A TRIP TO THE FARAL- 

 LONES. 



jT daylight, on a Sunday 

 morning in July, I found 

 myself with one companion 

 standing upon Fisherman's 

 Wharf in San Francisco and waiting for 

 the signal to start upon a trip to the Fa- 

 rallones. The early hour had been chosen 

 on account of the tide, which was then on 

 the ebb, a circumstance of no little impor- 

 tance in undertaking to beat out to sea 

 through the Golden Gate against the 

 fresh head wind which was then blowing. 

 The sun was just flushing the misty sky 

 over the Berkeley hills across the bay, 

 and the staunch craft of the Greek fish- 

 ermen were bobbing about at their 

 moorings beside us. One or two were 



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