forth their promises of next year's crop in snowy, fragrant blossoms, while a few forward oranges, half-grown and obtrusive, attract one's attention and curiosity more than the full-ripe fruit which one can see any day in the market.

Of course, orange-groves do not spring spontaneously out of the earth: it takes some labor and a great deal of irrigation-for which the San Gabriel River furnishes the means-to make an orange orchard grow. But after the crop is once attained, all the fruit-grower has to do is to box them and ship them for market. It is different with the grapes he raises, and of which only a small share is shipped for sale. The making of wine is a lengthy process, a full and interesting description of which can be found in "Hittel's Resources of California," pages 251-258. Some of the wine-cellars I have visited; but must acknowledge my ignorance of the method of manipulating the olive for gaining oil. I remember examining the ancient oil-press at one of the Missions one day; but the modern institution I neglected to interview. Indeed, I think they are better pickled, anyhow; when I was in Los Angeles last I devoured bushels of them, just out of the brine; and when I went away, there were untold millions of them still left.

And that reminds me of the honey I tasted there. Honey, I believe, is not generally considered either grain or fruit, and it sounds odd, at first, to hear people speak of a bee-ranch. There are several of them in the vicinity of the Mission, yielding excellent honey for the table

and equally good profit for the "bee-rancher." But don't you think "the bee-hive of our fathers" was a great deal prettier to look at than the ugly, square practical boxes that are ranged in long rows over any available part of the ranch?

Many of the grapes grown here are dried for raisins; and the figs, too, are sent to market both fresh and dried. I don't think the old bananatrees bear any at all now, though I hear that preparations are making to resume the culture of this fruit also for the market.

To me, I must confess, all these trees, young and old, have much more value for the beauty they lend to the surroundings than for the product they furnish for the market; and with all my fondness for pickled olives and juicy oranges, it gives me a pang to see the trees despoiled of their fruit. But progress and commerce often clash with beauty and romance, and half the charm of the Mission of San Gabriel has, in my eyes, departed, since the track of the Southern Pacific was laid within two hundred yards of the old Mission church, and the trains come regularly, screaming and rushing through the classic shades of these old grounds. Still, be where I may, the fragrance of the orange scents the air, and the tinkling of the mission-bells, perched high on dusk-white, crumbling walls, steals faintly on me when I hear the words, "Los Angeles!"

[NOTE. The illustrations appearing on pages 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, 11, and 15 of this article were kindly furnished us by the gentlemen of culture great enterprise, and business activity. Messrs. Carter & Rice, of the Semi-Tropic, Los Angeles, both -J. C.]

BEHIND the blind a woman sits and waits,
Beautiful her face with hope and joy elate;
Soft, silken robes fall shimmering to the floor,
Fair neck and arms bright jewels flashing o'er.
And in the midnight of her wavy hair
Nestles one pure white blossom, odorous, rare.
So waiting happiness, affection, lover,
Behind the blind impatiently she hovers.
Another watcher, haggard with affright,
Crouches by broken pane, and waits to-night.

Oh, not in hope and joy, but wild with fear,
A coming step and voice she dreads to hear.
Raiment of rags! no jewels costly, rare,
Clasp shrunken neck or arms; the fallen hair
All lustreless. Wide eyes intently peer
Into the night; a stealthy step so near,
Crouched in the dark, alone, with bated breath,-
A swift and cruel blow,-she waited-death.
Only ten years! Oh, strange and dreadful thing,
That they to her such woeful change should bring!

"It's my boy, Miss Rose; it's Coleen, and shure there never was a better boy, nor a warmerhearted one, nor kinder to the childer, though his was always severe with him since he was a gossoon, not so high as my youngest is now." And the untidy, handsome old Irish woman, with her weather-beaten face, but quick, bright glance and flexible mouth, began to weep.

"But, Ailie," said the young girl, with a sympathetic tone, taking one of the old withered hands coaxingly in her own plump and dimpled one, "you have not told us yet what is the matter with Coleen? I know he is a good boy; he was always so kind to my lame spaniel when the big dog at the lodge hurt him, and so good to my ponies."

"I thought Coleen had a tip-top place with Captain Douglas, of the Forty-third," said another voice behind the heavy red curtain, and Ailie, turning around with a quick ejaculation and a start, saw a pair of legs emerging from the other window-seat, and a frank, high-spirited boy of nineteen slowly and lazily made his way to the biggest arm-chair in the room.

"It's Master Harry, then, my darlint; and how you startled me, looking so tall and grown, and me not caring to have a stranger hear my heart's trouble. But you are welcome to know it; for though it's myself that knows you and Miss Rose never had a thought that wasn't kindness to my poor boy and me, and blame you I never would, it's from your lightheartedness-and may your dear hearts never grow heavier !-that my Coleen is going to be turned away."

letters in time, and don't loiter on the way.'

"Oh," cried Rose, her dark eyes growing darker with a sudden remembrance, "Harry, we met Coleen that very day in the park!"

"And we stopped him," said Harry, remorsefully. "What a row!"

"Yes, my darlint; Miss Rose called to him, so Coleen said, to ask about Shelah, and he could not but stop to see how beautiful his young lady looked on her prancing horse, with her eyes dancing under her white plume, and her pretty curls blowing in the wind; and shure I know how ye looked, my heart's beauty, as well as if I had seen ye myself."

"But, Ailie," broke in Rose, blushing, "we did not stop Coleen more than five minutes, did we, Harry?"

"No, indeed."

"But you see Coleen dropped the big letter, and he put the others all in the mail, and then he sees that is gone, and off the poor boy starts in a tremble, for he knew the captain's way, and he never finds it till near sunset in the park where the snow had been thrown over it by the hoofs of the horses, and then it's too late; and when he comes in, looking very pale and scared, 'Where have you been?' says his captain, as quiet as can be. 'Have you mailed all the letters I gave you in time?' and Coleen up and told him every word, and how the big letter was not mailed until after the hour, and the captain looked very stern, and said, 'You can leave my service to-morrow morning.' Then Coleen comes to me in the night, for he knows his father will find no excuse for him, and says he will have to emigrate to America, and

"Pshaw! Ailie, that's nonsense," ejaculated Harry, angrily. "Captain Douglas doesn't know either of us at all, and how could. we have anything to do with his opinion of Coleen?"

"But, Mavourneen, it's so, for all that; for the captain is that strict, and never overlooks a carelees way or delaying, and the day before yesterday, when the snow was lying thick on the ground, Captain Douglas sent Coleen to the mail with a whole package of letters, and one, Coleen marked as he took it, had a curious, foreign-looking stamp, in a big square envelope, and 'Coleen,' said the captain, speaking quick and hasty-like, 'the mail

"Well, that's hard on a fellow," said Harry, ruefully, and the tears started to Rose's eyes as she leaned her head on her little hand musingly. "Have you seen Captain Douglas, Ailie ?" began Harry.

"Oh, I have thought of a way," suddenly exclaimed Rose, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Harry, I am going to Mrs. Douglas's party Christmas eve, to-morrow night, and I will see Captain Douglas myself, and explain that it was all my fault, and intercede for Coleen. Oh, it will all be right yet, Ailie."