EIDE TO TUSCAN SPRINGS. 23/> 



I know no exercise half as exhilarating and 

 exciting as the ' lope,' a kind of long canter, the 

 travelling pace of a mustang ; there is no jarring 

 or jolting. All one has to do is to sit firmly in 

 the saddle; the horse, obeying the slightest turn 

 of the wrist or check of the rein, swings along 

 for hours at a stretch, without any show of 

 weariness. 



Having crossed the Sacramento in a ' scow,' a 

 kind of rough ferry-boat, our road lay over broad 

 plains and through scattered belts of timber. 

 The grass was completely burnt up, and the 

 series of gravelly arroyos, in and out of which 

 we continually plunged and scrambled, marked 

 clearly the course of the winter streams. 



The air felt hot and sultry, but fragrant with 

 the perfume of the mountain cudweed. Not 

 a cloud was visible in the lurid sky, and the 

 distant mountains, thinly dotted with timber, 

 seemed softened and subdued as seen through the 

 blue haze. We entered a valley leading through 

 a pile of volcanic hills that one could easily have 

 imagined had been once the habitat of civilised 

 man. The wooded glades had all the appearance 

 of lawns and parks planted with exquisite taste ; 

 the trees, in nothing resembling the wild growth 

 of the forest, were grouped in every variety of 

 graceful outline. 



