TAHITI TO SAN FRANCISCO--EASTER-DAY IN CALIFORNIA--A NEW CITY--RECLAIMED LAND--WILD LUPINES--SEA-OTTERS--THE LONE MOUNTAIN--PROGRESSIVE FUNERALS.

ON BOARD THE PALOMA, OFF CALIFORNIA,

Easter-Eve, April 20, 1878.

DEAR BROTHER WANDERER,--I must write you a few lines ere setting foot for the first time in the great New World, that I may despatch them as soon as we touch land, and start them off in search of you. I suppose if I address to London--the great centre--they will be forwarded to you somewhere within a year, whether your erratic flight has landed you in Kamschatka or Patagonia, Spitzbergen or Tasmania.

As for me, I am strangely behindhand in the matter of news, as it is nine months since a letter has reached me, with the exception of a few inter-insular notes from 11 2 French officials and Tahitian chiefesses--kind, good friends, who have made the last half-year wonderfully pleasant to me.

But from kinsfolk and home, not one message could have reached me, and a few chance sentences in stray newspapers have been the only echoes that have floated to me across the great waters. For of course all my letters were sent to Fiji, which, as you know, has been our home for the last two years. (I left it in the beginning of September, tempted by an invitation to make a very delightful cruise in a French man-of-war, which has resulted in my remaining for several months in beautiful Tahiti.)

Of course the last letters that reached me ere I left Fiji were rather antiquated, bearing date June 4, 1877; and all of more recent date have gone on accumulating in Fiji, till, finding I could not return there direct, I requested that they should be sent to await me at Honolulu, which port I hoped to have reached ere now in one of the sailing vessels which are occasionally despatched from Tahiti to fetch cattle from the Sandwich Isles.

However, after long waiting, I found that the chances of getting a ship were so uncertain, that the shortest way in the end would be to take a passage all the way to San Francisco in this little brigantine of 230 tons, and thence return to Honolulu by one of the Great Pacific mail-steamers.

As your wanderings have not yet led you to the Pacific (and I know that you, like myself, only learn your geography by actually going over the ground), I may as well 12 3 mention that the distance from Tahiti to Honolulu is about two thousand miles, and from Tahiti to San Francisco is actually about four thousand miles, measured as the crow flies. But what with untoward winds and unlooked-for currents, our flight has rather resembled that of the great brown "gonies" that bear us company, and we have contrived on this voyage to make fully six thousand miles, and have taken six weeks to do it, and that, without touching land.

The gonies would delight you. What may be their scientific name I cannot say for certain, though I am told that they are young albatross, who, like the "ugly duckling," do not develop their snowy plumage the first year. We see a few of these grand birds, with the wild, fearless eyes, and there is no mistaking them ; but the gonies are our never-failing companions. They are large birds of a greyish-brown colour, with long, narrow wings, black-tipped. I am sure some of them must measure six feet across. They wheel around us, and sweep to and fro with an easy, graceful flight, which is beautiful to behold, and fills me with envy. Oh, had I the wings of a gonie! Sometimes a tempting fish-shoal attracts them, and they drop far behind us. A few moments later they are miles ahead; so, apparently without the slightest exertion, they float to and fro at their own wild will, and travel ten times faster than the swiftest steamer.

Though the voyage has been so unexpectedly prolonged, I cannot say that I have found it unpleasant; quite the contrary, it has been like a summer yachting cruise.

The Paloma* is a beautiful little ship, carrying a crowd of whitest sails; she is exquisitely clean, her ship's company consist of singularly quiet, gentle Swedes, Germans, and Rarotongans. Our cabins are very comfortable; my only fellow-passengers are most friendly and agreeable. We carry a cargo of 270,000 oranges, gathered green in the orange-groves of Tahiti, but which have ripened during this long voyage, and we have done our best to diminish their number.

We have had lovely weather, though too often becalmed for days together, or else drifting aimlessly with the currents, or just kept moving by the faintest, softest breeze, which has generally carried us in the wrong direction. I never more fully realised the weariness of the "wandering fields of barren foam."

We have proved the truth of the old adage, that after a storm comes a calm, for just before we sailed from Tahiti, a terrific hurricane had swept over the isles lying to the north, in the "Dangerous Archipelago." Many land birds came on board when we were fully three hundred miles from the Paumotus. The captain says they are kinds which he has never seen on any previous voyage, so he believes they had been blown away from home by the hurricane. He thinks the whole atmosphere is out of order, as, according to all experience, we have been entitled to a south-east trade-wind all the time, whereas, for days and days together, every breath of air was from north-east, driving us far out of our course.

The moonlight nights have been perfect, clear as day. Occasionally we have had heavy showers, which we hailed with delight, as affording us a chance of a fresh-water bath. For though the good Rarotongans daily rig up a bathing-tent on deck, where we may splash to our heart's content in great tubs of salt water, we often think regretfully of the lovely limpid streams of Tahiti, and long for soft fresh water. So whenever a welcome shower begins, we don our Tahitian sacques (long flowing dressing-gowns), and bless the heaven-sent shower-bath.

Now we are drawing very near our journey's end, and I confess I do hope I may have a few days on terra firma ere starting on the long return voyage to Hawaii. We have been looking forward to spending Easter-day ashore, but now there appears very small chance of our doing so.

Since the Easter morning when we sailed from Marseilles, I have never been within hail of our own Church for any one festival. The following Easter was spent in the wilds of Fiji, and this day last year I was among the Maoris of the volcanic region in New Zealand. As to Christmas, the first was spent with a wild tribe of Fijians who had only just given up cannibalism; on the next, we were transhipping from a little steamer to a big one, en route to New Zealand; and last Christmas-day found me in one of the loveliest of Tahitian valleys. So you see that a real ecclesiastical Easter would have special attractions. Nevertheless we have almost given up hope of reaching land so soon, as the wind has failed us again.

SAN FRANCISCO, Easter Monday .

I had written so far when a fresh breeze sprang up, and we literally flew the last hundred and fifty miles, entering the Golden Gates at 2 A.M. It was clear moonlight, so I was able to reconnoitre, and took in my first impressions of America, in a series of lighthouses, which mark various points in the magnificent harbour, in which there is said to be room for all the navies of Europe. Finally, we anchored just before the cold grey dawn crept up, with a chilling shiver (oh how different from the balmy tropical mornings in which I have revelled for so long!).

There was nothing golden in our first glimpses of California. We indulged in a jorum of excellent hot gin-toddy, to correct the bitter, damp cold; and soon after sunrise we watched a number of huge steamers, densely crowded with excursionists, start from the different wharfs, to make the most of the Easter holiday.

Then we made our little preparations for landing. A sleepy, shivering Custom-house officer had come on board near the harbour-mouth; but as it was Sunday, none of our baggage could pass the Customs. We were each, however, allowed to take a small bag, supposed to be sufficient for one night. Apparently every one is expected to bear his own burden in this free and independent land, but the friendly Swedish mate insisted on carrying the ladies' bags to the hotel where we secured rooms.

By this time the Easter chimes were pealing from a multitude of church bells, and the streets were thronged with masses of human beings. The grey chill morning 16 7 was succeeded by a day of brilliant sunlight, and among the crowds of church-goers were many in apparel positively gorgeous. London streets would wonder to find themselves swept by such magnificent satins and velvets, or to see such diamonds glittering in the light of the sun. It struck me painfully to notice the great proportion of women who would evidently have been attractive but for the free use of white and rouge: you might fancy that "this glorious climate of California" could dispense with such polluting adjuncts, but these ladies evidently think otherwise. And yet how they would despise their brown sisters or brothers who on a gala-day "assist nature" by a touch of vermilion or a few streaks of blue!

My travelling companion being a rigid Roman Catholic, led the way to St Mary's Roman Catholic Cathedral, where the bishop was celebrating High Mass. It is a plain building, but made beautiful by its Easter decorations and the profusion of exquisite flowers. Thousands of roses and lilies made the air fragrant, and were doubly welcome to eyes weary of the broad restless ocean.

It seemed to me somewhat a strange coincidence that, having received my last ecclesiastical impressions of the Old World at the Roman Catholic Church of Saint Roch, in Paris, on Good Friday 1875, I should next hear the grand Easter Anthem in a Roman Catholic cathedral on this my first morning in the New World. The singing was most lovely, but the crowd was so dense that there was not a chance of a seat; so, leaving my friend to her devotions, I went to Grace Church--an Episcopal 17 8 Church which she had pointed out to me a little farther.

This was likewise densely crowded, but a very civil stranger gave me his seat, for which I was grateful, the walk uphill from the wharf having proved fatiguing. Here also the decorations are most elaborate. Besides the great cross above the altar (made entirely of rare hothouse flowers), there hangs suspended from the great chancel arch an immense cross of pure white Calla lilies ( Arum ) in a circle of evergreens, beneath which, in very large evergreen letters, each hanging separate, is the angel's Easter greeting--"HE IS RISEN." The effect of this device, so mysteriously floating in mid-air, is very striking.

In every corner of the church flowers have been showered with the same lavish hand--the font, lectern, pulpit, organ, walls, but especially in the chancel, where the choicest flowers are reserved for the altar-vases and the altar-rails, which are altogether hidden by the wealth of exquisite roses. To some sensitive persons I can imagine that their perfume might have been overpowering, but to me it seemed like a breath from heaven.

It was pleasant, too, in this "far country," to hear the old familiar liturgy, like a voice from over the wide waters, bringing with it a flood of home memories and associations. Moreover, it was quite unexpected, as during the last two years I have been thrown in company with so many different regiments of the great Christian army, that I suppose I had assumed that this Californian church would prove one more variety. Certainly I had not 18 9 realised that America has preserved the old Book of Common Prayer almost intact, with only a few minor changes, every one of which seems to have been dictated by good common-sense--as, for instance, after the Commandments, where we so abruptly introduce the prayer for the Queen, the American priest adds, "Hear also what our Lord Jesus Christ saith," and sums up the Old Law by pronouncing the New Commandment, in the words of St Matthew, xxii. 37-40. He then offers the closing prayer from the Confirmation Service, that we may be kept in the ways of God's law and the works of His commandments.

All vain repetitions are avoided. Either the Apostles' Creed or the Nicene may be said both morning and evening, but never both during one service. The frequent reiteration of the Lord's Prayer is avoided. In the Canticles, such portions as seem inapplicable to ourselves (such as the last half of the Venite) are omitted, and verses of praise from the Psalms are substituted. The Magnificat is replaced by the 92d Psalm; the Nunc Dimittis by the 103d, "Praise the Lord, O my soul." Some advantageous verbal alterations occur--as in the Litany, "In all time of our wealth" is rendered "all time of our prosperity."

The principal variations from the English Prayer-Book occur in the order of the Service for the Holy Communion, which is almost identical with the old office of the Scottish Episcopal Church, and as such, familiar to my ears. In short, all was as a dream of home, with the exception 19 10 of the strange and unnatural sound of hearing for the first time the name of the President of the United States substituted for that of "Victoria our Queen," and the use of the term "Christian rulers" in lieu of "kings."

The singing is admirable, but not congregational. It is left to a carefully trained (and, I am told, highly paid) choir of men and women. Surpliced choirs are apparently not in favour here, from an impression that they tend toward dreaded ritualism.

In the course of the day I looked into various other churches, each vying with the other in the beauty of its Easter decorations. One had the entire reredos, as it were, inlaid with lilies of the valley on a groundwork of maiden-hair fern; above the altar was a beautiful cross of white camellias and tuberoses, and the chancel-rails, lectern, and pulpit are dressed with lovely leaves of Calla lilies, while the most exquisite white exotics adorn the font. Wreaths and emblems, crosses and crowns, of white camellias or white pinks, with here and there a point of rich colour in some grand cluster of glorious red roses, delight the eye wherever it turns.

