THE TAVERN.

and the glorious Pacific stretching thousands of miles beyond the horizon.
   Alighting from the stage we embarked in a steam-launch which glided rapidly across the Bolinas Lagoon. Steep, massive hills encircle the Lagoon on the right, while on the left, becoming more apparent at each glide of the launch, lies Bolinas, the town, and our destination.
   Owing to its small size and remote location we expected the usual hardships which accrue from a country hotel and its numerous incongruities; imagine our sur-

THE MARINE OBSERVATORY.

prise therefore, when arriving at this little town, which is a stranger as yet to railroads, to find a cozy hostelry awaiting us.
   Through unpretentious in appearance, the Flag Staff Inn proved as orderly and neat as any of its English prototypes. Whether it was due to the landlord's being a Briton or not, I can not say, but there undoubtedly an English atmosphere about the place, and if honest Mrs. Lupin or Mark Tapley had issued from the porch to welcome us, I should not have been in the least surprised.
   West of the little settlement of Bolinas a neck of land extends for a mile and a half out into the Ocean, the top forming a mesa. Owing to the fogs abounding in this region, it is green almost the entire year and makes splendid grazing, as in fact does all the land in the vicinity. 

THE BOW KNOT.