It was a bright, sunny day, the thirteenth of June, when we left Stockton for Sacramento. We drove along an excellent asphalt road, through grain fields and orchards, the almond orchards being loaded with their green, velvety fruit. It was late afternoon when we reached our hostel, the Sacramento Hotel. Sacramento is even to-day more or less a frontier town. Judging by appearances, there are more saloons in proportion to the other shops of Sacramento than in any other town in California, unless it be San Francisco. The town is well shaded. One sees many wooden buildings of old-fashioned architecture, the old mansard roof being much in evidence. A most pleasant spot in Sacramento is the beautifully kept park around the fine State House. Its walks are shaded by a fine row of palms, another of magnolias which were in full bloom, and yet another of beautiful old cedars. I liked the "Sacramento Bee" building which has two interesting bas reliefs of printers of the Middle Ages working a hand press. Sacramento is very hot in summer, its stone pavements and asphalt streets radiating heat like an open oven. [Illustration: 1. Philips Hotel on Lincoln Highway near Lake Tahoe. 2. View on Lake Tahoe. 3. Looking up Yosemite Valley. 4. Upper Yosemite Falls.] Leaving Sacramento, we drove across rolling plains, mostly grain fields, to Folsom. From Folsom to the busy little town of Placerville we had more broken country and a decidedly bumpy road. We found the drive from Folsom to Placerville uninteresting, the forest being scrubby, the road dry and dusty. As soon as we left Placerville we came into beautiful country. We had stretches of distant mountain views and magnificent wooded hills all about us. A mountain stream, the American River, green and foaming, roared alongside the road. The road was in excellent condition and ran on through the forest for miles, flanked by sugar pines, cedars, firs, balsams, and yellow pines. Squirrels darted back and forth in front of us. The wild white lilac was blooming at the roadside. Ascending hour by hour, we passed several pleasant-looking mountain inns and came at last to Phillips', a simple place where they gave us, outside the main house, a tiny cottage all to ourselves. It had one room and from its door we looked straight away into the forest. They gave us some beefsteak, some fried potatoes, some canned corn, carrots, cake, custard, and tea for our supper.