This morning the newspapers devote several pages to descriptions of the principal features of each church in the city. It reduces the poetry of the thing to somewhat of a prosaic detail, to find an exact record of how many thousands of each flower were used in the decoration of each church, and what favourite "stars" sang in each choir. I learn that in Grace Church four thousand white Calla lilies form one item. Yet they did not seem more 20 11 numerous there than in many other churches; so the inference is, that we have reached a floral paradise, strikingly in contrast with my recent experience of the general scarcity of flowers in the South Sea Isles.

You would have thought that this was indeed the case could you have seen this city yesterday evening. In California the evening of Easter-day is the children's flower festival, and every church in San Francisco devotes its evening service to the little ones. I found my way back to Grace Church, and have rarely witnessed a prettier spectacle. There must have been many hundred children, of all ranks and ages, down to the tiniest toddles of the infant school. All were prettily dressed, and they marched in procession, carrying silken banners, and singing carols. All carried flowers, either in pretty baskets, or great bouquets, or arranged in some device. Many had collected small offerings of money for different charitable objects, and each, in turn presented its gift to be laid on the altar, which soon was literally buried beneath the flowers heaped upon it, which were afterwards distributed to the hospitals and to all the sick poor throughout the great city, that they might whisper the Easter message to many a lonely sufferer. The service consisted chiefly of carol-singing by the little ones and their teachers, and it was altogether very bright and happy.

I do not know how all this strikes you. To me, I must confess, it was a great surprise. I had imagined this city of St Francis to be most unsaintly--or, not to mince words, I supposed it was still the rowdy city where, but a 21 12 few years ago, such wild scenes of misrule were the common events of daily life. And now my first impressions are of thronged churches, hymns of praise, and flower festivals! After the evening service I walked back to the hotel alone, passing through several dimly lighted streets. All seemed quiet and peaceful. Multitudes of young girls and their teachers must have gone by lonely and devious paths on their homeward way. But no shadow of dread seemed to suggest itself to any parents. And yet, when I returned to the hotel, I heard gentlemen discussing the state of the town, and declaring that it was unsafe to go out after dark without a revolver. Evidently the subject admits of varied colouring.

I am told that the "dangerous class" here are a race of young rowdies, known here as "hoodlums," a recognised class of roughs, male and female, whose misdeeds are a constant source of annoyance to the citizens, who nevertheless seem powerless to suppress the mischief. I suppose that the police are numerically too weak (they only number about four hundred); and of course this great city yields a very large body of ill-conditioned "hobbledehoys," who form a raw material ready to develop into full-blown criminals.

There are a large number of well-known gangs of these young ne'er-do-weels, composed of lads and lassies of the very roughest type, who are always on the prowl, looking out what mischief they can do. Many of them carry knives and revolvers, and glory in a chance of using them, not only on belated wanderers, but occasionally on quiet 22 13 shopkeepers whose goods they covet, or publicans whose beer and spirits they object to pay for. But the poor, inoffensive, diligent Chinamen are the objects of especial hatred to these cowardly rascals, who never miss a chance of molesting them; and, of course, no policeman ever happens to be near when one of the gangs sets upon some solitary workman, and beat and kick him within an inch of his life.

April 23 d .

What a strange world this is for unexpected meetings! Two years ago a Sussex friend sent me a letter of introduction to the representative of a large banking firm in this city. Yesterday morning, finding that three weeks would elapse ere a steamer sailed for Honolulu, I questioned whether there was any use in delivering so stale a letter. Counsels of wisdom said "Yes," so the letter was sent out, and half an hour later the writer himself stood beside me! I then learnt, what I had never before realised, that he is himself the head of the firm, and had just chanced to run out from England on some matter of business, so his own letter was handed to him.

Never was the face of a friend more welcome. Having recently parted with some of my kindred, he was able to give me good news of them, and soon afterwards he returned with Mr Booker, H.B.M. Consul, who had tidings of my friends in Fiji. Both these gentlemen say, that if I had carefully selected my time for visiting California, I could not have chosen better, for that this is the very best 23 14 season. An unusually wet winter is just over, and has left the country exquisitely green, and carpeted with wild flowers. Every stream is full, and all waterfalls are in glory. They say that if only the snows on the Sierra Nevada are sufficiently melted to allow of travelling, I ought on no account to miss seeing the Yo¯-semite´ Valley, and that I could easily go there and back, before the steamer sails. So they have promised to make all inquiries, and to look out for a suitable escort for this expedition.

Meanwhile, this morning, Mr Harrison took me for a long and most interesting drive to all the principal points in this gigantic baby city. Strange, indeed, it is to hear of the marvellous changes that have occurred here within the last thirty years, all within his own memory.

Prior to 1849, San Francisco was merely one of twenty small stations of the old Spanish Mission; and the only antiquity to be seen in the city--the Westminster Abbey which knits the present century with the past--is the old mission church of the patron saint, St Francis of Assisi, a very plain building of adobe-- i.e. , sun-dried bricks. In its graveyards are buried wanderers from many lands, but the churchyard, like the church, looks melancholy and decayed. It bears date 1776, and was the first church of the little Spanish colony of priests, who came here to teach the Indians, and were the only white men on this coast prior to the discovery of gold.

They themselves knew of the existence of gold, but they discouraged all search for it, knowing well the evil that must result to their Indian converts whenever that mad 24 15 excitement, consequent on a gold-rush, should flood California with all the wild spirits of the earth. And rightly these good fathers judged.

Till 1849 they were able to guard their fold. Then came the gold-fever; and in a few months ships of all nations entered the Golden Gates, bringing thousands and tens of thousands to retrieve broken fortunes, or seek new ones, in this Land of Promise. On the desert sandhills, where hitherto only a few wandering Indians had built their bark huts, there were now scattered tents, standing singly or in groups. Soon disorderly little settlements of shabby shanties were run up, which gradually enlarged till they covered all the available land.

The history of those early years was a chronicle of anarchy. Life in the city was one of reckless dissipation--a natural reaction from the hardest phases of privation and toil endured in search of gold. Society was turned upside down. Men well born and well bred were thankful to turn their hand to every conceivable work which would bring in the means of life. I heard of one English gentleman who, finding himself robbed of everything except his rifle, made his way to the mining districts, and made a very fair living by shooting bears, whose flesh the hungry miners gladly bought at a dollar per pound. As a good bear weighs six or seven hundred pounds, the hunter soon realised a "genteel competency" as a "flesher."

At first the miner's work was confined to what is called "placer" mining--that is, surface digging,--and washing for gold in beds of streams. Then came the more 25 16 systematic business of quartz-crushing; and by 1858 three hundred mills, with strong machinery, were hard at work. By that time the gold-fever, having reached its height, began to subside; and multitudes, weary of certain toil for such uncertain profits, turned their minds to other industries. By 1861, not more than fifty mills still continued at work.

By degrees the rowdies, who had given the settlement at San Francisco such a bad name, vanished before the presence of Vigilance Committees and Lynch law. Those who escaped summary justice took the hint from a word of warning, and the majority went farther inland.

Now, in the place where those log and shingle huts then lay scattered, stands a vast city of 300,000 inhabitants. It covers a space of forty-two square miles, and has many really splendid streets, and a large number of immense hotels like great palaces (most luxurious in every respect save that of cosiness--a point which strikes one, because so many families have no other home).

One of the principal buildings is the great Mint of the United States, said to be the most perfect institution of its kind in the whole world. It is open to all comers every forenoon, and citizens and strangers are alike at liberty to inspect the manufacture of Californian gold into coins equivalent to English sovereigns, but so much purer, that ours will only pass here at a discount.

There are theatres and an opera-house; a great city hall; splendid public libraries, free to all citizens above fifteen years of age; equally free are the excellent 26 17 Government schools. Besides these, every denomination has its special schools, churches, and chapels. There are the Roman Catholic and Episcopal cathedrals, Jewish synagogues and Chinese temples, gorgeous Turkish baths, numerous admirable markets scattered through the city. In its busy working districts there are foundries and machine shops, smithy-works, lumber-merchants' yards, artificial stone works, patent marble works, potteries, woollen factories--in short, every industry you can conceive.

And yet all the older inhabitants recollect when the site of this great city was only a tract of most desolate sandhills, and when ships were lying at anchor above the sands which now actually serve as foundation for one of the finest streets--one, moreover, at some distance from the sea, which has gradually been driven back, as men, determined to retain advantageous shipping positions, built their houses on piles, filled up the space beneath them, and so reclaimed acre after acre from the harbour. The present sea-wall which guards this stolen ground is built up from a depth of about thirty feet below low-water mark. There are not wanting prophets of evil to foretell days of possible disaster, when some tidal wave or volcanic distrubance shall arise and restore to Ocean the land thus wrested from it.

We drove to a high point, whence we could look down on the city as on a map. The spot where we stood was once a quite lake, and my companion told me how his happiest hours were spent snipe-shooting on its shores. Now it is one of the great reservoirs for the city.

There are, however, other reservoirs in the Coast Range Mountains, so that the supply is equal to the great demand--which is enormously increased by the multitude of gardens and beautifully kept lawns, each requiring constant irrigation throughout the summer. I am told that the water-rates are tremendous, and have to be paid monthly in advance. Many families are said to spend far more on water than on bread; but they account it money well invested, as it has transformed these sand-mountains into a region of most luxuriant gardens. Moreover, it is the safeguard against fire, which must be an ever-present danger in a town of which wood forms so large a part.

It certainly is strange to see a vast city with such splendid streets and such princely homes, large mansions and pleasant Elizabethan villas--all apparently of beautiful white stone--and then learn that it is all wooden, and that the stone-like appearance is produced by a sprinkling of fine sand over whitish paint. This is not because there is any lack of stone for building purposes, but because the occasional slight earthquake shocks are a continual reminder that some day a great upheaval may come and swallow up--or at least severly shake--the huge young city.

There are boiling springs at no great distance from here, which forcibly suggest a connecting-link with the great volcanoes which lie to the north, and forbid too absolute security. But even in respect to moderate earthquakes, wooden houses are found to suffer less than stone buildings, and are therefore preferred.

Recently, however, some of the great firms, who dread 28 19 fire more than earthquakes, have built their business houses of real stone. The first to set this example was Wells, Fargo, & Co.'s Express (who undertake to convey everything for everybody, to and from every corner of the known world). But so expensive was labour in San Francisco, that this first stone house was imported bodily from China, where each block was cut and fitted ready for its place!

As a precaution against earthquakes, many of the principal buildings--hotels, warehouses, and shops--have an inner skeleton made of strong bands of wrought-iron, fastened together by immense iron bolts. Over this frame-work is built an outer casing of brick or stone, supposed to be fire-proof.

It is said that in building the Palace Hotel three thousand tons of iron were used in preparing the bands for the skeleton, besides the enormous amount required for the great iron columns which support the vast building. Of these there are upwards of sixty round the central quadrangle alone; and above this rise seven storeys, tier above tier, each with a similar number of columns. Of the amount of iron-work in other parts of the building, I can form no notion; but as the building covers about three acres, you can imagine it is considerable.

There is also a fire-proof iron staircase, cased in solid brick and stone, extending to the very summit of the hotel, and with iron doors opening on to each floor, so as to ensure a retreat in case of need. I can only say, "Heaven help all who have to trust to it!"

