272 Beyond the Siei^ras. 



tifarious lines of life down at San Jost? on the evening of January 26, 1888, 

 formed a plexus of human hopes and interests and allections which will 

 never be woven again this side of the mist-covered valley which Mirza be- 

 held in his vision. Meanwhile, Tuck's orchestra, after much sweet music, 

 gives us the blessed refrain of " Home, Sweet Home," and the banquet is at 

 an end. 



The next theme of interest connected with our stay in the Santa Clara 

 valley was our excursion into the country round about on Friday, the 27th. 

 Promptly in the morning we were tivken up by a retinue of carriages and 

 driven countryward. The calvacade broke up into sections. Each turned 

 hither and yon through the valley as it would. This whole country might 

 be defined for short as the Orchard of Santa Clara. Taken altogether it is an 

 orchard. On either hand, orchard after orchard, vineyard after vineyard — 

 apricots, prunes, lemons, peaches, figs, English walnuts, limes, almost every- 

 thing called by the name of fruit. Here it is, for miles on miles; and the 

 trees are bright, even to whiteness. Rows of English walnuts shine as 

 though they had been polished by hand. The lig trees are almost as white 

 as they. Along the roads are the deep-green pepper trees, and the tall euca- 

 lyptus. In the yards and lawns rise the feathery palms, and around all the 

 homes of men is the square hedge of well-trimmed cypress. 



One company makes its way out to the Quito Ranch, where Mr. E. E. 

 Goodrich has developed one of the finest olive orchards in California, and the 

 proprietor made all happy who visited his line establishment. The writer 

 can not testify as to all that was seen in these valley excursions about San 

 Jos^. He knows that a second division of the Society was driven to Los 

 Gatos. That, reader, means " The Cats." It is the name of the narrow 

 gauge railway station and the adjacent hamlet. The tradition is that the old 

 Spaniards called it Los Gatos because of the fearful prevalence of wild cats 

 aforetime in this region. Well, " The Cats" had made a banquet for their 

 company of excursionists, and the eaters thereof declared that the feast was 

 good. The section to which the writer belonged was driven to Campbell's 

 Station, among some of the best apricot and prune orchards in California. 

 He had the pleasure of going with Major Foote, a Hoosier of former days, 

 through his orchards, and of hearing from the Major the almost apocryphal 

 recital of how much his trees produced. The citizens, meanwhile, had made 

 for us a dinner in the village church. Here we had feasting and talk and 

 speeches. The table at which the writer regaled himself was absolutely laden 

 with its vases of fruits and nuts and other edibles, under a crown of flowers. 

 I could not now enumerate the endless variety of what our feast jiresented, 

 but my old friend, the Captain, who presided at our table, and who has been 

 more than sixty times across the Pacific, assured me that only om^ article on 

 the board was not produced within a mile of where we sat. This was a 

 single small dish of foreign oranges. The Captain's wife, I may add, served 

 her guests, before we rose, with a section of excellent fruit-cake, fresh and 

 good, which had been twice across the Pacific ocean, and had spent one sum- 



