entranced by the wonderful beauty of the scene, and drink long
draughts of the fresh mountain air.

The dazzling splendor of the noonday sun brings out vividly the
variegated colors of the foliage, and banks of white fleecy clouds
floating overhead trail their shadows over the valley and up the
mountainside like ghostly outriders. The pointed tops of the fir
trees, miles below us, look like stunted shrubbery; the buildings in
Mill Valley seem like dolls' houses nestling among the trees; while
far in the distance the blue waters of the bay glisten in the
sunshine, Alcatraz Island rises out of its watery bed, and San
Francisco stands silhouetted against the distant hills.

We are lost in wonder at the grand spectacle spread out before us; it
is a very fairyland of enchantment, as if brought into being by the
genii of Aladdin. For nearly an hour we watch the lights and shadows
flicker over the valley, the high lights in sharp contrast to the deep
dark purples of the cañon.

On the far side of the valley the sloping hills are covered with that
most exquisite flower, the California poppy, its countless millions of
golden blossoms fairly covering the earth. It is a sun worshiper, for
not until the warm sun kisses its golden head does it wake from its
slumbers and throw open its tightly rolled petals. No wonder the
Spanish mariners sailing along the coast and seeing these golden
flowers covering the hills like a yellow carpet called this "The Land
of Fire." This beautiful flower is one of California's natural
wonders--"Copa-de-oro"--cup of gold. It is as famed in the East as in
the West, and thousands come to California to see it in its prodigal
beauty. Steps should quickly be taken to conserve this wild splendor,