curately ascertained, it was somewhat more than six tons of grapes, of the ordinary California, or mission variety, and from the wealth of clusters which I saw hanging above me when I visited the place, I should not think there was any error in the amount. Between seventy and eighty years ago a Spanish girl, whose mustang was refractory and who was in haste to reach her home, broke a switch from a vine by the roadside with which to assert her mastery of the animal; and having accomplished her object and used it with such vigor as Spanish girls on horseback are wont to display, till she arrived at her home, she carelessly stuck it down in the moist ground near a spring by the door, and forgot that it was there. That little switch has grown to become this largest, and, in some respects, most wonderful vine in the world. Could there be a more positive illustration of the truth, that often strange and unexpected results come forth from beginnings the most unpromising?

Twenty years ago the first steamer passed through the Golden Gate and dropped anchor in the Bay of San Francisco, in front of a dreary waste of sand-hills, for which no one of the passengers in that ship, not even the most sanguine, had any thought or hope of future value. They came ashore in boats and as rapidly as possible, and by such means as they could command, most of them on foot, they hastened over the coast range of mountains, which they regarded as only a barren and worthless obstacle in their path, toiled across the wide plains of the San Joaquin and Sacramento, which they with one consent pronounced a desert, and worn and weary came to the foot-hills of the Sierra Nevada range, whence they hoped to dig the gold which they believed to be the sole valuable product of the vast region to which they had come.

They were all adventurers, all eager to "make their pile," as they termed the success they sought, and intending as soon as this was done, with thankful hearts to hurry away from a country respecting which they never

dreamed of any future that civilization could boast. That little company of men had with them, and among them, and in them, though they knew it not, the germ of a State whose amazing full stature can not yet be predicted. The shanties they placed on the sandhills for their temporary accommodation, have grown into a splendid city of more than 150,000 inhabitants, with trade and commerce and manufactures and wealth that attract the attention of the world, the hills being leveled and the sea filled in to make a place for its increase. The mountains they only cursed as blocking their way to gold, are being more and more revealed as abounding in coal and metals, and other mineral products, to which even an index has not yet been furnished. The plains over which they toiled as a wide and worthless expanse, are more productive of wheat and other cereals than any other land that has ever been cultivated, capable of supplying nearly the whole world with bread. And the whole region has been changed into the reverse of what those men expected. The handful of corn they sowed only on the tops of the mountains, and that in pursuit of other and far lower ends, has already brought forth fruit that shakes like Lebanon. The undesigned, almost accidental planting of the twig, has resulted in a vine of such vigor and products as excite the wonder of all. Having so strange an origin, as one of the States of our nation, California has always been prolific of strange things, in the view of those accustomed to form a judgment in any other region; and its contrasts, its contradictions, its climatic influences, its reversal of established laws in agriculture, its natural curiosities and natural phenomena of various kinds, its population, and its certain future, soon having been calculated with sufficient accuracy to awaken admiration and surprise, all render it worthy of a visit from those who may have such a privilege, and of the study of those who feel any interest in these themes.

The country is not so evenly diversified in appearance as we see our own

to be, but is largely composed of ridges of mountains, which sometimes are very high, and for the most part run parallel with the sea-coast; and the valleys, large and small, which lie between these ridges. Over most of the State, neither these mountains nor valleys are covered with any thing which we would regard as forests. At points, and without any apparent causes that should have effect there rather than at other points, there will be a considerable growth of redwood on the high lands, and of live oaks on the plains, but the vast portion of the State is devoid of trees. The effect is peculiar, as you descend through the foot-hills of the Sierra range and come out upon the wide levels through which the rivers pass to the ocean, and see a treeless, and, during the dry season, a parched and withered reach of country as far as the eye can take in the view. And the effect is no less peculiar in the winter season, as you descend from amidst the snows and blasts of the mountains, within a half-day, into a region perfectly enameled with flowers that make the expanse an exquisite garden, which it is difficult to conceive must not have been cleared of the original forests, and prepared, by years of culture, for these square acres of beauty. You find yourself ready to question whether the first eyes that looked upon the scene beheld the same absence of wood, and almost dispute the possibility when told that not one thousandth part of this land has ever been changed in the least from what it was when nature left it, as one of her most beautiful and valuable gifts to man. The same is true over the whole State. There are rare spots, as the Napa Valley, where the old deciduous oaks stand, here and there, in the open space, as they are left on some old baronial estate in England; and in spite of your knowledge to the contrary, you catch yourself looking for the castle or the hall, to convince you that you are not where the Indians lived ten or fifteen years ago; or, as Oakland, across the Bay from San Francisco, where the majestic evergreen

trees, that have given the place its name, are all the more beautiful and grand because so marked an exception as to be regarded almost as a freak of nature, when disposed to make the earth more like a paradise than the fallen ought to possess; or, as the groves of splendid pines that occasionally are found, which seem to remain as proofs of what may have been in centuries past, or as pledges of what may be if men will tempt the soil more generally with proper care, to furnish what will soon be needed, in all the abundance by which such care may be rewarded. These are such rare exceptions to the bare appearance of the country; they only render the fact more prominent that a large part is treeless. Many theories have been offered to account for this-for as trees of all kinds that are planted there appear to flourish, the reason can not be found in the soil or climate-to which I need not refer, except to say that the most probable is that the widelyreaching fires that were wont for a long series of years to run over the country in the dry season, had entirely destroyed even the seeds that were in the earth, until there was nothing of this kind to grow. It might be supposed that this peculiarity, so universal, must subtract from the beauty of the region, but this is not true, for even in the summer the dried look of every thing does not resemble drouth with us, but gives a rich and ripened brown to the face of nature, which is by no means repulsive: and in the winter, the green season, the luxuriance of the vegetation reminds one of an interminable crop maturing for the harvest, rather than of a wild waste where no inhabitants wait for the reward of toil. The deception is complete. You refuse to believe that you are in a new country, and what seem to be such old farms, are, most of them government land that no purchaser has come to make his own. Wherever you go you are ready to exclaim: "Who would understand, until he sees it, how strange and un-American California looks!"

