Wild Flowers of the Pacific Coast. 



BUTTERCUPS. CAL!!"0! 



As our train nears San Francisco we run on the long 

 pier far out in the bay, and as we board one of the fine ferry- 

 boats, a friend directs us to the front and says: 



" You get a finer view here." We have an indistinct 

 remembrance of his continuing to talk, but in our surprise and 

 delight at the view we do not hear him. The magnificent bay 

 is before us. In the distance we see the city of San Francisco, 

 with its hundred of spires tipped with brasses shining out in the 

 sun. The bay is as smooth as a mirror, stately ocean ships and 

 " men-of-war" are coming in or going out!" The ferry-boats, so 

 large and fine, they remind us of the Boston steamboats in size 

 and grandeur. Yachts and fishing smacks lie side by side, and 

 the saucy little tug goes flying in and out, peeping here and 

 there in her inquisitive way, as if wishing to know her neigh- 

 bors' business. 



Flags are flying, and every nation is represented, but with 

 their colors we see a flag that seems to act as host and guardian, 

 and we recognize the Stars and Stripes. 



White-winged birds fly abreast our boat and lead the way, 

 as if bidding us a welcome. Flow beautiful it is, and we seat 



