provisions were scarce, progress was slow. Two weeks later the party had rounded the "great gulf," and on October 23 encamped on Ano Nuevo Creek, in sight of the headland bearing the same name, near the south-western corner of San Mateo County.

On October 24th they were a short distance east of Pigeon Point. The next two days they rested at San Gregorio Creek, which they called for contemporary reasons that of "los soldados de los cursos." The Indians of the country were finer than any they had met, and the blackberry bushes, says Father Crespi, were so thick that they impeded progress. On the twenty-seventh they stopped on the south bank of Purisima Creek. Across the stream was an Indian rancheria. The narrative records that Costanso, Costanso, with good cause, named it after a small insect, concerning which a professor of the State University recently said: "They have eyes, yet see not," but can bite at night, anyhow. California is notorious for them among persons who have never been there. The encampment next day was made close to the mouth of Pilarcitos Creek. Rains softened the ground, and every one, including the commander, was unwell, so they rested on the 29th. The supply of medicines was reduced, as was that of meat. They thought of killing the weaker mules. On October 30th they were a mile north of the present Montara fog signal.

Their advance was blocked by Mount Montara, 1940 feet high, near Point San Pedro.

On the morrow they went a league to the north, and from the top of the ridge saw Point Reyes far out to sea, the Puerto de San Francisco, and six or seven farallones to the west-northwest. This puerto was the anchorage under Point Reyes Head; they extended the name to the whole Gulf of the Farallones.

The mountains appeared continuous along the coast. The descent was made to the lagoon behind San Pedro Cove, where camp was pitched. They were over sixty miles north of the latitude of Point Pinos, and no sign of Monterey. A return to San Diego was discussed. But with his usual resolution, the Governor decided to remain a day and send out an exploring party.

Sergeant Ortega now took a detachment and started over the mountains in a northeasterly direction. For three days he and his companions were gone. On November 3d, at night, the discharge of firearms announced their arrival to those waiting in camp. They reported that on the first day out they had seen a great estero, or arm of the sea, to the east and southeast. From equivocal signs of the Indians, they understood there was a port and ship therein.

Great was the excitement in camp. True, the good pilot Cabrera Bueno had

reported Monterey to be in latitude 37 degrees, but Costanso had sometimes found him erroneous as much as a degree. Would they-now on short rations, sick and well-nigh disheartened-find the San Carlos safe in port and laden with provisions, and their countrymen waiting fondly to embrace them when they set foot on the shore? By the irony of fate, the San Carlos was the first vessel to pass through the Golden Gate (discovered in 1772 by Fages), and anchor in San Francisco Bay-Aug.

5, 1775.

On November 4th, after mass was said, they hast

gradual enough so that the party could follow the dashing waters of an arroyo. The mountains over which they had come seemed to encircle the estero, and Father Crespi gave them the name of his patron San Francisco. That day camp was pitched on Redwood Creek within a short distance of the bay.

In the next few days, on one of which the party ate acorns and suffered extremely, Sergeant Ortega made an exploration around the head of the bay to the vicinity of Alviso. There was no sign of a ship, and a council of the officers voted for a return southward in search of Monterey, for they could not afford the time and rations further to explore the new discovery. Portola urged that they go forward, but yielded to the advice of his subordinates, and on November 11th all started for the coast.

Point Pinos was reached on November 28th. The party set up two crosses, buried a letter for the long-looked-for San Carlos, and on December 10th, after a severe snow-storm in the neighboring hills, set out with only sixteen sacks of flour for sixty-five men on the five hundred odd miles between them and San Diego. On arrival, Father Crespi wrote to Father Palou: "Those who departed *** from this place *** for Monterey have returned this twenty-fourth day of January of the present year (1770); with the merit of having been compelled to eat the flesh of male and female mules; and with not having found the port of Monterey."

On May 24th, however, the indomitable

Portola had again arrived at Point Pinos. He expressed a desire to see the second cross of the former expedition, during the erection of which he had been on the southern side of the point, and was led to it by a soldier, accompanied by Crespi and Fages. Reflecting that Point Pinos and that opposite, which they judged to be Ano Nuevo, enclosed the "great gulf," and noticing that it was shaped like the letter O; that its water was smooth and looked like a lagoon, and that two large whales were not more than fifty varas from land, which was a sign there was a good depth of water for anchorage, they broke forth with one voice:

"This is the Port of Monterey, which we have sought; it is exactly as reported by Sebastian Vizcaino and Cabrera Bueno."

Father Crespi had written that if the Bay of Monterey were not discovered, "in default of it we have this most famous one of San Francisco, wherein to plant the standard of the Most Holy Cross." Little did Don Gaspar de Portola, Captain of Dragoons in the Regiment of Spain, gazing on the waters of San Francisco Bay, dream that in one hundred and forty years his military affiliation would furnish inspiration for use in a commemorative pageant; nor was the good Padre Juan Crespi, when he stated this exceedingly large port "could not only contain all the navies of His Catholic Majesty, but those of all Europe as well," aware that he had uttered a note of prophecy for the distant month of October, 1909.

