young Scythians.

Pleasure-loving, brave, and courteous; hospitable, and fond of
their lovely land--they bore all fatigue in the saddle, yet despised
any manual exertion; patricians all, in blood.

So it has been since man conquered the noblest inferior animal.
The man on the horse always rides down and tramples his brother
on foot. Life is simply a struggle for the saddle, and a choice of