on the window-sills of the homes of all classes. The admirably chosen spot for a cemetery, on the rising ground behind the city, is also finely ornamented with choice trees and flowering shrubs, among which are pines, cypresses, Australian gum trees (evergreen), mimosas, and many other blooming plants, well arranged for good effect. The scarlet geranium here grows six and eight feet high, producing with its brilliant bloom a dazzling effect. The same drive which conducts to the cemetery, a little further on brought us to a most delightful public garden and park combined. Here were broad roads, as smooth and perfect as roads can be made; footpaths leading into inviting groves, beautiful lawns relieved by groups of graceful trees, lakes, and fountains, with several large ornamental conservatories for the most delicate exotics. The whole formed an exposition of landscape gardening of which any city might be proud.
A couple of miles beyond this noble park brought us to the Cliff House, a favorite resort of the people, situated on a high bluff of the Pacific coast and affording an ocean view only limited by the powers of the human vision. Looking due west, no land intervenes between this shore and the far-off coast of Japan, a distance of five thousand miles, which we were destined soon to traverse. Two hundred yards off the shore, just opposite the Cliff, a large rock rises from the sea some hundred feet or more, upon which scores of sea-lions come out of the water at all hours of the day to sun themselves, affording a very peculiar and amusing sight. They are of all sizes, weighing from fifty to one thousand pounds, some of the old ones even exceeding this estimate, yet possessing a muscular power which enables them easily to climb the rough side of the precipitous rock. The half roar, half bark of the herd comes with harsh discordance upon the ear of the listener at the Cliff. The law of the State protects these sea-lions from all sorts of molestation; so here they quarrel among themselves furiously, suckle their young, tumble into the sea, and thrive and multiply.
In many respects San Francisco resembles a New England capital, – a very natural result when we remember that a large percentage of her people are natives of these Eastern States. She has copied the Boston school system almost exactly, and there are few of our oldest cities so well organized in this department of progress, though the city is but little over twenty years of age, dating from the time when she first came prominently into public notice. Girls and boys are not only afforded the most excellent educational advantages, but a spirit of emulation is successfully fostered among them, especially encouraging to the observant visitor. There is a high school for boys and one for girls, also a Normal school for the education of teachers. San Francisco has from the outset established a fixed reputation, by employing and liberally compensating the best pulpit talent to be had in the country.
Finding that the steamship in which we were to sail for Japan would be detained for the period of ten days, it was resolved to improve the time by a visit to the Yosemite Valley, involving a journey, in the round trip, of over six hundred miles, a large portion of which is performed by coach. The time, trouble, and expense were, however, abundantly repaid by the experience gained among the wonderful developments of nature, as exhibited in Alpine scenery and the grandeur of forests which produce giant trees over three hundred feet in height and forty in diameter, and which are proven to be over thirteen centuries old. The cars took us to Madeira, a frontier station to which the broad grain fields of California already extend. From here, early next morning, we took a four-horse covered wagon to Coarse Gold Gulch to dine, and here we passed the night on our return, it being a ranch kept by a worthy German family. Though the accommodations were rather crude, ample satisfaction was assured by the cheerful service rendered and the cleanliness which characterized everything.
We reached Clark's Hotel, located at the foot of the mountains where the abrupt ascent begins, on the evening of the second day after leaving San Francisco. Early the next morning the journey was renewed, six horses now taking the place of four, which number, with frequent changes, had been quite sufficient on the previous day. The driver who now took us in charge was a large, fine specimen of the mulatto race, and certainly a very excellent whip, steady, and as strong as a Hercules. There are few positions which require more skill and vigilance than to safely drive a team of six horses and a coach full of passengers by the precipitous, winding road over the mountains intervening between Clark's and the level of the valley, to enter which a rise of over seven thousand feet must be achieved. Scarcely had we fairly commenced the upward climb, when it was observed that we had left all signs of human habitation behind; and soon even fences disappeared, except about the coach company's ranches, where we stopped to change horses, in groves of sugar pine and yellow pine trees of great size and beauty. Here we were literally surrounded by Nature, which some quaint writer denominates God's Old Testament.
An austere and almost mournful air of loneliness surrounded us, as we crept higher and higher towards that ethereal blue canopy which hung over the loftiest peaks. All was silence save the rumbling noise of our conveyance; and when, as was the case at a sudden angle of the winding road, a large black bear was seen coolly sitting on his haunches, with listless hanging paws, looking at the stage and its contents, it did not seem at all strange, but quite in keeping with the solitary surroundings, though some of our horses did exhibit a little restlessness. The pistol-like crack of the driver's whip was an intimation to Bruin which he understood, for he slowly dropped into the thick brush and rolled awkwardly away from the roadside. The eye was never weary in detecting the natural architecture of the mountain acclivities, which, in the constantly varying scenery, formed amphitheatres like old Roman circuses, and now square battlemented crags, like crumbling castles on the Rhine, and again a deep, shady ravine of unknown depth, where lonely mist-wreaths rested like snowdrifts. In the far background were cliffs like oriental minarets, and balled rocks capped like the dome of St. Peter's.
There were often seen nestling beside the road, struggling for a precarious existence, frail wild flowers of delicate shades, surrounded by vigorous ferns and creeping vines, showing that Nature has her poetic moods even among these deserted regions. Now we came upon a crystal stream of water, winding and fretting over a narrow bed of rocks on the mountain side, sparkling in the sunshine, as it formed tiny cascades, until presently it lost itself by an artificial culvert under the roadway; but even then it could be heard leaping and tumbling down the deep abyss on the other side. The horses were familiar with the road, and had confidence in the stout hand that guided them, or they would not have gone on at such a quiet, unconcerned, uniform gait, close beside abrupt gorges that would have destroyed us all as instantly as a stroke of lightning, were the wheels to diverge but a few inches from the track.
It was interesting to observe the species of trees which characterized the several elevations. At one thousand feet nut pines and oaks mingled gracefully together, but at another thousand gradually disappeared, giving place to the lofty yellow pines, added to which the sugar pine was found at three thousand feet, that in turn dying out at seven thousand feet. Next came the spruce, superbly developed, growing to a height of two hundred feet; then the white pine, the silver fir, and the arbor vitæ, all thriving luxuriously after their kind. Birds almost entirely disappeared at these altitudes, preferring the more genial warmth and life of the plains; but now and then an eagle, with broad spread pinions, swooped gracefully from the top of some lonely pine, and sailed, without a flutter of his wings, far away across the depth of the valley, and was soon lost to sight by the winding of the gorge. Even the presence of this proud and peculiar bird but emphasized the loneliness of these silent heights.
After hours of upward struggle the crowning point was reached. The driver remarked, with a flourish of his whip: "It's all down hill from here;" soon after which we emerged from the forest road and came to the open plateau known to tourists as Inspiration Point. Here the first comprehensive view of the valley is obtained. We paused briefly to behold and to realize, as far as possible, such a scene as might never again be afforded us. Though we were now at an elevation of over seven thousand feet above the plains, the Yosemite Valley itself, from this point, was but about three thousand five hundred feet below us, into which we gazed with uninterrupted view. Running nearly due east and west, it looked small and circumscribed from this great height, but was really a gorge of about eight miles in length by two miles in width. On either side rose vertical cliffs of granite, varying from four to five thousand feet in height, the lofty gorges here and there discharging waterfalls of transparent beauty.
The precipitous mountains which wall in the valley are composed of seventeen distinctive formations, the loftiest of which is Mount Starr King, 5,600 feet