There was but one man in the only house here, and him I shall always remember as a good specimen of a California ranger.  He had been a tailor in Philadelphia, and, getting intemperate and in debt, joined a trapping party, and went to the Columbia River, and thence down to Monterey, where he spent everything, left his party, and came to the Pueblo de los Angeles to work at his trade.  Here he went dead to leeward among the pulperias, gambling-rooms, &c., and came down to San Pedro to be moral by being out of temptation.  He had been in the house several weeks, working hard at his trade, upon orders which he had brought with him, and talked much of his resolution, and opened his heart to us about his past life.  After we had been here some time, he started off one morning, in fine spirits, well dressed, to carry the clothes which he had been making to the pueblo, and saying that he would bring back his money and some fresh orders the next day.  The next day came, and a week passed, and nearly a fortnight, when one day, going ashore, we saw a tall man, who looked like our friend the tailor, getting out of the back of an Indian’s cart, which had just come down from the pueblo.  He stood for the house, but we bore up after him; when, finding that we were overhauling him, he hove-to and spoke us.  Such a sight!  Barefooted, with an old pair of trousers tied round his waist by a piece of green hide, a soiled cotton shirt, and a torn Indian hat; ``cleaned out’’ to the last real, and completely ``used up.’’ He confessed the whole matter; acknowledged that he was on his back; and now he had a prospect of a fit of the horrors for a week, and of being worse than useless for months.  This is a specimen of the life of half of the Americans and English who are adrift along the coasts of the Pacific and its islands,—­ commonly called ``beach-combers.’’ One of the same stamp was Russell, who was master of the hide-house at San Diego while I was there, but had been afterwards dismissed for his misconduct.  He spent his own money, and nearly all the stores among the half-bloods upon the beach, and went up to the presidio, where he lived the life of a desperate ``loafer,’’ until some rascally deed sent him off ``between two days,’’ with men on horseback, dogs, and Indians in full cry after him, among the hills.  One night he burst into our room at the hide-house, breathless, pale as a ghost, covered with mud, and torn by thorns and briers, nearly naked, and begged for a crust of bread, saying he had neither eaten nor slept for three days.  Here was the great Mr. Russell, who a month before was ``Don Tomas,’’ ``Capitan de la playa,’’ ``Maestro de la casa,’’ &c., &c., begging food and shelter of Kanakas and sailors.  He stayed with us till he had given himself up, and was dragged off to the calabozo.