Of course there are all manner of other staircases, besides the five "elevators" which are ceaselessly ascending and descending to convey all the inhabitants of the 750 suites of rooms (1000 bedrooms) to their several apartments. These are graduated on a varying scale of luxury--"an apartment" generally including, at least, bedroom, bathroom, and sitting-room; and as every one of the 750 lodgers would feel aggrieved were he not provided with a bay-window, this and all the other great hotels are closely studded with these from top to bottom, presenting a very curious appearance externally.

Partly as a precaution against fire, the majority of dwelling-houses are built apart, each with a pleasant bit of shrubbery, so that you drive for miles through long avenues of fine detached houses, rather suggestive of the neighbourhood of a country town than of a huge busy city.

Of course in a town of which so large a portion is built of wood, the utmost importance attaches to the perfecting of every detail of fire-extinguishing organisation. The ever-present danger is sufficiently proven by the fact that no less than ninety-five insurance companies have found it worth their while to establish agencies in this city.

These companies are obliged by the State to support a fire-brigade of their own, to supplement the work of the city fire-brigade. It is called the Underwriters' Fire Patrol; and so perfect is the organisation of these corps, that they literally move by electricity, and at any hour of day or night they are warranted to start a fully equipped 30 21 fire-engine within ten seconds of the time when the electric alarm sounds.

In a large proportion of the citizens' houses there are electric signals, by which the first outbreak of fire can instantly communicated to the centre of the district, whence the alarm is immediately transmitted to every fire-station--the same electric current being employed to set in motion a series of most ingenious mechanical contrivances, which awaken both officers and men, light the gas, open the doors, and adjust the harness.

At every station the engines, which are worked by steam, are always ready--fires kindled, water boiling--and the splendid horses stand ready harnessed in their stalls, the weight of the collar being supported by a rope attached to the ceiling. The electric stroke which sounds the alarm works a mechanism which drops the collars, detaches the halters, and brings down a stroke of a light whip--a signal which causes each well-trained horse instantly to spring to his appointed place to right or left of the pole. An instantaneous movement simultaneously attaches the pole-chains to the collar, fastens the reins, and slips in the bit, while the other portions of the harness are similarly fastened to the engine.

While this is going on down-stairs, the beds in the dormitory overhead are jerked up, so as to turn out the sleepers, who are literally thrown into their fire-dress, with boots attached. Up flashes the gas, and the doors are thrown open--all by the same electric current. Straight stairs lead from the dormitories to the engine-room, but even to 31 22 rush down these would lose a second, so slides are fixed parallel with each, and down these the firemen glide, with a velocity which emulates that of the greased lightning which was so often commended to our attention in our younger days, when our seniors despatched us on troublesome errands.

In some of the great public buildings, such as the huge Palace Hotel, there are self-acting electric fire-alarms , which, without any human agency , call the attention of the central office to any unusual heat in any part of the house--so that a fire breaking out in a store-room or cupboard, actually gives notice of its own existence. Not content, however, with these electric warnings, the great hotels have watchmen always on patrol, whose duty it is to inspect every corner of the premises every half-hour, day and night.

The water-supply is also well attended to. For instance, the Palace Hotel has a huge reservoir beneath the central court, and seven great tanks on the roof. The former contains 630,000 gallons, the latter 130,000 gallons, and all are supplied by four artesian wells, capable of supplying 28,000 gallons per hour. This water-supply is carried to every corner of the huge building by means of about fifty upright four-inch pipes of wrought-iron, reaching from the basement to the roof. They are fed by three steam fire-pumps, and in their turn supply an endless extent of fire-hose.

So there certainly is no lack of precaution regarding this terrible source of danger; and as every district of the 32 23 town, and indeed a vast number of private houses, are in telegraphic communication with the fire department, it is evident that little time need be lost. Indeed, what with telegraphs and telephones, the whole city is like one great room--distances are annihilated. The sky is veiled by a perfect network of wires connecting private dwellings with business offices. A lady has just shown me, on the wall beside her, a small instrument like a clock, the face of which is divided into sections, having reference to fire, hackney-carriage, private carriage, message-boys, &c. &c.; so that, by turning the magic needle to the point required, she can, without leaving her room, summon a carriage, an errand-boy, a fire-engine, or any other trifle she may require. She tells me that this is quite a common luxury. Surely the genii of the Arabian Nights have cast their mantle on California, and Aladdin's lantern is the common property of all her fortunate daughters!

Leaving the city, we drove some miles to see the great Golden Gate Park, which is to be the Hyde Park of San Francisco, and is already "the Drive" and "Rotten Row" for all fashionables. It is still so new that its beauty is chiefly a thing of the future; but already it is a triumph of art and industry over an ungenial nature. Only six years ago it was a waste of desert sand, like those rolling sandhills which extend on every side of it.

It was determined to reclaim about a thousand acres of these desolate dunes, so a large tract was enclosed and thickly planted with the hardy perennial lupine, which is indigenous to California, and, flourishing on this thirsty 33 24 soil, grows to the size of a large bush. When it has once taken a firm hold of the sand, it subdues it effectually, and creates a soil on which, with the aid of abundant irrigation, turf will grow. Tens of thousands of trees have been planted, and are growing at an almost incredible rate; while the turf has been so diligently cared for, that already the wilderness is transformed into a rolling expanse of smoothest undulating lawn, brilliant with flower-beds. The ground is admirably laid out, and promises to become a thing of ever-increasing beauty.

To me, the chief fascination lay in the pioneer lupines, which, of their own sweet will, are striving to carry on the work of reclamation, and have overspread thousands of acres of the arid shifting sands. I had never dreamt of such wealth of flowers. Hitherto my ideas of lupines have been derived from the little packets which, as children, we sowed so carefully in our gardens, embedding them in chopped gorse as a protection against slugs and other foes. But here, for miles we drove through lupine scrub, each bush bearing thousands of spikes--orange, pale yellow, blue, white, lilac, or pink. Besides these shrub lupines, all the other sorts common in English gardens grow abundantly--the large succulent blue lupine, the smaller lemon-colour variety, and all the dwarfs of every hue.

Here, then, was a glimpse of California's lavish way of doing things. Elsewhere we drove among green pasture-hills, variegated by broad patches of the most intense orange. Here was Californian gold indeed, glowing in the 34 25 bright sunlight. I was puzzled by this new freak of vegetation, and marvelled what flowers had been so abundantly showered all over the green hills. It was too deep in colour for the familiar buttercups, though these abound; so at last I had to satisfy my curiosity by a nearer inspection, and recognised that these sheets of yellow gold are all produced by the eschscholtzia, which is here known as Californian poppy. Here and there a patch of deep blue larkspur, or the scarlet "painted brush," varied the colouring of this beautiful wild garden.

The object of our drive was to reach the cliffs over-looking the Golden Gates, which as yet I had only seen in the moonlight as we sailed through them into the Bay of San Francisco. The title is highly metaphorical, as the headlands which from the portals of the bay are in no sense golden, or even beautiful like all the cliffs round the harbour. They are of a dull-red colour, crowned with slopes of greenest grass. But as a sea view, the prospect was magnificent. The Pacific, untrue to its name, was all foam-flecked by angry waves, and huge green billows rolled in with deafening roar, and dashed in white spray against the gates.

But the fascination of the scene lay in the foreground. where herds of sea-lions* are for ever disporting themselves on the rocks, totally regardless of the human presence on the cliffs above, although a comfortable hotel has there been built, with a broad verandah from which all lovers of strange wild creatures can watch these to their 35 26 hearts' content. They are the pets of the State, happily protected by law, and no Goth dares to fire a gun in their demesne--the penalty for even firing a gun near them being a sum equal to £30, while £100 is the penalty for killing one. So in fearless security these creatures, generally so shy, remain in peaceful possession of their ancestral rocks, within an hour's drive of the great city.

The number of the herd is variously estimated at from 100 to 300. I do not myself see how any one can pretend to count animals which are for ever gliding in and out of the water, and are, moreover, so much alike. They are like a crowd of black, slimy leeches, as they climb, wriggling, out of the green sea or the white surf, with fish in mouth, and lie basking on the rocks to enjoy their prey. The hot sun soon dries them, and then they appear to be greyish-brown. How they do bellow and roar, and turn their sleepy heads, and gape at one another, showing formidable white teeth! Sometimes they all yelp simultaneously, like a pack of fox-hounds. Then some old grandfather begins to roar, waking the echoes with his deep base.

Some have strongly marked individuality, and are easily recognised; so of course these have received characteristic names. One patriarch, before whose presence all the others slink away meekly, is known as Ben Butler. He is a huge sleek fellow, fatter than any fat sow, and is supposed to weigh about 2000lb.! Ian Campbell says they are like great mastiffs with paralysed hind-quarters. They certainly are very like gigantic leeches--so soft, and glossy, and black! 36 27 Sometimes they have furious fights. They open their great mouths, and go at one another, biting viciously, and barking. At last one is beaten, and sinks down into the waves to hide his diminished head, while the victor draws himself up the steep jagged black rock by means of his long front flippers, and having reached the highest point he can attain, he there lies basking in the sun in perfect repose. The frivolous young seals gambol and snort, and carry on great games, while their mothers sleep peacefully, with their snouts pointing heavenward, and their heads pillowed on their own natural bolsters of fat.

Sometimes a grave old grannie curls herself up, that she may the better scratch her head with her hind-flipper--a ludicrous position, as you will know, if you have ever observed a cow scratching her nose with her hind-leg! Besides these sea-lions, the rocks are haunted by various wild sea-birds; grey pelicans and black cormorants sit solemnly perched on the crags, while white sea-gulls circle around with shrill piercing cries, which blend with the roaring of the seals and the beating of the surf on the rocks.

This was a scene after my own heart; and as seen with the aid of my dear old opera-glasses (inseparable companions of all my wanderings), I could discern every movement and expression of each individual in the herd (though I cannot pretend to have observed the external ears which distinguish these from other seals). Surely such a spectacle, seen from such comfortable surroundings, must be unique. I happened, on returning here, to express 37 28 my delight with the scene, and some smart town-bred San Franciscan ladies looked at me with pitying wonder. They were in the constant habit of driving to the Cliff House, but not for love of the sea-lions!

There is another group of rocks, about thirty miles from here, which is also tenanted by these creatures. These are the Far-allones--precipitous masses of white granite. We sailed very near them the night we came in, and could discern a multitude of dark creatures moving on the white rocks, which gleamed so coldly in the moonlight. Their name is legion. Happily they have such poor fur as to possess no commercial value; hence their impunity. The gulls, which are there in myriads, are less fortunate. Their eggs command a ready sale in the market, and countless thousands are annually carried to San Francisco, and there consumed. The advent of the egg-collectors is gladly hailed by the lonely watchers in the Far-allone lighthouse, to whom the presence of other human beings must be a rare interest.

On our homeward way, we came by the Lone Mountain Cemetery--the great burial-ground for the city. It takes its name from a lonely sandhill within the Roman Catholic Cemetery. A great cross crowns the hill--a solemn symbol, visible from afar. Now, this region is all peopled with the quiet dead, and a multitude of graves occupy the hilly ground overlooking the harbour. It is a fresh, breezy spot, fragrant with the choicest garden flowers, which loving hands have planted round their dead, and which flourish and spread in rank luxuriance; roses, jessamine, and 38 29 honeysuckle festooning the monuments and railings, while fuchsias, geraniums, pinks, lilies, and violets run riot in their rich profusion.