M

ISS TROTTER had been pacing the veranda for twenty minutes, glancing impatiently down the trail for the guide who was to show her the wonders of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Between glances she feasted her eyes on the beauties of the scene.

Far below, the ruins of a great cityapparently-were spread out. Another Pompeii stood revealed. The bastions, turrets, pinnacles, and sculptured facades of the Titanic castles glowed in the morning light. Other shapes chiseled by the Great Sculptor suggested the towers and domes of a grand cathedral, from the towers of which, presently, would come the call of early vespers; yonder rose the walls of a fort, buttressed and battlemented. A butte lifted on its ragged shoulder the hull of a battleship.

Miss Trotter sighed. She had entertained thoughts of photographing the Canyon. Photograph it! How could one get at it without the aid of flying machine? Or, given the flying machine, how content one's self with a black-andwhite reproduction of the panoramic picture, in which red-the whole gamut of reds-brown, blue, yellow and royal purple, were mingled?

her

A step on the veranda turned thoughts to the guide. He stood before her, a tall, good looking fellow in brown corduroy, brown, high-topped boots and broad-brimmed sombrero. "Picturesque," was her mental comment.

"

are sure-footed; and I shall feel safer, when we're going down Jacob's Ladder and around Cape Horn. And, guide”—he was turning to carry out her orders"have the hotel people put us up a good lunch. I intend to stay down there all day."

"Wouldn't you like to go to Rowe's Point first ?" diffidently suggested the one addressed. "According to the guide book, a most comprehensive view of the amphitheatre can be obtained there."

"How far is it?"

"The Point is about two miles distant from the hotel, by wagon road. The road twists in and out among the trees, and to all appearance there isn't a canyon within one hundred miles. Suddenly, without warning, you step out on the level rock platform that rounds off this promontory; and before you know what has happened, you are gazing into a hole that runs down to the center of the earth."

"Intelligent above his class," was Miss Trotter's second mental verdict, as she stood irresolute, uncertain whether to adopt the guide's suggestion or to reject it.

"We'll go down into the Canyon to-day," she announced, "and to-morrow I'll take the wagon road to Rowe's Point in the morning, and the Rim Trail, to Moran's Point, where the artist's celebrated picture was painted, in the afternoon. Consider yourself engaged for the day."

The guide was gone but a short time. Returning, he dismounted from his horse, and packed the lunch which the bell boy brought, in the saddle-bags; then leading the diminutive burro to the horse-block, he assisted Miss Trotter to mount.

"Don't attempt to direct him," he advised. "Give him his head, and he will carry you with perfect safety."

He swung into his saddle and started off, Miss Trotter following timorously.

The Cathedral Towers.

Bright Angel trail slipped toward the edge of the chasm. There was no premonition of the sudden drop that sent Miss Trotter skittering down an incline of forty-five degrees. She grabbed frantically at the tail of her beast lest she should slide over its ears, and gave utterance to a little squeak of dismay. To her great relief, the guide appeared not to have heard her. She had a feeling that she did not wish to appear at a disadvantage before the guide.

Down, down, they followed the corkscrew trail, between massive sandstone walls that shut them in and served as a frame for the picture that was revealed beyond. Miss Trotter's first timid fears were forgotten. She gazed in rapt wonder at the scene.

At Cape Horn the guide called a halt. The animals must rest.

"I am glad that you waited until the

day was properly aired before starting out," he said. "There was a party of tourists that came down on the late train last right, intending to go back on the early train this morning. They got up at break of day and prowled about in the chilly dawn; and all they saw for their pains was a view of the lake of mist, dotted with the island-like peaks of buttes that have their foundation a thousand feet or more below-a lake that filled the Canyon from brim to brim.

"And this," supplemented Miss Trotter, ironically, "is the brand of tourist who, returning, proclaims most vociferously that he has 'seen' the Grand Canyon of the Colorado! One meets this kind abroad. He lives, moves and has his being according to Cook's schedule, which allows fifteen minutes for the inspection of a cathedral, and twenty-four hours or so for the rest of Europe.'

"And, sad to say, the kind one meets abroad is, usually, American," the guide smilingly asserted, as he again reined his horse into the trail.

Miss Trotter forgot to be astonished at this further evidence of the guide's intelligence. She was now taking it quite as a matter of course. Perhaps all Western guides were like that.

Three miles of alternate climbing and tobogganing the latter, chiefly-and they reached the floor of the Canyon, a thousand feet below the rim. Still following the trail, which ran nearly straight over the plateau that was bordered on either side by buttes, they came upon a shaded spring, where the horses were glad to tarry. Graceful willows bent above the water that, gushing from the ground, flowed away in loops and curves-a silver ribbon of a stream.

"It is only within very recent years that the tourist found his way here," said Miss Trotter, instructively, taking a firm hold on the saddle-horn as the burro lowered his head to drink. "Previous to that time the Canyon, so far as the general public is concerned, was still undiscovered."

"And yet," the guide returned with a winning smile, "haven't you a-er-sort of feeling that you may, at any moment, Columbus-like, make some wonderful discovery? Yesterday I was down here, intending to go to the river. I came to a