Bode down to the Paso del Mar.
The pescadòr, out in his shallop,
Gathering his harvest so wide,
Sees the dim bulk of the headland
Loom over the waste of the tide;
He sees, like a white thread, the pathway
Wind round on the terrible wall,
Where the faint, moving speck of the rider
Seems hovering close to its fall.”
Most sweetly sang he of the climate, and the prolific gifts of nature in California, and one verse of his “Manuela” contains a very vivid and accurate picture of some of California, as seen by many travellers.