Passing by one of our doggeries about 3 A. M. the other morning, from
which proceeded “a sound of revelry by night,” a hapless stranger
on his homeward way paused to obtain a slight refreshment, and to
the host he said: “It appears to me your visitors are rather late
to-night.” “Oh, no,” replied the worthy landlord, “the boys of San
Diego generally run for forty-eight hours, stranger; _it’s a little
late for night before last_, but for to-night! why, it’s just in the
shank of the evening.” Volumes could not have said more.