This graceful consecration of flowers extends even to the names given to the winding paths; and Acacia Avenue, Lily Path, or Rose Walk are the inviting titles which distinguish different portions of God's acre. It is a pleasant resting-place, marked by no grim formality, rather suggesting a quiet shrubbery, with graves grouped here and there in grassy glades, overshadowed by fine old ilex or "live oaks," as they are here called. The eucalyptus, cypress, mimosa, and other trees and shrubs, have taken kindly to these once barren sandhills, and now form shady groves and rich clumps, and will, in a very few years, become stately and beautiful trees; while some palms and cactus give almost a suggestion of the tropics. So the last home of the sleepers is an embodied idyl; flowers and sunlight, and quiet green hills overlooking the great calm haven, fading away in a hazy mist which veils the distant hills. I think, however, that the poetry of death receives a rude shock from the very artificial treatment of the dead. I am told that here the pure white shroud is well-nigh a thing of the past, and that the frivolities of dress are never more carefully considered than in the solemn presence of Azrael.

There is more to be said in favour of the term "casket" to describe a beautified coffin. It reminds me of a certain family mausoleum in Scotland, whose owner always spoke of it as "his jewel-case." He had therein enshrined four wives!

Concluding Note

Progressive America objects to our old-fashioned lugubrious coffins, which are now very generally discarded in favour of highly ornamental "caskets," in which the suggestive form of a coffin is ignored. An oblong box of uniform width is made of the most costly woods--satin-wood or polished oak--with silver mountings. It is lined with silk or satin, and the head of the sleeper is laid on a satin pillow.

The lid is partly glazed, that all friends may be privileged to take a long last look at the dead--a doubtful boon when so cruel a tyrant as Change rules the hour; but his work is stayed for a little season by various artificial means.

These æsthetic coffins apparently rank as things of beauty, pleasant to look upon, to judge from the following account of a Chicago Industrial and Fine Art Exhibition:--

"A brilliant spectacle was presented, as the gleam of electric lamps was shed over gay costumes and richly furnished stalls; among which latter, not the least showy was that of an enterprising undertaker, prepared to gratify the most sumptuous taste in the matter of coffins. Looking at this display of `caskets,' as they were euphemistically styled, in polished marbles and other ornamental materials, it was not surprising to hear that a common practice in the States is to send the dead to their long homes decked out in fine raiment of fashionable cut, and with moustaches waxed, and nosegays in their button-holes."

Apparently the coffin department holds its place in all exhibitions of art and industry, for a gentleman returning from the Philadelphia Exhibition told me that he had overheard two ladies discussing the exhibits, and they agreed that the Funeral Department was quite the most interesting. Said the first, "Oh, that lovely casket of delicate blue velvet lined with pale-rose 40 31 satin, so beautifully quilted!" "Well," said the other, "for my part, I preferred the black velvet with crimson velvet lining. You know crimson is so becoming to a corpse!"

While England is discussing how she can most simply dispose of her dead, and the "Economic Funeral Company" advertises its claims to the gratitude of the multitude of mourners whose grief is only embittered by the pressure of expensive ceremonial,--the undertakers of America are thriving, and vying one with another in every extravagance which can be encouraged by their sad profession.

They have a monthly magazine of their own, called `The Casket,' which has already been running for several years, and is illustrated with portraits of the leading undertakers--"The Monarchs of the Road," as they call themselves. This periodical is the advertising medium of all the great funeral establishments, and of the inventors of various methods of embalming. Drugs for this purpose are advertised, for the use of families which incline to domestic experiments, and full directions for use are given, and for all the ghastly processes of thus manipulating the loved remains.

With a happy consciousness that few relations would care to usurp these "professional" functions, the great establishments advertise their readiness, at any moment of day or night, to send out a competent staff to take charge of all details. All that is required is a hint as to the "style" preferred, and the special method by which the body is to be prepared. The director-general and his assistants will take good care that all is done in first-rate "style."

The Antiseptic Embalming Fluid is highly recommended. "It preserves the body without destroying the identity of the features; it removes discolorations, restores the skin to its natural colour, prevents the formation of gases, and acts as a preservative in all kinds of weather without the use of ice.

By a more revolting process, minutely detailed, the body, after being plunged into a bath of salts of alumina, is filled with a liquid, described as "The Egyptian Embalmer--a never-failing preservative."

As a matter of course, `The Casket' revels in descriptions of elaborate funerals, giving details as minute as the records of fashion in a Court Journal. All the splendours of costly material are enlarged upon, and estimates of the sums which have been expended--which in some cases have been made to mount up to 10,000 dollars (£2000)!

But it is not only this journal of death which luxuriates in such details. Here is an extract from a New York paper on the last toilet of a lady:--

"Miss R., the deceased, was laid out in white rep silk, elegantly trimmed with white satin and very fine point-lace. The skirt was draped with smilax and lilies of the valley. The casket was made to order by the Stein Manufacturing Co. of Rochester, in their celebrated Princess style. It was covered with the most delicate shade of blue silk velvet, with corners and mouldings tufted with white satin. The inside was trimmed with white satin, and with very heavy sewing-silk and bullion fringe. The handles were long bars covered with sewing-silk. The casket opened at full length, the inside of the lid being tufted with white satin. Miss R. looked very natural, more as if asleep than dead. There was a splendid display of flowers, sent as tokens of sympathy from her many friends. All the stands containing the flowers were covered with white, giving a general appearance of purity."

Nor is such care for personal appearance bestowed only on the young and beautiful. Grave citizens, whose influence on their fellows has been due to far different qualities, are now consigned to the hands of "artists," who relieve the ghastly pallor of death by a judicious application of rouge, and the dead 42 33 man, in full evening dress, with costly studs on snowy shirt front, white gloves, and a necktie that Beau Brummel might have envied, lies in state to receive the last ceremonial visit of all his friends and acquaintance.

In further illustration of a subject which to English ears sounds so painfully artificial, I think the following passage from `The San Francisco Sunday Times' is sufficiently curious to be worth preserving:--

"`Funerals are very troublesome affairs,' said the head of a leading undertaking establishment to a `New York Mercury' reporter who accosted him on the subject, `for the reason that the mourners are never on hand, and you are kept always an hour behind time. The only time we have things as we wish, is when we are notified to come and take charge of the remains. Then we have all to say, and can proceed with our work without delay.'

"`How do you prepare remains generally?'

"`We first find when the body is to be buried, then place it on ice and secure the order for the coffin or casket; then on the morning or afternoon previous to the funeral, we go to the house and place the body in the casket, after first nicely dressing it, and combing the hair, and making all as favourable to the eye as possible.'

"`Suppose the person had died a violent death, or in some way the features became repulsive to the eye, what would you do?'

"`In that case we would resort to the art, or I might say the secrets, of our profession. For instance, if the mouth could not be closed, we would sew the lips together, on the inside, or else secure them to the teeth with thread. I can tell you of any number of curious cases I have had. Only a few weeks ago, the sister of a well-known lady who had died a maiden, came to me and said, "I have come myself to give you the 43 34 order for my sister's funeral, because there are some arrangements to be carried through, which she requested me to have strictly followed. I want you to engage an artist to come to the house. She died from the effects of consumption, and is very pale. Her face must be made to look as natural as possible. Her lips are blue: I want them made red. Her suit to wear in the casket is now being finished by the dressmaker, and your female attendant must be careful about putting on the dress, because it is made to fit her as if she was in full life."

"`Well, I went to the house on Fifth Avenue the next day: my artist began his work, and when he was through, my woman attendant carefully dressed and laid out the body in the casket. When the artist and myself entered the parlour and looked at the remains, it was wonderful! The dress of the woman was fit to be worn by a princess as a bridal suit. She was adorned with jewellery, and upon her head rested a wreath of lilies, while her hands were encased in white kid gloves. Her age was forty-three years; she then looked eighteen. Her outfit was composed of fine corded white silk, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, and looped up at the sides.'"

After revealing various other family secrets, the reporter gives some ghastly details of embalming as occasionally practised in the States. He then goes on to quote some remarks of another well-known undertaker:--

"`I handle corpses of every kind, from those of wealthy gentlemen to those taken from the Morgue and saved from pauper's graves. I don't do much embalming, but I have the most curious orders for furnishing some funerals. Only a few days ago I received an order to furnish a shroud of pure white satin, scolloped about the bottom, and with silk rosettes up the centre to the neck-front, which was to be turned back so that the breast could be seen uncovered nearly to the waist. This was for a young woman about eighteen years of age, who died 44 35 after a short illness. She had not fallen away much, and still preserved unmistakable signs of having been a beautiful-looking girl while in life. Her husband, an old Southerner, stood near her casket, and I saw him touch her face with his handkerchief. When I approached the remains I at once noticed that her eyelashes and eyebrows had been pencilled, and her cheeks and lips painted. The poor old fellow was wild at losing his young bride. I thought at first she was his daughter, but at the hotel I was soon informed that she was his second wife.'

"`How do you find the business now in comparison with that of former years?'

"`People are not so lavish about flowers, but a great deal of "style" is wanted about the corpse. Some few years back a body was seldom robed in anything but a shroud; to-day shrouds are hardly used except by Catholics and Hebrews . Gentlemen, as a rule, are laid out in a full suit of black cloth, a white shirt, and black necktie, the hair and moustache or whiskers being arranged to suit. I have known of instances where a dentist has been ordered to place a set of false teeth with a $20 gold plate in the mouth of a dead woman to save her looks.'

"`Is the parting scene as affecting as formerly?'

"`No, that has changed for the better. People are becoming toned down. Old-time screeching and crying is dying out.'"

This is indeed the unpoetical side of the picture, as seen from a professional point of view.

Extremes in all fashion generally lead to a reaction, and it would appear that funerals are no exception to this rule, for I am told that the leaders of society in New York now affect extreme simplicity, and have declared in favour of pure white shrouds and ordinary coffins.

Moreover, to so great an excess had the custom of sending flowers to the house of the dead been carried, that the 45 36 announcement of a death is now frequently accompanied by a request that friends will send no flowers. The multitude of these ceremonial offerings had become embarrassing, and extra carriages were required to convey them to the grave. Thus the funeral car of Mr Stewart, the famous millionaire, was followed by six carriages filled with floral offerings. (A few days later, the poor corpse thus honoured was stolen from its grave, and has never been recovered.)

The customs which here regulate prolonged periods of mourning, would be considered sorely lugubrious in Britain. For parents, three years of the deepest dule is requisite before any shade of lighter mourning can be sanctioned, and for brothers and sisters nearly as long a period; and any wish to join in the simplest social pleasures is deemed lamentably frivolous.

Perhaps the long mourning may be better tolerated in America, inasmuch as families are, as a rule, so much smaller than those in the mother-country. But relations by marriage are soon disposed of, and mourning for a father or mother-in-law is a short matter. But occasionally American free strength of mind triumphs, and, shaking off these conventional trammels, contrives to dispense with all the trappings of woe with a velocity very startling to more rigid neighbours.

SPANISH NAMES--TRACES OF THE EARLY MISSION--SAN RAFAEL--THE COAST RANGE--REDWOOD FOREST--A CHAIN OF VOLCANOES--A PARADISE OF FLOWERS--POISON-OAK.

SAN RAFAEL, April 26, 1882.

DEAR NELL,--People may well say this is but a small world. It is only four days since I landed in San Francisco, without the slightest expectation of seeing one "kent face," and lo! there immediately appeared a friend from Sussex, whom I now discover to be a true old Californian, a magician, who has made my way all plain. He left me, determined to find a pleasant companion to be my escort to the Yo¯-semite´ Valley. Who should come to his house that very day but Mr David, whom I supposed to be safe in Morayshire! It appears that he came to California a good while ago, and has been so entranced by sport and fishing, that he has never been able to tear himself away!

