Irrigation is the watchword here, and as it takes capitalists to carry this through on a scale so immense, large farms are now the rule. For instance, we passed over one seventy-three miles in length by twenty in width. Later on, it is to be hoped these immense proprietaries may be settled by men whose primary object is to establish and maintain homes. At present, in the agricultural line, “big enterprises” are alone attractive. “Alfalfa,” a peculiarly hardy and luxuriant clover—imported by Governor Bigler from Chili—is the first crop, and grazing precedes grain. This plant “strikes its roots six feet or more into the soil, and never requires a second planting, while every year there are five crops of alfalfa and but two of wheat and barley.” Varied indeed is the population of this valley. One day we dine with a practical woman from Massachusetts, who declares that the sand storms, which most people consider the heaviest discount on the valley, are “really not so bad, for they polish off the house floors as nothing else could.” The next we meet a group of earnest, motherly hearts from a dozen different States, and almost as many religious denominations, united to “provide for the common defense” of home against saloon. Next day a lawyer from Charleston invites us to his cozy residence, “because his wife knows some of our Southern leaders in the W. C. T. U.” The next we make acquaintance with half a dozen school ma’ams from the East, who have taken a ranche and set up housekeeping for themselves; and in the fourth town visited an Englishman born in Auckland, New Zealand, the leading criminal lawyer of the county, and instigator of the woman’s crusade in Oakland, who gives us a graphic description of that movement, which was a far-off echo of the Ohio pentecost. So we move on at the rate of two meetings a day, with the hearty support of the united clergy (except the Episcopal, and often they helped us, too), and the warm coöperation of the temperance societies, emerging in San Francisco, Monday, April 16, 1883. III.—SAN FRANCISCO. I am glad we did not so far forget ourselves as to arrive on Sunday, for it appears that certain good, gifted, and famous persons, who shall be nameless, telegraphed to certain Christian leaders of their intended arrival on that day, and received answer: “The hour of your coming will find us at church. The Palace is the best hotel.” Now on an overland trip, an absent-minded traveler might fail to note the precise date of his arrival in the metropolis of the Pacific, but that would be no excuse to our guid folk yonder, whose Sunday laws have been smitten from their statute books, and Christians hold themselves to strict account for their example, which now alone conserves the Christian’s worship and the poor man’s rest.