erner you would abandon your proposed picnic party,
upon rising in the morning, for fear of rain, and, being a tenderfoot,
you would be justified, for the clouds--or, more properly speaking,
the high fog--give every indication of a shower. But an old
Californian would tell you to take no thought of appearances, and to
leave your umbrella and raincoat at home, for this is one of nature's
"bluffs"; by ten o'clock the sun will be shining brightly, and the fog
dispersed under its warm rays.

Then pack your lunch basket, don your khaki suit, and strike out on
the trail, while the dew still twinkles on the grass blades like cut
diamonds, and the birds are singing their _Te Deum_ to the morning
sun.

It was on just such a day that we set out on a trip to Muir Woods and
the giant sequoias, one of the most beautiful spots in the State. From
Mill Valley the climb is a steep one, passing the picturesque ruins of
an old mill erected in 1843. We come to a sort of corduroy path, where
some enterprising landowner has placed logs across the trail, with the
object of facilitating travel. It is not a very decided improvement on
nature, however, for the steps are too far apart for comfort.

Summer cottages are scattered along the trail, perched on the
hillside, and placed in the most advantageous position to gain a view
of the bay, or on slightly higher ground, where they peek over the
tops of the trees into the valley below.

After a stiff climb we reach the top of the last range of hills and
begin our descent into the valley, where Muir Woods nestles between
the hills at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, in the beautiful Sequoia
Canon. We look away to the right and can see the heavy clouds envelop
the summit of the mountain, but the highest stands above the clouds,
and the sun touches its stately crest with golden splendor.

[Illustration: COMRADES]

The forest always has a weird fascination for me, with its soft
whisperings, as if the trees were confiding secrets to each other. One
can become intimately acquainted with it, and learn to love its quiet
solitude, only by living in or near it, and wandering at will through
its trackless, leaf-carpeted aisles. Your eyes must be trained to
constant watching, you must learn to be a close observer, to note the
flowers, vines, and tangled shrubbery that are seldom mentioned by
botanists, and your ear must be tuned to catch the elfin music that
is heard within the confines of the forest. You c