At last, however, he wishes to visit Canada; but 47 38 feeling that he really could not leave California without seeing the Yo¯-semite´, he came to the town to make arrangements for so doing, and was greeted with the news of my arrival. A few minutes later he was giving me screeds of home news, having just received long letters from several members of my family. As a matter of course, he at once assumed all the troubles and duties of escort. We hear that the roads to the valley are open, so we have every prospect of a delightful expedition. Is it not a strange piece of luck to have thus "happened" on a stanch old friend of thirty years' standing, in this New World? I am to rejoin him at San Francisco this afternoon, and make our start from thence.

I have been for two days in this pretty town of pleasant villas and gardens, surrounded with very green grassy hills. It is one of the numerous suburbs of San Francisco, each of which is in itself a large and important town. San Rafael, San Pablo, Saucelito, Oakland, Brooklyn, Alameda, San Leandro, San Lorenzo, San Mateo, San Bruno, San Miguel, Milbrae, Belmont, and Redwood City, are a few of the flourishing young children of this wonderfully prolific young mother.

Those I have named all lie within about an hour by steamboat or rail, and are the homes of a multitude of men whose business requires their daily presence in the crowded city, but whose wealth enables them to create most luxurious semi-country homes in a more genial climate than that of San Francisco, which is exceptionally disagreeable, as compared with that of California in 48 39 general. There are few days which do not ring the changes on pleasant, enticing sunshine, and treacherous, chilling sea-fogs. These are driven down the coast by the trade-winds; but as they rarely rise above a thousand feet, the Coast Range acts as an effectual barrier for their exclusion, till they reach the Golden Gate, through which they sweep as through a funnel, and the heated air in the bay suddenly becomes clammy and chill; and the rash stranger, who had been enticed by the brilliant morning to go out without warm wraps, is conscious of piercing damp, and shivers involuntarily. The old inhabitants tell you that it is rarely safe to sit for long at an open window, and that there are few days in the year when it is not desirable to have a fire morning and evening, though there is ample warmth while the sun shines. They say, too, that neuralgia and rheumatism, in all their painful phases, are only too common.

I daresay you are as much astonished as I am at the multitude of saintly names in this part of the world. They are all reminders of the old Spanish Mission, which seems to have dedicated some corner to every saint in the calendar, lest any should feel neglected!

The Jesuit Fathers found their way to Lower California in the year 1697, and established various mission stations, where they worked with considerable success for nearly a hundred years, till Charles III. of Spain decreed that even in this far country they might not dwell in peace. So they were expelled, and their settlements were made over to the Franciscans. Eventually these gave way to the 49 40 Dominicans, who remained in exclusive possession of Lower California, the Franciscans retiring northward, marking their pathway by the saintly names sown broadcast over the land.

The members of the mission do not seem to have penetrated beyond the Sierra Nevada; at least I can only hear of one inland town having been canonised--namely, San Carlos. Even in the great fertile San Joaquin Valley, there are very few names which suggest a Spanish origin.

But all down the coast, from San Francisco to Mexico, the strip of country between the sea and the low Coast Range is entirely given over to the saints; and you pass from Santa Clara to San Jose´ (which is pronounced Hozay), Santa Cruz, St Paul, St Vincent, San Benito, San Lorenzo, Santa Lucia, Santa Margarita, San Luis Obispo, San Mauelilo, Santa Rese, San Inez, Point Concepcion, Point Purissima, Jesu Maria, Santa Maria, Santa Barbara, San Sisquac, San Francisquitto, Los Angeles, Santa Monte, San Pedro, San Diego and San Diegnito, San Bernardino,--and so on ad infinitum . All the islands are similarly dedicated to Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, Santa Catalina, Santa Rosa, Santa Ana, Santa Clara, San Miguel, San Nicolas, San Clemente, &c. &c. Among the mountains are the Sierra Sangre de Christo and Sierra Miguel; and of rivers we find Rio Virgin and Rio de los Dolores.

The preachers of the Cross found no lack of work, for there was at that time a very large Indian population throughout the whole region; and even so late as 1823, the Indians of California were estimated by various 50 41 authorities at upwards of 100,000. But from the time when white men invaded the land, the aboriginal inhabitants rapidly decreased (no wonder, when they were shot down as ruthlessly as the herds of wild bison!), and the census of 1863 found only 29,000 Indians remaining. This number is not supposed to have diminished much; but of course it is difficult to obtain an exact census of so nomadic a race.

However, to return to San Rafael. I came here on a visit to a most hospitable Scot, a partner of my original friend. His charming home is only about an hour's journey from San Francisco; but it involved travelling by tram, steamer, railway, and carriage--or (to express myself correctly) we had a ride in the street car, a ride in the steamship, a ride in the steam-cars, and a ride in a carriage. If we really had occasion to ride, we should talk of "riding horseback," as a necessary distinction. We exchanged the steamer for the train at St Quentin (yet another saint!).

It was truly pleasant to be welcomed to this cosy, home-like nest, just like an English country-house, except that the roses are here in such profusion as they rarely attain in the old country. They climb over tall shrubs and droop in clustering masses of crimson and white, fragrant and most beautiful. Gardening in this country must be a delight; and when I look at the almost spontaneous growth of everything here, my thoughts go back to our poor little garden in Fiji, and to all the pains expended on it for such small result in the way of 51 42 blossom. Here, as in Australia, all manner of plants grow happily side by side, and make no difficulty about acclimatisation. The loquat and the lemon grow beside English oak and ivy, and the ground is carpeted with violets and lilies.

Yesterday my kind hosts had arranged a cheery picnic-party to a very pretty artificial lake at the foot of Mount Tamal Pais. Though barely 2600 feet in height, it is the great landmark hereabouts. It lies six miles southwest of San Rafael,--a very beautiful drive through hilly country, all spurs of the Coast Range. In the freshness of this early spring, all the bare slopes are of the most vivid green, just the colour of young rice-fields; while the canyons are clothed with fine timber, including many trees which were to me unfamiliar.

Of the latter, one of the most abundant is the madron˜a, which is peculiar to the Coast Range, and literally found nowhere else. It is a kind of arbutus, with dark glossy foliage, and rich clusters of white blossom like tiny bells. Its stem is of a glossy red. The madron˜a ranks as a first-class forest-tree, occasionally attaining to a height of fifty feet, and a diameter of from six to eight feet. Its bark always retains a warm chocolate colour, very pleasant among the forest greens; and in the spring-time the tree is dear to the brown honey-bees, who find stores of treasure in its countless branches of small wax-like white blossoms. The manzanita is another relative of the arbutus, but it flourishes throughout the State.

The Coast Range also has a monopoly of the stately 52 43 redwood cedar,* which belongs exclusively to the forest belt lying within the influence of the Pacific sea-fogs. One man's meat is said to be his neighbour's poison, and I think the proverb applies to the beautiful trees which are nourished by the damp chilling sea-mists. Formerly many of the hills near San Francisco were clothed with the beautiful redwood; but it was found so valuable for building purposes, that the primeval forests have now entirely disappeared from the neighbourhood. One advantage is, that it burns very slowly; so its use somewhat lessens the danger of fire. No other tree splits so true to the grain, or is so much prized by the lumberer; none better resists the action of damp and decay. Naturally, therefore, it is a favourite wood with the builders; and so the forests near San Francisco now exist only in the form of houses or railroad timber. And still the work of destruction goes on, and north and south the lumberers are busy felling the beautiful growth of centuries, to be turned to common use.

I am told that these redwood forests are perhaps the most stately in the world, almost more beautiful than the Big Trees groves, and not very far behind them in size. Many individual trees measure from 60 to 80 feet in circumference--some are found ranging from 90 to 100--and from 200 to 300 feet in height. One has been proved to be upwards of 344 feet high--a glorious spire. Much of the characteristic beauty of a redwood forest is attributed to the fact that it generally grows alone, not mixed with 53 44 other trees; so that thousands of these beautiful stems are grouped like so many pillars, averaging from 8 to 12 feet in diameter, and marvellously straight and tall. These grand cinnamon-coloured shafts lose themselves in a canopy of rich deep green, which almost hides the sky. And no sound breaks the solemn silence but the distant muffled roar of the surf beating on the sands.

One group of these great trees, on the road between San Jose´ and Santa Cruz, has been converted into a quaint hotel! Here is its description, taken from a local paper: "Imagine ten immense trees standing a few feet apart, and hollow inside; these are the hotel,--neat, breezy, and romantic. The largest tree is 65 feet round, and contains a sitting-room. All about this tree is a garden of flowers and evergreens. The drawing-room is a bower made of redwood, evergreens, and madron˜a branches. For bed-chambers, there are nine great hollow trees, whitewashed or papered, and having doors cut to fit the shape of the holes. Literature finds a place in a leaning stump, dubbed `the library.'"

Far more startling is the account given in another Californian paper, of a railway viaduct in Sonoma County. Between the Chipper Mills and Stewart's Point, where the road crosses a deep ravine, the trees are sawed off on a level, and the roadway of rough timber is actually laid on these growing pillars. In the centre of the ravine, two huge redwood trees standing side by side have been cut off 75 feet above the ground, and form substantial central 54 45 columns for the support of the railway, across which heavily laden timber-cars pass securely.

A very small number of redwoods have been found in Oregon; otherwise the Sequoia sempervirens (like its big brother, the majestic Sequoia gigantea , which English people so obstinately and unreasonably persist in calling Wellingtonia , to the just annoyance of the Americans) is essentially and exclusively Californian,--the former refusing to live anywhere save on the Coast Range, the latter equally rigid in its allegiance to the Sierra Nevada. Of course I allude to the natural habit of these trees. The multitude of flourishing young specimens now growing in Britain and elsewhere, prove their willingness to live in other lands; but many a long century will elapse ere these young generations can attain to even the same character as their noble ancestors.

I do not know whether it is merely an ingenious derivation or a fact, that California owes its name to the pine-forests which form so marked a characteristic both of its shores and mountains. The theory rests on the Spanish word for resin being colofonia ; and the idea is, that the State may have been so named by the early Spanish missionaries. Another suggestion is, that the name was derived from caliente fornalo , a heated furnace, in allusion to the blazing heat of the summer.

It really is pathetic to hear of the wholesale destruction of these grand forests, which year by year are mowed down wholesale by the lumberers--men whose one thought in connection with trees is, how many feet of timber they 55 46 will yield. A good redwood forest yields about 800,000 feet to the acre; but one large tree, eighteen feet in diameter, will give 180,000 feet.

Some years ago, a tremendous storm flooded the rivers in Northern California, and a vast number of huge logs were carried out to sea for a distance of 150 miles, greatly to the peril of ships, as you can well imagine, seeing that they averaged from 120 to 210 feet in length, and some were ten feet in diameter. Many of these poor battered logs drifted back to the homes of their youth--the shores of the forests whence they were hewn, on the Klamath and Redwood rivers; but many were cast ashore near Crescent City, where they were turned to good account. Sometimes great logs thus drift far, far away from land, and the ocean-currents sweep them onward till they reach some distant shore, and are hailed as an invaluable prize by islanders to whom such giant stems are unknown. Thus, when Vancouver visited Kauai, the northernmost of the Hawaiian Isles, he noticed a very handsome canoe upwards of sixty feet in length, which had been made from an American pine-log, that had drifted ashore in a perfectly sound condition. The natives had kept the log unwrought for a long time, hoping that the tide might bring them a second, and enable them to make such a double canoe as would have been the envy of the whole group; but for this they had waited in vain.