HE twenty-fifth of August was the captain's birthday, on which occasion it was his custom to distribute double rations of brandy to the pilot, boatswain, and sailors. Two of the sailors, being ill, relinquished their share to the pilot, who soon became so excited with brandy as to be incapable of managing the helm. It was then and in that way that the ship began to go on a false course, and toward evening fresh troubles began. Just as the second steersman replaced the drunken pilot at the wheel, the sky, which up to that moment had been perfectly clear, became filled with clouds, the sea rolled, the ship of course began to toss, and many of the passengers became ill. My mother, sister, and brother were forced to lie down, while my father and I determined to stay on deck till the wind drove us below.

Mr. MacDonald, the first officer of the deck, did not discover the pilot's condition until too late; after putting him under arrest, he and the captain consulted about getting back on the ship's proper course; the other officers were called in for advice, our great danger being the reefs, or sunken rocks, which abounded in that latitude.

The wind, instead of abating, continued to increase, and in a short time the storm was so violent that the vessel was tossed about like a plaything

by the waves. Although Captain

Stewart had assured us there was no danger, I saw that he was seriously uneasy. He ordered all the passengers below, and we were forced to obey. Fortunately we two were not sea-sick, but the ship rocked so tremendously that we could not keep our feet. Nor did we lose our presence of mind, but endeavored to strengthen and prepare ourselves for the future by trusting all to Him in whose hand are the winds and the sea. My mother and the children, aided and advised by my father, dressed themselves and made a bundle of our best clothing, which was carefully and securely wrapped up.

Now, said my father, we must feel prepared for any event. So saying he made a short and fervent prayer to our Father in Heaven for deliverance. He tried to comfort my mother, who pressed Paul in her arms as if he were about to be snatched away; the poor little fellow was cold and white and faint with sea-sickness, and we gave both him and my sister wine to revive

them.

It was about three in the morning, and the storm still at its hight, when we felt a violent shock, or concussion, and knew that the ship had struck on a reef, as we feared. My father turned pale, and exclaimed, "We are lost;

the ship is among the rocks!" and my mother, half dead with terror, raised her eyes to heaven and clasped Paul to her bosom again. I can not remember my feelings, there was such a rush of thoughts through my brain; but the cry, "To the pumps!" struck on my ear, at which my father would have darted up the steps, but was held back by my mother, who fell upon her knees and clung to him. But he, knowing our danger, disengaged himself and ran up stairs to the deck to learn more of our situation, or, if needed, to aid at the pumps. The vessel had struck on her left side and the timbers were considerably strained apart; still it was not a hopeless case; the sailors worked hard at the pumps and the wind abated. The captain threw overboard some bales of merchandise, which lightened the ship so that she went on her way more rapidly. By hard work the crew gained upon the water, and were able to stop the principal cracks with oakum and tar.

At daybreak my father came down and reassured us a little with this favorable report, but my poor mother continued to look from one to another with the greatest distress. However, as the storm seemed over, we tried to take some food, and at about two in the afternoon, with a clear sky, we went to dine as usual at the captain's table. All the officers looked very anxious; the ship was still on her wrong course and pressed by a northwest wind toward some groups of islands, surrounded by rocks, which, as appeared from the chart, could not be far off.

Toward four the wind increased, and in spite of all efforts we were driven, not by the wind only, but by a powerful current into which we had fallen. Our peril was now evident to all. Some of the passengers, half dead with fear, could do nothing but cry and shriek; others, more self-possessed, began to look about for means of escape.

"What means of escape, uncle?" said Emily.

Anything, my dear, to which they could fasten themselves, and so float, nstead of sinking in the water. Such,

for instance, as a plank or board, a piece of wood or a box, whatever would float with a person attached to it. By this means they might have some hope of escaping, especially if they could guide the floating article or keep it in motion. In the midst of this confusion the captain ordered the two long boats lowered, and as they slid down into the darkness we felt a shock more violent than that of the night before; the water rushed into the ship through a great hole and destroyed all hope of saving it. The first boat had been filled, and we were among the last to attempt to lower ourselves into the second, not from indifference to life, but because we should all, except perhaps my father, have been smothered in the crowd had we attempted it earlier.

My father held Clementine in his arms in a fainting condition, my mother, exhausted and almost sinking, clasped Paul, while I held by my father's coat. At last our turn came to descend-but the sailors at that instant cut the cords which held the boat, and our last chance of escape was lost. If I live to be a hundred, I can never forget that moment; we seemed to be nailed to the deck. The lightning constantly revealed the frail boat struggling amid the unchained elements; and, worse still, the unhappy creatures who had thrown themselves into the sea and were battling with the furious waves-such as could swim appearing and disappearing by turns, some clinging to beams or spars, or whatever of the debris they could seize, and others, more helpless still, vanishing at once. There remained on the vessel only the captain, his first lieutenant, and ourselves. "Lord have mercy on us!" cried my father, stretching his hands to heaven. "Receive us to thine everlasting mansions, for the love of Jesus our only Saviour." " 'My children," he said, still more earnestly, "look to Jesus, he alone can help us.'

The water was gaining on the ship's stern where we had taken refuge, when the captain exclaimed energetically: "God be praised, there is a chance for us yet!" We had forgotten