Santa Rosa and San Rafael. 301- 



two as preeminent over all — one preeminent fc- beauty and the other for sub- 

 limity. From the plateau of the Raymond Hotel, in Pasadena, I believe the 

 scene to have been the most beautiful of any that linger in mj^ senses ; but 

 from the top of the green mountain to which we wound our way through the 

 ■ever-changing landscape as we climbed its picturesque slopes to the summit — 

 and which I venture to name Mt. Coleman — the view is absolutely unri- 

 valed in every element of the picturesque and sublime. Mr. Coleman told 

 us, on this summit, that Albert Bierstadt, standing on that spot, had 

 •declared, with 'enthusiasm, that for artistic efiect the landscape spreading 

 across the valley and to the opposite mountain slopes and summits was the 

 best he had ever seen. 



After drinking in this glorious view for a brief season we descended the 

 slopes, and were driven through the city. Meanwhile our novel banquet 

 had reached perfection, and was awaiting our arrival at the Grand Hotel. 

 On reaching the same, and entering through the cloak-room to the dining- 

 hall, we did not see such evidences of style in the way of patent leather, cut- 

 away coats, and unctuous waiters as we had expected. Though we were 

 cared for in all essentials, it seemed for the nonce that Oscar Wilde had had 

 nothing to do with it. The fact is, that already in passing to our seats at the 

 long tables we sniffed the first fresh breezes of emancipation. Glancing at 

 the tables, we discovered that they were laden with a few staple articles, such 

 as bread, but not a knickknack from one end to the other, not a flower, not a 

 napkin, nor any other token of nonsensical civilization. But think thou not, 

 O reader, that there was nothing to eat. Per contra, there was much more 

 than much. 



Mr. Coleman, our host, from whose abundance and generosity the 

 whole thing had been prepared, took his place at the head of table num- 

 ber one. There were fully two hundred of us. By this time the prim and 

 poker-like demeanor of the men, and what might be uncharitably called the 

 the fashionable simper of our ladies, had given place to a male grin and a 

 female smile. The grin spread out until it was like the entrance to Fingal's 

 cave, and the smile became a rainbow. Explanations, were now in order, 

 and Mr. Coleman made them. He said that it had occurred to him to give 

 us, instead of a fashionable dinner, an old-time California feast — an affair of 

 bonhomie and good cheer instead of formalities and refinements. He ex- 

 plained that we were about to be served with a bull's-head breakfast, such as 

 the men of forty-nine and their confreres used to have while civilization on 

 the Pacific coast still retained something of its masculine vigor and vehe- 

 mence. The affair, he said, would correspond more nearly to what in the 

 older States is called a barbecue than to any other ceremonial of eating. It 

 was the peculiarity of the bull's-head breakfast that all formalities were 

 thrown away, and all constraint abandoned. He hoped his guests would 

 conform to this standard of demeanor. They were here at his invitation to 

 enjoy themselves, and he hoped they would make free with each other and 

 with the banquet, after the manner of his friends in the olden time. The 



