s
its winding way, and one must needs scramble over many a fallen tree
and mossy rock in following its beautiful path.

One cannot see very far ahead, but at each succeeding turn in the
trail new wonders open before us. Here it is so narrow we are
compelled to walk in single file, while just beyond it broadens out
into a grassy slope, and through an open vista on the right we get a
glimpse of Old Grizzly looming up in all its grandeur. To the left,
far above us on the hillside, we can see a large cement "C" some
thirty feet in length, placed there by the students of the university
to commemorate hotly contested games of football between the two
colleges. With what jealous care is it watched over on the eve of a
battle to keep the contesting team from painting it with their college
colors!

In this canon we find that pest of nature-lovers who are susceptible
to it, the poison oak. For all its sinister effects, it is a charming
shrub so far as appearance goes, with its bright, glossy serrated
leaves; but do not invite a too familiar acquaintance, for it is a
shrub to be admired at a distance.

[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW]

At a path that seems quite accessible we climb out of the canon, and
strike out across the hills. We stop for a moment's rest at a fence,
and while we are filling our lungs with the crisp morning air we see
where a spider has industriously spun his web during the night, from a
stalk of ragweed to the fence corner. The dew has settled upon it and
each silken thread stands out perfectly, shining in the morning
sunshine like some old jewelry made of filagree silver. You little
realize, you tiny spinner of silken fabrics, how easily your gauzy
structure may be broken, and all your work come to naught; for on the
fence a catbird, scolding incessantly, has one eye open for a stray
titbit in the shape of a little weaver of webs, and you may help to
make him an early breakfast.

The meadow larks are sending out their cheery "Spring o' the year"
from fence rail and covert, a song most sweet and inspiring. A flock
of blackbirds goes sailing past, and high overhead a killdee's
plaintive cry echoes over the valley. From here we get a beautiful
view of the bay and the Golden Gate, and in the far distance the dome
of Mount Tamalpais rises above the clouds.

The ferryboats from Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda, and Sausalito are
plying their ceaseless traffic from mole to mole. White-sailed
ships from foreig