Of all the dreams of happiness and love that filled the minds of the youthful pair on that fair spring morning, as in a small boat they were rowed across the Bay, by Indians, to their new home, we can not judge, but I am sure their dreams, however fond, were realized, for it is recorded somewhere that joy and peace reigned supreme in the little adobe. However this may be, a young orchard was set out, cattle were bought and tended and the Senora's clever hands soon had the walls laden with the sweetest of Castilian roses. A stream flowed by the house on its way to the Bay, and on many a bright morning the Indian women of the household might be seen bending low over the stones washing the family linen. The stream has long since disappeared, as also the remnant of the race that washed in its waters--one through an unaccountable law of nature, the other through the rapacious greed and oppression of the Anglo-Saxon race. [Illustration: A Typical Roadway.] Owing to the abundance of pure, fresh water found on the Sausalito Rancho it was shipped to Yerba Buena and the Presidio. The water was conducted by spouts to the beach, thence into a tank on a scow, which conveyed it across the Bay. This mode of supplying San Francisco with water lasted for some time, until with the increase of population this primitive means was abandoned. A tule boat operated by Indians regularly crossed the Bay for the mail, many of the Indians evincing considerable skill in navigation under the tutelage of their able master. Standing beside a heap of stones--historic stones because the sole remnant of this abode of the past--my glance wandered to the blue water of the Bay which laps the edge of the glen and stretches over to the distant hills which descend in gentle undulations to this beautiful shimmering sheet of blue. And this Bay, too, speaks of the second settler of Marin, for it bears his name. As my glance now fell on the enchanting little glen with its tangled woodland and steep declivities, and then to the fair stretches of land that lay beyond, a sigh of sadness escaped from me unawares. I thought how all this lovely region, this Rancho Sausalito, comprising 19,500 acres, as varied and beautiful as ever nature put her seal to, this land, which rightfully belonged to Richardson and his descendants, had been appropriated by others through pretext of law and what not, until the heirs of the pioneer can call but a small building lot their own. Thus we ever find that "man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." [Illustration: A Reminder of Rhineland.] But the son of the renowned Captain, a hale, hearty old gentleman, with a pleasant Spanish accent, speaks with calm equanimity of their loss of fortune, showing not a vestige of ill-will toward the transgressors, and practicing in full the true Christian spirit so often lauded but rarely seen.