As we pass on down Grant Avenue we meet a crowd gathered around a
bulletin board, where hundreds of red and yellow posters are
displayed. All are excited, chattering like magpies, as they discuss
the latest bulletin of a Tong war, or some other notice of equal
interest; and here we leave them, and Chinatown also, passing over the
line out of the precincts of the Celestial, and into our own "God's
country."




[Illustration]

In a Glass-bottom Boat


About one hundred miles south of San Francisco lies the beautiful
Monterey Bay. Here hundreds of fishing boats of all styles and sizes
tug at their anchors, awaiting the turn of the tide to sail out and
cast their lines for baracuta, yellowtail, and salmon, which abound in
these waters to gladden the heart of the sturdy fisherman. One may
forego the pleasure of fishing if so inclined, and take a sail in the
glass-bottom boat, viewing through its transparent bottom the wonders
of the mighty deep.

There were fifteen in our party, ranged along each side of the boat.
Curtains were let down from the outside, practically cutting off all
outside light and making the bottom of the sea as light as day. Our
boatman informed us, after we were well under way, that we were
approaching the place called "The Garden of the Sea Gods," one of the