CHAPTER X.
A LESSON ON THE TRAIN.
"The Schoolmistress Abroad." All through Southern California I hear words of whose meaning I have no idea until they are explained.

For instance, a friend wrote from San Diego in February: "Do not longer delay your coming; the mesas are already bright with wild-flowers." A mesa is a plateau, or upland, or high plain.

And then there are fifty words in common use retained from the Spanish rule that really need a glossary.

As, arroyo, a brook or creek; and arroyo seco, a dry creek or bed of extinct river.
Alameda, an avenue.
Alamitos, little cotton-wood.
Alamo, the cotton-wood; in Spain, the poplar.
Alma, soul.
That is all I have learned in A's.

Then for B's.
I asked at Riverside what name they had for a big, big rock that rose right out of the plain, and was told it was a "butte." That gave a meaning to Butte City, and was another lesson.
Banos means baths, and barranca is a small ravine.
Then, if we go on alphabetically, cajon, pronounced _cahone_, is a box.
Calaveras, skull.
Campo, plain.
Cienaga, a marshy place.
Campo sancto, cemetery.
Canyon or canon, gulch.
Cruz, cross.
Colorado, red.
Some of the Spanish words are so musical it is a pleasure to repeat them aloud; as: Ensenada, bright.
Escondido, hidden.
Fresno means ash.
I inquired the meaning of "Los Gatos," and was kindly informed it was "The Gates," but it really is "The Cats." Goleta, the name of another town, means schooner.
The Spanish _j_ nearly always has the sound of _h_.
Jacinto, Hyacinth.
Jose, Joseph.
Lago is lake; pond, laguna; and for a little lake the pretty name lagunita.