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Rh How vivid is my recollection of my first paseár in the valley of San Andreas! I had started out from San Francisco at the urgent solicitation of my old friend Col. Harry Linden, who then lived here upon an extensive mountain rancho, a part of the Dominge Feliz Rancho, determined to leave work and the wearing cares of business behind me, and have one good, quiet paseár with him in his bachelor haunts in the hills. I had brought along my gun and any amount of ammunition, with a good supply of fishing-tackle as well, and was determined to be up with the dawn and make it very lively indeed for everything which wore feathers, fur, or scales, during my stay. In the early evening I arrived at the house, and was warmly welcomed by Harry, and introduced to the ladies of the family; it was not exactly a bachelor's lot after all, and Harry, as I found, was a boarder and a petted member of a pleasant and refined social circle, not the solitary tenant of a comfortless lumberman's or ranchero's cabin, as I had fancied him. We left the ladies sitting under the trees, and went in to supper. Harry has always been fancying himself a farmer, and many is the good joke that has been perpetrated upon him in the agricultural line. At that time he had been doing a big thing in that way. An enthusiastic farmer of Alameda County had imported, for seed, from Scotland, at great expense, a quantity of black Scotch oats, such as are used for making oatmeal in the "land o' cakes." He was very choice with them; would only part with them at one dollar per pound, and, in his anxiety to introduce them as