IO WILD FLOWERS OF THE PACIFIC COAST. 



ourselves comfortably to enjoy it all, when we are gently touched 

 upon the arm, and a voice low but distinct asks : 



" Grand Hotel ?" and the notes echo from every side, the 

 first word changed, but the last ever the same " Palace Hotel?" 

 " Occidental Hotel ? ' We stop the echo by saying, " Occidental 

 Hdfcol,! please." Our hand-bag and bundles disappear, and when 

 \>?ei jlatn'd ,!the same quiet voice directs us to the coach, and we 

 are wheeled away through the business portion of San Fran- 

 cisco, and landed in the reception-room of the Occidental. 



Not a moment is lost, you are shown a room and there you 

 find your bags and bundles, which give it a home look, and you 

 are left with a " Hope you'll find every thing comfortable, ma'm," 

 which makes. you feel the boy's your friend. 



I prepare for lunch, and the lonely feeling is just beginning 

 to creep stealthily in when a rap is heard, which startles it. The 

 door is opened, and a kind voice says, "Wid de compliments of 

 Maj. Hooper, de proprietor of dis hotel," and a basket is placed 

 upon my table filled with buttercups fresh cut, with odors of 

 new mown hay and suggestions of country fields and bright- 

 eyed daisies about them. 



The lonely feeling disappears. I select a bunch from the 

 basket and arrange them for my belt, and am about to stab 

 them with the long pin, when I change my mind. No ! I 

 will paint them instead, they shall be my first sketch, and so 

 my first day spent in San Francisco was devoted to this 

 little bunch of buttercups that came from the fields back of 

 Oakland. 



