There are in California many different races of Indians, whose languages vary so much from each other, as sometimes to have scarcely any resemblance; in the single mission of Santa Clara more than twenty languages are spoken. These races are all alike ugly, stupid, dirty, and disgusting: they are of a middle size, weak, and of a blackish colour; they have flat faces, thick lips, broad negro-noses, scarcely any foreheads, and black, coarse, straight hair. The powers of their mind lie yet profoundly dormant; and La Perouse does not perhaps exaggerate when he affirms, that if any one among them can be made to comprehend that twice two make four, he may pass, in comparison with his countrymen, for a Descartes or a Newton. To most of them, this important arithmetical proposition would certainly be perfectly incomprehensible. In their wild state, all these Indians lead a wandering life. It is only recently that they have begun to build huts of underwood, which they burn whenever they remove from the spot. The chase is their sole occupation and means of subsistence. Hence their skill in shooting with arrows has cost many Spanish lives. They lie in wait at night, in the forests and mountains, watching for game. Agriculture, as I have before observed, is the copious source of revenue to the monks, and they farm on an extensive scale. The yearly crop of wheat at Santa Clara alone, produces three thousand fanegos, about six hundred and twenty English quarters, or three thousand four hundred Berlin bushels; and from the extraordinary fertility of the soil, the harvest, on an average, is forty-fold, notwithstanding the roughness of their mode of cultivation. The field is first broken up with a very clumsy plough, then sown, and a second ploughing completes the work. Under the hard clods of earth thus left undisturbed, a great part of the seed perishes of course. How unexampled would be the harvest, if assisted by the capital and industry of an European farmer! The monks themselves confess that they are not good agriculturists; but they are content with their harvests. Their carelessness is however unpardonable, in having never yet erected a mill. There is not one in all California; and the poor Indians are obliged to grind their corn by manual labour between two large, flat stones.