I may as well group nasty subjects together, then the fastidious reader can skip them. The toothpick is more in vogue in America than in any country I have seen. A prolonged use of it is made after each meal, but some people are never without it. It is held in the hand when an argument is enforced with manual action, and when the speaker is satisfied he has proved his case, it is transferred to the lips, as if that was its natural place, while the owner leans back and surveys you blandly. If you are convinced, it probably remains there; if you are not (though some have acquired the power of speaking without removing it), the hand grasps it once more, and brandishes it like a dagger. I must though, in justice to the American, state that the most inveterate toothpick-man I ever met was an Englishman who had been in America since boyhood, and crossed the Atlantic with me on my return. He always, morning, noon, and night, had one either in his hand or projecting out of his mouth. It signified not what was his occupation, the little stiletto was always to the fore. We used to speculate on board if he so slept, and the ayes were in the majority. California is about 800 miles from north to south, but across, from west to east, the average width is only, perhaps, 200 miles. The rail line, the direct one from San Francisco to New York, was the line I ought to have taken when bound west, as I explained before. Owing to the northerly course the rail takes after leaving San Francisco, some 300 miles in California, not 200, has to be traversed ere you reach the next state, Nevada, and having left the western capital in the afternoon we crossed the boundary next morning. I could not, of course, see much of the Californian scenery at night, but the general character of the country we passed through seemed to be much as I had seen in other parts of that state, very fertile where water for irrigation was at command, but barren otherwise.