I am strongly advised not to leave this coast till I have seen some of these northern forests, in Mendocino and Humboldt counties, and still farther north in Oregon, 56 47 where there is a warm damp tract of country, favourable to a most luxuriant growth of all green things, from ferns to forest-trees. Damp it may well be, as it is said to rain there for thirteen months in the year!

I am told that if I care for beautiful scenery, I must at least sail up the great Columbia river, which divides Oregon from Washington territory, and (passing by Portland and Fort Vancouver) stay a while at The Dalles--a dry and dusty region--where the broad beautiful river crosses the Cascade Range; a chain which, though green and pleasant to the eye, is one great mass of lava and basalt, on which are built up a series of grand volcanic cones, one of which, Mount Hood, lies close to The Dalles. It is upwards of 12,000 feet in height--a perfect cone, generally robed in snow,--a thing of glittering light, appearing like a vision far above the clouds.

On the other side of the river, stretching away to the north towards Puget Sound, stand a whole regiment of these great cones--like sentinels guarding the range. Of these the principal are Mout Rainier, St Helen's, Mount Baker, and Mount Jackson. To the south lie Mount Jefferson, Diamond Peak, Black Bute, and, southernmost and grandest of all, Mount Shasta, a lonely, majestic mount, crowned with eternal snow, and towering from a broad base of dark pine-forest to a height upward of 14,000 feet.

Certainly the expedition to the Columbia river sounds tempting, and would be a very simple one--all straight sailing, or rather steaming, as regular steamers are 57 48 constantly plying along the coast. However, for the present, my face is steadfastly turned towards the Granite Crags of Yo¯-semite´, and thence to the Fire Fountains of Hawaii.

The redwoods have led me into a long digression. I meant to tell you of the amazing profusion of wild flowers, which make this country like a dream of fairyland. Nowhere have I seen anything approaching to it, though I fancy that the plains of Morocco in spring must be of much the same character. Here, the meadows and the hills alike are literally a blaze of scarlet, gold, and deep blue, from the sheets of what we only know as garden flowers. In the deepest ravines flames of vivid colour shine through the gloom, lighting up every dark chasm with bright-hued blossoms, such as we cultivate carefully in greenhouses. Here they grow spontaneously, and look comfortable and quite at their ease. Some are on a magnified scale as compared with their garden cousins; others, again, are somewhat stunted, but have a wild charm of their own, which to me is ever lacking in artificially educated plants.

Yesterday's expedition was one long succession of delightful surprises, as each step revealed some dear old friend snugly at home. We collected treasures till we could carry no more. I gathered specimens of fully a hundred different kinds, though as to giving you their names, that is quite beyond me. I am told that in the course of a Californian summer, six hundred different flowers can be collected. But, just to give you a general idea of the sort of thing, there are, first of all, the various 58 49 lupines I have already mentioned as covering the sand-hills for miles, with a dense carpet of delicate colour--pink, white, and blue, lemon and gold.

Next come the larkspurs, deep blue or pure scarlet; the pale blue nemophila, and the large white variety with purple spots; scarlet columbine, sweetly perfumed musk, yellow borage, scarlet lychnis, yellow tulips; pentstemons, blue and scarlet; Indian pink, heart's-ease, blue forget-me-not, crimson and scarlet "painted cup," dwarf sunflower, saxifrage, southernwood, and a most graceful kind of fritillaria, bearing a cluster of six or eight bells on one stem.

I saw some blossoms of the lovely Trillium album with its three snowy petals, also a kind of starry clematis trailing over the brushwood. In the open glades the eschscholtzia lies in broad patches of glowing orange on the park-like slopes. Of the humbler blossoms, one new to me is a lovely little yellow flower, with a brown heart like a pansy. It is called the Californian violet--a variety, I suppose, of the dog-tooth. Never before have I seen Tennyson's words so well illustrated, for truly "You scarce could see the grass for flowers."

Along the sedgy water-courses I found bright blue dwarf iris, and delicate yellow mimulus, golden ranunculus, and myosotis. In short, lovely darlings without number.

It was a great delight to me to find the jovial round face of the familiar sunflower beaming a cheery welcome to its Californian birthplace, but we only saw a few 59 50 blossoms. I was told, however, that there are tracts in the mountain districts to the south where, for miles and miles, successive ridges gleam like gold, owing to the myriads of these gigantic yellow daisies--all of the dwarf kind, and so closely packed that there is no green to be seen, only a sheet of saffron hue. The same glory over-spreads southern Colorado, where purple asters also abound; and both grow so freely, that they even spring up from the turf sods with which the miners roof their huts, giving quite an æsthetic touch to the dingy camps.

Among the flowering shrubs I chiefly noticed the ceanothus or Californian lilac, with its scented spikes of pale-blue blossom; while here, as elsewhere, the wild honeysuckle excelled all else in fragrance, its trails mingling with those of perfumed wild roses, which festooned the scrub, and sometimes tempted us into danger.

For even in this floral paradise mischief lurks, under the guise of a very innocent-looking prickly oak, whose young scarlet leaves are attractive enough to tempt the unwary hand to pluck them--a rash deed, of which only a new-comer could be guilty, for all Californians shrink instinctively from the treacherous poison-oak, which, with good reason, they regard with the utmost horror. It is the upas-tree of this region. Many people are utterly prostrated by merely breathing too near it. I suppose it gives forth some subtle exhalation which, to sensitive constitutions, really is poisonous. Certainly some persons are more readily affected than others; for whereas with 60 51 many the slightest scratch from one of its prickly leaves produces boils and sores, very difficult to cure, others, finding themselves unawares in a thicket of the dreaded plant, have come home in fear and trembling, supposing they must assuredly be poisoned, and yet have felt no harm.

One thing certain is, that it is most poisonous in spring, when the milky sap is rising, and that if it comes in contact with broken skin, any bruise or cut, mischief is almost inevitable. Like that of the opium poppy, this sap, when fresh, is pure white, but becomes black on exposure to the air. Every one seems inspired with a charitable wish to save the new-comer from making this agonising discovery for himself--and many a kind warning has already been given me on this subject. This dangerous little shrub is a scraggy bush, of parasitic habit, inclined to cling like ivy to rocks and trees. It is a member of the Sumach family, and bears a leaf something between a bramble and a holly, but in no wise resembling an oak.

Like most other things, it is capable of being turned to good uses; and I am told that to the skilful homœopathic herbalist it yields a tincture valuable for sprains and rheumatism, and even useful in paralysis.

In exploring the bush, I was reminded of California's tendency to large growth by the enormous size of the gall-apples on the common oaks. I gathered a considerable number as curiosities, each as large as a goodly apple!

When we had gathered flowers to our hearts' content, and watched the blue jays and squirrels darting about, we 61 52 were ready to enjoy a capital luncheon spread under the trees, on the green turf; after which some went fishing on the large artificial lake,--which is, I believe, the reservoir for the use of San Rafael,--and the others walked round it, still in search of new flowers. We diverged a little, to experience the new sensation of hearing and talking through a telephone with people at San Rafael, distant eight miles. Then came the boiling of the kettle, and a cheery tea, followed by a delightful drive home and a pleasant evening.

This morning I was up at daybreak to write to you, that I may post this letter before starting for "The Valley." It is 7 A.M., and almost time for breakfast. Mine host, being a busy man, must make up for living so far from his work by leaving home betimes.

P.S.-- San Francisco .--We returned here about 9 A.M.; and as we are not to start till 3.30, Mr David suggested that we should fill up the time by a visit to Woodward's Gardens, which are a combination of zoological and botanical gardens, gymnasium, skating-rink, museum, and anything else you can think of. To me the chief points of interest lay in the aquarium, where there is a charming fish with eyes like two large brass beads, and another with fleshy spikes all round his mouth. Several large tanks are occupied by sea-lions, captured at the Far-allones, and bought by weight, at the rate of three shillings (75 cents) per lb.!

The largest has spent seven years in the gardens. 62 53 Captivity seems to agree with him, as he now weighs upwards of a ton! We watched him feeding, and felt convinced that he took a malicious pleasure in splashing the rudely staring multitude, including ourselves.

Now good-bye. We are just ready to start.--Your loving sister,C. F. G. C.

START FOR THE SIERRA NEVADA--THE GREAT SAN JOAQUIN AND SACRAMENTO VALLEYS--WHOLESALE FARMING-ORCHARDS--MERCED--HORNITOS--PAH-UTE INDIANS--MARIPOSA VALLEY--CLARKE'S RANCH.

CLARKE'S RANCH,

NEAR THE MARIPOSA BIG TREES,

Sunday Evening, April 28.

WE arrived here this afternoon, having done more than "a Sabbath-day's journey," in that we travelled from sunrise till 4 P.M. ere we reached this haven of rest in the midst of a beautiful forest. We have had a magnificent drive, and found comfortable quarters awaiting us here in a cosy group of one-storeyed houses, with separate cottages for bedrooms--everything clean and pleasant, kind people, and none of the stiffness and insouciance of a regular hotel.

We are now 6000 feet nearer heaven than when I last wrote to you, and are fairly on the Sierras, which close us in to-night, and look down on us from above the tree-tops. I have just been watching a glorious sunset. 64 55 The tall pines stood out clear against the golden light like pyramids of burnished ebony; and long after the evening shadows had enfolded this peaceful homestead, the snowy peaks caught the last rays of the vanished sun, and towered, glittering, as if suspended in mid-air far above the mellow mist.

Then a clattering of hoofs announced the approach of a troop of horses and mules driven in from their forest pastures to their night quarters in the corral, to be ready for our use in the early morning.

Now it is so chilly that I am delighted to find a blazing fire of good pine-logs--pitch-pine I think they are called; anyhow, they burn cheerily, especially when a resinous knot blazes up with a bright clear flame.

I must tell you all about our journey so far. As you know, we left San Francisco on Friday afternoon. First we drove to the Oakland ferry, and a large steamer took us across the Bay of San Francisco to Oakland, which is one of the gigantic city's great babies--in itself a city of pleasant villas, which already numbers about 50,000 inhabitants, 10,000 of whom are computed to cross the ferry daily by the magnificent steamers which ply to and fro every half-hour.

It must be rather inconvenient for the San Franciscans always to have this break at the beginning or end of a journey; but everything is arranged like clockwork to facilitate travel. For instance, a Baggage Transfer Company took possession of our luggage at the hotel, and restored it safely on our leaving the train. I believe that 65 56 freight-cars are run bodily across the ferry; and a huge boat is now being built which will carry twenty such vans, and enough cattle to load twenty more, at each crossing.

This was my first experience of an American railway, so of course everything was novel, beginning with the engines, with their huge chimneys to allow of burning wood, and also the "cow-catchers" or projecting fence of iron bars, which is intended to sweep wandering cattle off the line--"varra awkward for the cow!"

Instead of carriages divided into compartments, as in England, the cars are very long, like a church aisle, with about a dozen seats--each fitted for two persons--on either side of a middle passage, along which any one who chooses may wander from one end of the train to the other,--a privilege of which so many persons take advantage, that they seem to be for ever passing and repassing, slamming doors, &c. Ladies go to the fountain to drink iced water, which is supplied freely in all carriages; gentlemen pass to and from the smoking-carriage; and men selling cigars, books, newspapers, fruit, and sweetmeats, endeavour to find customers among the passengers.

This extreme publicity doubtless has its advantages, in preventing any possibility of danger from bad or mad companions; nevertheless, I think a comfortable corner, in the seclusion of a luxurious English carriage, is preferable to even the much-vaunted Pullman cars, in which, as in the ordinary cars, you must perforce sit up all day without any support for weary head and shoulders. The 66 57 height of luxury is attained in the drawing-room car, where each passenger is provided with a comfortable arm-chair, which, though a fixture, is constructed so as to turn in every direction.

