Will our grandsons believe in these times ... that this Ophir--that this California, where every river is a Tmolus and a Pactolus, every hillock is a gold-field--does not contain a cradle, a puddling-machine, a quartz-crusher, a pound of mercury? That half the washings are wasted because quicksilver is unknown? That whilst convict labour is attainable, not a company has been formed, not a surveyor has been sent out? I exclaim with Dominie Sampson--'Pro-di-gious!'