March 9th. We actually did leave this morning, and made twenty-five miles, which is a pretty long trip for a first day's march. The day was lovely, and the road a nice, level one, nothing particularly interesting, however, 'til we neared Los Angeles, which has been called the garden of the United States, and then we came to the orange groves with the ripe fruit hanging on the boughs, peach trees in bloom, lemon trees, and we saw in one place some men harvesting barley. Rank green weeds grew all along the roadside, in some cases as high as your head, while pretty little red and yellow wild flowers covered the meadows, and the meadow larks sang so gaily that it inspired Anson to repeat a piece of poetry on the lark, not that I mean to say that my hubby dear mounted the little songster to spout forth the flow of poetic words, but the subject of the piece was "The Lark." My first day's experience in this line has been very pleasant. We are camped in a beautiful spot before getting to which we had to cross one of my much dreaded streams, which was nothing at all and wouldn't scare a chippy. Los Angeles is quite a town, and if any angels take a notion to visit this mundane sphere and namesake, I advise them to put up at the Pico House, where we went in to dinner. The house is a clean, nice place, Brussels carpet, lace curtains, mirrors, piano, etc., in the parlor, and a very nice dinner--fresh peas, cauliflower, etc.; but that which struck my fancy most was an open court in the center of the building in which a fountain was playing, and in a gallery running all 'round the second story, looking down on this fountain, were fastened numerous plants in pots and bird cages. As we left the house three Mexicans were playing on a harp, violin and flageolet, which completed a very romantic picture. We invested eighteen dollars in apples, lemons and oranges, and Anson also found some fresh _tomatoes_, all, of course, grown in the open air, for it never frosts here. It looks strange to see the tropical fruit growing while snow-capped mountains look down on them. Our tent is pitched, our bed made down, and everything is very easy; our only regret is that dear Lizzie did not come with us. Anson repeatedly expresses his regret that she did not. Our carriage is perfectly splendid; in fact I _don't_ see how people can possibly _exist_ without a carriage. I was made very happy last night by receiving a letter from home, the first one since we left. It was addressed to Drum Barracks. We have not as yet received those directed to Halleck, but they will be forwarded to us. We also got two newspapers, and one the day before, which were devoured.