The railway carried us through the great San Joaquin Valley as far as Merced, a distance of 150 miles. As this may not convey very much to your mind, I may as well explain the lie of the land.

This grand State may be roughly described as a magnificent basin, encompassed on the right hand and on the left by mighty mountain-barriers. On the west, the low Coast Range runs parallel with the shores of the Pacific, while on the east towers the glorious Sierras, crowned with everlasting snows--a true Alpine range--in which upwards of a hundred peaks average 13,000 feet in height, while Mount Whitney, one of the southernmost points, attains nearly 15,000 feet.

The Coast Range only averages about 4000 feet, and its highest peaks are about 8000. The two ranges run parallel for a distance of 500 miles, then converge, both at the northern and southern extremities, thus enclosing the wide tract of level land which lies between these mountain-ramparts, and forming one vast fertile valley.This is watered by two majestic rivers, which rise among the blended spuurs of the two ranges--the San Joaquin river in the south, and the Sacramento river, at the base of Mount Shasta, in the north. The San Joaquin flows northward, and the Sacramento southward, each receiving a multitude of tributaries. These two grand streams meet half-way in 67 58 the Great Valley, and together flow into the Bay of San Francisco, and thence through the Golden Gates to the Pacific.

From these rivers the northern half of the valley receives its name of Sacramento, and the southern half that of San Joaquin. Each of these valleys is on so gigantic a scale that the eye receives only the impression of a vast plain bounded by distant hills. Each is about 250 miles long by forty in width,--an Elysium for farmers, where the fertile soil asks neither for water nor manure (here called fertilisers)--at least this is true as regards the northern valley; but in the central and southern region, where the rainfall is infinitesimal (in some places amounting only to from two to four inches in a year), artificial irrigation is found to be a necessity, and every spring and stream must be treated as a feeder for innumerable canals and ducts, which shall transform the parched and thirsty land into the richest green fields.

I am told that Sacramento Valley contains five million acres of arable land, which, however, produces heavy crops even in the driest years, and never needs irrigation. In proof of this,the case is cited of a year of great drought, notwithstanding which the oats (in fields of 1000 acres) grew so rank as to reach far above the head of an average man. The climate of Sacramento is mild, but winter has frost and occasional snow; whereas San Joaquin is rarely touched by frost, and the southern extremity of the valley is wellnigh tropical. Nevertheless it is necessary to wrap up young orange and lemon trees in thick 68 59 coverings of straw as a protection against possible autumnal frosts.

It is reckoned that (including the fertile foot-hills and small valleys to the south) San Joaquin possesses ten million acres of excellent arable land, of which scarcely one-tenth is as yet under cultivation, though many vast farms are already established, and some men hold tracts of 100,000 acres on lease from the State, all laid out in wheat.

One firm (Messrs Haggin, Carr, & Tevis) own 400,000 acres near Bakersfield, on the Kern river. They are said to have acquired this vast tract for a very trifling sum, as being an arid desert; but by the magic of irrigation they have already transformed much of it into fertile land, and now let it out on short lease in tracts of several hundred acres to small farmers, several of whom sometimes club to rent and work a tract in partnership. The owners supply the tenants with a dwelling of some sort, abundant milk, and the use of an artesian well, and receive one-third of the crops as their rent. In harvest-time this great firm employ about 700 labourers, to work agricultural machinery of every conceivable variety. They started one gigantic plough, which was to cut a furrow five feet wide by four deep, and was to be drawn by a whole herd of oxen: this, however, was found to be too large for practical use even in California!

Wheat-fields of from 1000 to 5000 acres are common, but occasionally a man of large ideas determines to outvie his fellows, so he makes one colossal field of many 69 60 thousand acres (I have heard of one field of 40,000 acres!). Of course this is considered rather speculative, as the failure of one such crop would probably involve ruin. But this great wheat-plain is exposed to comparatively few risks in this perfect climate.

I only wonder that half our farmers do not emigrate and settle here, instead of struggling year after year with our fickle skies. Here all moves as if by clockwork. In the beginning of December the land is just scratched over by gang-ploughs, which consist of six or eight ploughshares fastened to a strong wooden framework, drawn by eight horses. Its work is very superficial, merely turning over the upper soil. These ploughs have no handles, for the ploughman merely guides the team, and the ploughs follow. In front of them is fastened a seed-sower, which scatters the grain, and the plough lightly covers it. One such implement ploughs and sows ten acres a-day.

But on heavy soil, where deeper ploughing is necessary, a larger team is attached to fewer ploughshares, and gets over less ground. A separate machine is then employed to sow the grain, scattering it forty or fifty feet, and getting over 100 acres a-day. After this the ground is harrowed, and now (in the end of April) the crop is well grown, and the country is all one sheet of the loveliest green. Much of this wheat and barley has been sown for present use as fodder, or for hay, and is now being cut; and the same ground will, in the end of June, be planted with maize, and will yield a second heavy crop, sometimes (especially if the land is irrigated) growing to a height of eighteen 70 61 feet, and yielding ninety bushels to the acre, in the form of immense corn-cobs.

If, instead of cutting the wheat green, it is left to ripen, it is fit for harvest by the end of May; and as there is no rain after April, during the whole harvest season the farmer has no anxiety, but works at his leisure, requiring no barns or granaries, nor fearing any injury to his grain from exposure to weather. With the aid of a machine called a "header," the wheat-heads are cut off on the field, and the straw is left piled in stacks. Three of these "headers," escorted by nine waggons to collect the heads, are worked by eighty horses and a couple of dozen men, and can easily go over 150 acres in a day. Sharp harvesting!

The grain is immediately threshed on the spot, and securely sacked; and the sacks lie in heaps in the open field, safe from all molestation, till the farmer finds leisure to remove them to the railroad, which is now open to the southern extremity of the Great Valley, and carries its golden crops to San Francisco, whence California's surplus goes forth to feed the nations of the world.

The crop having been thus secured, the field is next lightly ploughed over, only to a depth of about theree inches, just to turn in the dropped grain. Perhaps a little more is added, and ere long a "volunteer crop" springs up, which is even more profitable than the first, having cost less.

Most of these particulars, and many more which I can-not recollect, were given me by a most comfortable-looking 71 62 farmer, who was our travelling companion as far as Merced, up to which point we were passing through a corner of the vast wheat-field, which runs north and south for a distance of about 600 miles. Throughout a considerable part of that wide expanse not a fence exists, except those running beside the railway, to keep off the cattle, which are turned loose to graze on the stubble after harvest. Here and there are scattered small farmsteads--homes of men who cultivate from 20,000 to 40,000 acres of this great wheat-plain.

My friend the jovial Californian farmer has land in the south, and says there is no such place in the world for a young fellow to settle, provided he is sent out to the special care of some experienced person, who can save him from buying his wit too dear. I thought of all "our boys," and for their benefit treasured the words of wisdom which he was so ready to impart.* All Californians seem to delight in giving statistics, by which to impress on one's mind the vastness of every detail. They are proud of their big country, as well they may be.

Years ago some one summed up the creed of the West in one clause--namely, belief in a Future State, that State being California! Now it is no longer a matter for faith, but a gigantic present reality, since her wheat-fields already supply the markets of Britain and Australia, and many another land.

Just imagine that this San Joaquin Valley alone has an 72 63 area of 24,000 square miles of fertile soil, all of which was, till recently, given over to cattle and horses--rich pasturelands for vast herds. Multitudes of "cattle-kings" thus amassed wealth without owning one acre.

Now, however, this old order changeth, and small farmers (a class known as pre-emptors ,* and hateful to the cattle - kings) are allowed by Government to pick out desirable tracts of 160 acres wherever they please, provided they at once settle on the spot and cultivate it. Many such small patches united, soon change the pasturelands to broad wheat-fields; and so the great cattle-owners, who have heretofore reigned supreme, and fed their countless herds at large, though without any definite right to do so, must now either herd their flocks so as to prevent their trespassing on unfenced farms, or else drive them farther south into the mountain districts.

Practically, however, it is found so impossible to enforce these conditions, that most farmers are driven to fencing in their lands, as their only sure protection. The immense firm whom I mentioned as woning 400,000 acres, have thus expended £100,000! Pretty well for one item of outlay!

Nor can it be supposed that the pre-emptors are always 73 64 allowed to take up their selected ground in peace. Many a hard struggle has there been on this subject. As a matter of course, the best lands, commanding good water-springs and streams, were the very first to be taken up, and the fortunate possessors jealously guard their water-rights; nevertheless, even these find that the wide, shallow Californian rivers cannot be relied on for a permanent water-supply, as many wholly dry up in summer, so that, in common with their less fortunate neighbours, they find the question of artificial irrigation a very serious one. In the last few years canals have been dug in all directions; and though this systematic irrigation is as yet only in its infancy, it is calculated that already upwards of 3000 miles of canals have been made in various parts of California.

Any land thus supplied rises enormously in value, and in Fresno county, lots of twenty acres are offered for sale at £10 per acre, the purchaser paying an annual water-rate of £2, 10s. for the use of as much water as he chooses to lead over his land from the main ditch. The price sounds high, but the returns amply repay it.

To those who are content to take the thirsty land as it stands, and make their own arrangements for irrigation, millions of acres are now offered by Government, at a low price, to induce settlers to cultivate it. It is, however, to be feared that in many instances the new-comer may find the water question a really serious difficulty, possession being, in such cases, something more than nine points of the law--in truth, a most stubborn fact, and one which has given rise to some serious fights.

Nevertheless, when I think of the toil which I have seen expended on clearing even a corner of a Highland farm to yield a miserable crop of oats, which might, as likely as not, have to be cut green in October, it sounds too good to be true, to know that here is rich soil, which needs no clearing of brushwood or drawing of stumps, no costly buildings, no barns, no storing even of fodder, for a quarter of an acre devoted to beets will feed two cows for a whole year, and an acre of alfalfa--i.e. , Chillian clover--will support ten sheep all the year round.

A quarter of an acre of alfalfa will yield sufficienty hay to keep a cow. One sowing of this clover lasts for twenty years, and yields very heavy crops. Its roots pierce the soil till they reach water, and if the land is irrigated, it annually yields fifteen tons to the acre, being ready for cutting six times a-year!

Equally precious is the native grass, alfilleria , which is said to be the finest known food for cattle. The soil has only to be ploughed five inches deep, and, as if by magic, the land is clothed knee-deep in rich succulent grass, whereon the flocks and herds fatten and rejoice.

Does not the thought of starting a dairy farm in such a country strike you as a favourable opening for some of the rising generation?

Hardy people, accustomed to cold northern winters, declare that the climate of the south is so mild that fire is only necessary for cooking; but chilly folk crave a little artificial warmth both morning and evening. The little firewood required will, however, grow of itself in the farm 75 66 fences, which are merely sticks of sycamore, eucalyptus, and willow or cotton-wood. These being stuck in the earth in December, at once take root, and in the second year supply sufficient firewood for the kitchen. The eucalyptus grows from ten to fifteen feet in a year, and in the course of eight years, trees have been known to attain seventy-five feet in height, and four feet in diameter.

Everything else grows in proportion. A peach-orchard bears in the second year after planting; apples bear the third year, and yield a crop in five; while vines bear rich clusters of grapes the very same year that they are planted as cuttings. After two and a half years they yield five tons of grapes to the acre, and after five years the annual crop is ten tons to the acre, and the average market-price £4 to the ton.

Apparently the best paying farms, and certainly the most attractive as homes, are those which grow a little of everything; and while the household is abundantly supplied with all good things, the surplus of mixed produce finds a ready market in the omnivorous capital. My jovial friend had tried this himself, and found it answer, so now he recommends it to others. You can bear it in mind as a useful hint for some one or other.

