Golden Gate! I dress hurriedly and run out to find that a light is flaming on the other promontory, and that we are entering the great Bay of San Francisco. It has taken a long preparation to give me the feeling of pride and joy and wonder with which I come through the Golden Gate to be in my own country once more. A year of touring in Europe, nearly a year of travel in the Orient, six months in Australia and New Zealand, and after that three months in Honolulu; all this has given me the background for the unique sensation with which I see the two lights on the long green promontories of the Golden Gate stretching out into the Pacific. Our ship moves steadily on, past Alcatraz Island with its long building on its rocky height, making it look like a big Atlantic liner built high amidships. There are the green heights of the Presidio and the suburbs of the city of San Francisco. On the left in the distance is Yerba Buena Island. Far ahead of us, across the width of the Bay, are the distant outlines of Oakland and Berkeley. Later I am to stand on the hilly campus of the University of California and look straight across the Bay through the Golden Gate which we have just entered. The tall buildings of San Francisco begin to arise and we are landed in the streets of the new city. What a marvel it is! In the ten days that we were there I must say that still the wonder grew that a city could have risen in nine short years from shock, and flood, and fire, to be the solid, imposing structure of stone and brick, with wide bright streets and impressive plazas, that San Francisco now is. In the placing of its statues at dramatic points on the streets and cross streets, it reminds one of a French city. The new city has fine open spaces, with streets stretching in all directions from these plazas. There are many striking groups of statuary; among them one whose inscriptions reads:

DEDICATED TO MECHANICS
BY
JAMES MERVYN DONAHUE IN MEMORY OF HIS
FATHER, PETER DONAHUE

The most striking figure in this group, one of five workmen cutting a hole through a sheet of steel, is the figure of the old man who superintends the driving of the bolt through the sheet, while four stalwart young men throw their weight upon the lever. Here is not only stalwart youth and brawn, but also the judgment and steadiness of mature age. The older man has a good head, and adds a moral balance to the whole group. It is a fine memorial, not only to the man whose memory it honours, but also to a host of mechanics and working men who do their plain duty every day.

The most attractive thing about the San Francisco residences is the fine view of the Bay that many of them have. It is the business portion of the city that makes the striking impression upon the stranger. The new Masonic Building, with its massive cornice, reminding one of the Town Hall in the old fighting town of Perugia, Italy; the towering buttresses of the Hotel St. Francis; the noble masses of the business blocks; the green rectangle of the civic center where the city's functions are held in the open air;—all are impressive. In all of the California cities, one finds no better dressed people and no more cosmopolitan people in appearance than are to be seen on the San Francisco streets. It is more nearly a great city in its spirit and atmosphere than any other metropolis of the State.

The drive through the Golden Gate Park is interesting because of the blooming shrubs, and the lovely foliage. I have never before seen my favorite golden broom blooming in any part of the United States. Here it grows luxuriantly. The Presidio, the site of the military post, is a very beautiful park, and is well worth seeing.

A memorable excursion is one across the Bay to Berkeley, the seat of the State University. In the past fifteen or twenty years the University has grown from a somewhat motley collection of old brick buildings into a noble assemblage of harmonious stone buildings with long lines of much architectural impressiveness. No one can see the University of California without feeling that here is a great institution against the background of a great State. Two buildings which I particularly like are the School of Mines, built by Mrs. Phœbe Hearst as a memorial to her husband, and the beautiful library. While the two buildings are very different in type, each is noble and appropriate for its particular uses. There are still a few of the original buildings standing, old-fashioned and lonely. Doubtless they will be removed in time and more fitting structures will take their place. The situation of the campus is superb. It lies on a group of green foothills, the buildings rising from various knolls. You literally go up to the halls of learning. The whole campus and the little university city at its feet are dominated by an enormous white C outlined on the green hills far above. It is a stiff climb to that C, but it is a favorite walk for ambitious students. They tell me that occasionally students come up from Leland Stanford University and in teasing rivalry paint over the C at the dead hour of night. The University is rich in beautiful situations on the campus for out-of-door functions. Nothing could be lovelier than Strawberry Canyon, a green valley with immemorial live oaks scattered here and there; and with clumps of shrubbery behind whose greenness musicians can conceal themselves. We saw the annual masque given by four hundred University women in honour of Mrs. Phoebe Hearst. I carry in memory a lovely vision of dancing wood nymphs, of living flowers, of soft twilight colors, streaming across the greensward; and of a particular wood nymph, the very spirit of the Spring, who played about in irresponsible happiness, all in soft wood browns and pinks and greens. The Greek Theatre is a noble monument to Mr. Randolph Hearst, its donor. A great audience there is a fine sight; so symmetrical is the amphitheatre that it is hard to realize how many thousands of people are sitting in the circle of its stone tiers. Behind the topmost tier runs a wall covered with blooming roses, while back of this wall hang the drooping tassels of tall eucalyptus trees. Nothing could be more fitting as a theatre for music and for all the noblest and most dignified functions of a great institution.

We did not start on our long journey, which was to mount up to 8,600 miles in distance, until the 21st of April. Before that we had a delightful northern trip of one hundred and twenty miles in a friend's motor car; crossing the ferry and driving through Petaluma, Sonoma Valley, and Santa Rosa, on to Ukiah. Coming through Petaluma our host told us that we were in "Henville." I had supposed that chickens would do well anywhere in sunny California, but not so. There are districts where the fog gets into the throats of the fowls and kills them. Sonoma County is particularly adapted for chicken raising and there are hundreds of successful chicken growers in this region.

As we came through Santa Rosa, we saw the modest home and the office and gardens of Luther Burbank.

Beyond Santa Rosa we entered what our host called the Switzerland of California. The roads are only ordinary country roads and very hilly at that, but the rolling green fields and glimpses of distant hills, with heavy forests here and there, are very beautiful. I saw for the first time in all its spring glory the glowing California poppy. Great masses of bright orange yellow were painted against the lush green of the thick hillside grass; masses that fairly radiated light. Alongside these patches of flaming yellow were other patches of the deep blue lupine. Some great painter should