Through the panes of glass which relieved the panels of the door, they saw in the faint moonlight, which fell through the opposite window, the dark locks of the guilty intruder flowing over the husband’s pillow. “I have a mind,” whispered Giuseppe, “to rush in and plunge my knife at once to his cursed heart.” “No, no;” returned my faithful constable, “we are here to execute the orders of the alcalde, and if you are going to take the law into your own hands I will leave you. Hush! hark! he stirs! No; it was the shadow of the tree that frecks the moonlight.” All was still and waveless again. The door was on the jar, and drawing one good long relieving breath, in they rushed, and seized——what? A muff! The husband could not believe his own eyes, and mussed the muff up, jerking it this way and that, as if to ascertain if there was not a man inside of it. “You return late, Giuseppe,” murmured his wife, scarce yet awake. “Oh, yes, yes, my dear, late, late,” stammered the husband. “You have a friend with you,” continued the unsuspecting sposa. “Yes, my darling; a friend from the Salinas, whom I have invited to take a night’s lodging,” replied Giuseppe. “Well, you will find a bed for him in the opposite room, and a candle and matches on the table,” rejoined the sposa. So the twain went out, and having disturbed the bed assigned the friend sufficiently to give it the appearance of having been slept in, my constable slipped out and came home, denouncing all jealous husbands and ladies’ muffs. This fluster cost me two hours’ sleep, and Giuseppe a fee of three dollars to the constable. He would have paid forty times that sum to get free of the joke. Nothing so completely confounds a Californian as to find himself the dupe of his suspicions. It is more vexatious than the wrong which his mistaken anger sought to avenge. Mutual confidence is the basis of all domestic endearment, and the cause which is allowed to disturb it, should be as weighty as the happiness it wrecks. So reads my homily. TUESDAY, DEC. 7. There are no people that I have ever been among who enjoy life so thoroughly as the Californians. Their habits are simple; their wants few; nature rolls almost every thing spontaneously into their lap. Their cattle, horses, and sheep roam at large—not a blade of grass is cut, and none is required. The harvest waves wherever the plough and harrow have been; and the grain which the wind scatters this year, serves as seed for the next. The slight labor required is more a diversion than a toil; and even this is shared by the Indian. They attach no value to money, except as it administers to their pleasures. A fortune, without the facilities of enjoying it, is with them no object of emulation or envy. Their happiness flows from a fount that has very little connection with their outward circumstances.