Well, to return to our journey.

It was 10 P.M. ere we reached Merced, where we left the railway. We slept at a good hotel close to the station, which bears the name of El Capitan, in honour of a mighty granite crag in the Valley. The house was very full on 76 67 account of a ball, which was kept up most of the night, and somewhat disturbed my slumbers.

We were all ready for breakfast at six, when I had a pleasant and most unexpected meeting with an old friend from whom I parted three years ago in the coffee districts of Ceylon. He was just returning from the Valley, having been its first visitor this spring. A large open coach was waiting for us--fitted, said the proprietor, to hold twelve people and any amount of luggage. The fitness proved a tight fit, and supremely uncomfortable; but, like good travellers, we all made the best of it.

Seeing our baggage lying in the dust, Mr David, with marked politeness, requested the conductor to have it stowed away; whereupon the latter, also most politely, turned to an exceedingly shabby-looking hanger-on, saying, "Mr Brown, will you be kind enough to hand up that man's beggage;" whereupon Mr David told me of a gentleman who had said to a ragged, wretched-looking man, that he would give him two dollars if he would carry his portmanteau. "You will?" said the man; "I will give you an ounce [gold dust] to see you do it yourself!" which he immediately did.

We were particularly fortunate in the fellow-passengers who shared our section of the coach, and with whom we had already commenced a pleasant acquaintance. One is a naval officer, in command of one of her Majesty's ships; the other a French naturalist and sportsman, who has lived in Cashmere for the last twelve years.

With a team of six good horses, we rattled over the 77 68 ground, and tried to forget how we were being bumped and shaken, and to think only of the interests around us. When we escaped from the monotonous wheat-fields of civilisation, California was herself again--free, beautiful, wildly luxuriant; broad natural meadows, and gently undulating hills, all clothed in the fresh verdure of this early spring-time. The rich tall grass is of a peculiarly lovely light green, like reflected sunlight; you really envy the happy cattle which luxuriate in such pastures. And this exquisite groundwork blends in one harmonious glow the masses of brilliant scarlet and gold, crimson, purple, and blue, which are freely scattered on every side, as one flower or another has gained the mastery.

Now you pass a broad patch of yellow and orange, where the eschscholtzia reigns alone; then a belt of richest blue marks a colony of larkspurs; then comes a tract where a quaint scarlet brush divides the land with a daisy like white flower; next a field of lupines: but all are embedded in the same delicate soft green, and to the eye appears smooth as a carefully tended lawn inlaid with flower-beds, though in truth both grasses and blossoms are growing in rank luxuriance, and the cattle stand more than knee-deep in these delightful dainties.

We halted for luncheon at Hornitos, at a house kept by a cheery couple from Glasgow, Macdougal by name--hospitable and friendly. Everything was very clean and good, and we were thankful to rest our battered bones, ere starting again to complete our twelve hours of violent shaking and jolting over loose stones, and roads not yet 78 69 repaired after their winter's wear, with holes here, and rocks there, and general bumping everywhere. We tried all possible devices to steady ourselves, and to avoid concussion of the spine, which really sometimes appeared inevitable. As it is, we have escaped with moderate bruises and contusions!

The afternoon drive was altogether beautiful, up hill and down, yet ever gaining ground, winding round about among the foot-hills, which in places are clothed with chaparral (the dense brushwood which includes so many flowering shrubs), and elsewhere are grassy and park-like, adorned with scattered groups of noble live-oak and buckeye, which, being interpreted, are ilex and Californian horse-chestnut. And far and near, the grassy slopes were tinged with rainbow-hues, purple and blue and yellow; deep gold and crimson and scarlet, where the bright sunlight played on banks of wild flowers.

My attention was called to a curious little pine, scarcely recognised as such,* which grows abundantly in that district, and which, though not ornamental, is valuable to the Indians, on account of its bearing edible nuts, which they collect in autumn as part of their scanty winter store.

We have seen two or three parties of Pah ute Indians, and have not been impressed with any admiration for these, the old lords of California. Some of the men were dressed in robes of rabbit-skin of a very peculiar manufacture. Instead of whole skins being stitched together, as in preparing an opossum rug, or an ermine or squirrel 79 70 cloak, these rabbit-hides are cut into narrow strips as soon as the animal has been skinned, the fur being left on.

Several of these strips are sewed together, to make up the length required for the cloak. Each strip is then twisted till it is simply a fur rope. These are woven together by means of long threads of wild hemp, or sinews of animals, or strips of willow bark, forming a sort of mingled material, in which the fur ropes act as "woof," and the hemp, or bark, is the "warp." Perhaps it would be more accurate to describe these curious productions as being a sort of network, inasmuch as the texture is so very coarse that you can pass your fingers through it at any point; at least, so I am told. I should be exceedingly sorry to experimentalise!

It must require a good deal of patience and trouble to manufacture one of these very unpleasant-looking garments; but once made, they are very durable, and stand any amount of wear and tear. They are the handiwork of the squaws, who, however, are apparently not allowed to wear such precious robes, but are generally wrapped in dirty blankets, while the fur robes adorn the braves, who do their part by catching the rabbits.

This they do by netting, on a very large scale. They prepare exceedingly long narrow nets, made of wild hemp or willow bark. These are set in the form of a great V right across some favourable feeding-ground, if possible in a pass or valley. The nets are set on the same principle as a seine for fish; the lower side is weighted, while the upper edge is upheld by sticks.

The favourite season for these rabbit-drives is the late autumn or early winter, when the first light snow has fallen. The nets being spread, two or three Indians remain on guard, while the others--men, women, and children--steal silently away, so quietly as not to disturb the ground. So they proceed for several miles.

Then forming themselves into a large semicircle, they return towards the trap, shouting and yelling, beating the bushes, and waving their blankets. The poor startled rabbits, greatly alarmed by this Pandemonium, scamper off towards the net, where the other Indians lie concealed; these suddenly start up with a wild yell, and so bewilder the terrified creatures, that they rush straight at the net, which is so coarsely woven as to let their heads well through. And thus the poor conies are held prisoners till their enemies arrive and secure them.

Then follows a great feast, and abundant material is provided for the manufacture of many robes. Indeed I am told that about 1000 rabbits have sometimes been captured in this way in one big drive.

The Indians also wage war on the large grey ground squirrels, which dig holes in the earth, burrowing like rabbits. They are pretty animals, with a very large brush, and are said to be very good eating.

It was near sunset before we reached Mariposa Valley, which, in the old mining days, was a large settlement--a real gold-digger's town--but now has dwindled down to a mere village. The hotel was very full, but every one was most civil and obliging and quarters were found for us, 81 72 We were too tired to be particular. After all, we had only travelled fifty miles since morning; but then twelve hours of incessant and violent tossing on the most angular of knife-board seats is a weariness altogether independent of mileage--and our route was all up and down hill, which gave us a chance of walking a good deal.

You can fancy nothing more "disjaskit" than a deserted mining town, with its desolate tumble-down shanties, once crowded with a mixed multitude of all nations, keen energetic men, whose whole longings centred in gold--the precious gold they hoped to extract from the Mariposa quartz-mines, which to so many proved a snare and a delusion. This was one of the famous gold-districts which passed through many vicissitudes; and the name of Mount Bullion still clings to one high summit, which was pointed out to us yesterday as we came through Bear Valley.

So these now silent forests once teemed with eager life, and passionate hopes and fears--and it all proved vanity and vexation of spirit: so the miners forsook these diggings, and went in search of more remunerative fields; and the wise among them turned their pickaxes into gang-ploughs, and reaped golden crops from the great wheat-fields, and grew richer and happier far than their pals who had "happened" on big nuggets, and then gambled them away, till they were left empty-handed, to begin life afresh.

This morning we made a very early start from Mariposa (which, by the way, I am told is the Spanish for a "butterfly"). Our road lay through more beautiful scenery, but 82 73 the jolting and the bumping were even more trying to our aching bones than they were yesterday; and we were thankful for an hour's respite when the coach pulled up for luncheon at a very clean little inn, kept by a tidy, pleasant couple, whose Cornish accent was at once detected by our naval friend, and great was their delight when they recognised in him a son of their old squire in Cornwall! They had much to tell and to hear in this tantalising short interview; but we had still a long drive before us, so had to be up and away.

At last we entered the true forest-belt, and anything more beautiful you cannot conceive. We forgot our bumps and bruises in sheer delight. Oh the loveliness of those pines and cedars, living or dead! For the dead trees are draped with the most exquisite golden-green lichen, which hangs in festoons many yards in length, and is unlike any other moss or lichen I ever saw. I can compare it to nothing but gleams of sunshine in the dark forest. Then, too, how beautiful are the long arcades of stately columns, red, yellow, or brown, 200 feet in height, and straight as an arrow, losing themselves in their own crown of misty green foliage; and some stand solitary, dead and sun-bleached, telling of careless fires, which burnt away their hearts, but could not make them fall!

There are so many different pines, and firs, and cedars, that as yet I can scarcely tell one from another. The whole air is scented with the breath of the forests--the aromatic fragrance of resin and of dried cones and pine-needles baked by the hot sun (how it reminds me of 83 74 Scotch firs!); and the atmosphere is clear and crystalline--a medium which softens nothing, and reveals the farthest distance in sharpest detail. Here and there we crossed deep gulches, where streams (swollen to torrents by the melting snow on the upper hills) rushed down over great boulders and prostrate trees--the victims of the winter gales.

Then we came to quiet glades in the forest, where the soft lawn-like turf was all jewelled with flowers; and the sunlight trickled through the drooping boughs of the feathery Douglas pines, and the jolly little chip-munks played hide-and-seek among the great cedars, and chased one another to the very tops of the tall pitch-pines, which stand like clusters of dark spires, more than 200 feet in height. It was altogether lovely; but I think no one was sorry when we reached a turn in the road, where we descended from the high forest-belt, and crossing a picturesque stream--"Big Creek" by name--we found ourselves in this comfortable ranch, which takes its name from one of the pioneers of the valley, though it is now kept by a family of the name of Bruce. It stands on the banks of the South Merced river--another pretty Spanish name.

Here we fell in with some friends from Scotland, who have just arrived here viaˆ New Zealand. I must go and have a chat with them over the cherry wood-fire, which is blazing most invitingly--so now good night.

IN THE FOREST--SEQUOIA GIGANTEA--THE RED SNOW-FLOWER--YO¯-SEMITE´ VALLEY IN WINTER--A SNOW-SHOWER.

CLARKE'S RANCH, Monday Night .

We have spent a long day of delight in the most magnificent forest that it is possible to imagine; and I have realised an altogether new sensation, for I have seen the Big trees of California, and have walked round about them, and inside their cavernous hollows, and have done homage as beseems a most reverent tree-worshipper. They are wonderful--they are stupendous! But as to beauty--no. They shall never tempt me to swerve from my allegiance to my true tree-love--the glorious Deodara forests of the Himalayas.

If size alone were to be considered, undoubtedly the Sequoia stands pre-eminent, for to-day we have seen several trees at least three times as large as the biggest Deodara in the cedar shades of Kunai; but for symmetry, and grace, and exquisitely harmonious lines, the "God-given" cedar of Himala stands alone, with its wide-spreading, twisted 85 76 arms, and velvety layers of foliage studded with pale-green cones,--its great red stem supporting a pyramid of green, far more majestic than the diminutive crown of the Big trees. So at first it was hard to realise that the Californian cedars are altogether justified in concentrating all their growing power in one steady