est
yards.

APRIL 30, 1876.

We had a long ride out to the Seal-Rocks, past great wavy hills, with
patches of gold, brighter than the dandelions and buttercups are at
home. This was the eschcholtzia, or California poppy. Occasionally we
passed great tracts of lupine. The lowland was a sea of blue iris.

Suddenly, as we surmounted a height, the ocean rolled in before us, line
after line of breakers, on a broad beach. When we reached Point Lobos we
saw the two great rocks, far out in the water, covered with brown seals
that lay in the sun like flocks of sheep, and little slippery, shining
ones all the time crawling up out of the water, and dropping back again.
As the vessels pass out of the bay, they go near enough to hear them
bark; but nothing frightens them away, nor discomposes them in the
least, although they are only a few miles from the city, and have a
great many visitors. They are protected by law from molestation.

We looked off to the Farallon Islands, which are one of the chief
landmarks for vessels approaching the Golden Gate. There was formerly a
settlement of Russians there, who hunted the seal and the otter. These
islands are still a great resort for seals, also for cormorants and
sea-gulls; and the large speckled eggs of the birds are gathered in
quantities, and brought to the San Francisco market for sale. They were
called by the Spaniards "_Farallons de los Frayles_" (Islands of the
Friars), _farallon_ being a sharp-pointed island.

There is a marvellous exhilaration in the air. The enthusiastic Bayard
Taylor said, that, in his first drive round the bay, he felt like Julius
Caesar, Milo of Crotana, and Gen. Jackson, rolled into one. It is an
acknowledged fact, that both men and animals can work harder and longer
here, without apparent injury or fatigue, than anywhere on the Eastern
coast. We have heard it suggested that the abundant actinic rays in the
dry, cloudless atmosphere are the cause of this invigoration, and also
of the unusual brilliancy of the flowers.

JUNE 1, 1876.

The only way in which we know that summer is coming is by the more
chilling winds, the increased dust, the tawny color of the hills, and
the general dying look of things. Every thing is bare, sunny, and sandy.

We are surrounded with great wastes of sand, which the wind drives
against the house, so that it seems always like a storm. Sometimes, when
I sit at work at the window, a gopher comes out of the sandhill,