|
|
||
|
|
||
|
Every morning in California, the dew settled on the petals of acres of roses, to become hard and candied like a sweet and heavenly manna.
The few, enervated Spaniards who dwelt there gave themselves over to the joys of the fandango, and left the care of their vast cattle herds to faithful vaqueros. These were a people made to be ruled.
Any
upstanding American who came to California could take what land he
pleased in this terrestrial paradise. No one was ever sick in
California and few died. Corn yielded seventy to eighty-fold in this
gracious earth. Exotic fish teemed in the rivers, bays and lakes.
Best
of all, as the year 1848 dawned, the flag of the United States waved
and would wave for all time over the evergreen valleys drowsing in
perpetual summer beneath snow-capped guardian peaks.
So they told us, and we believed them.
|
||
|
|
||
|
1
|
||
|
|
||