San Francisco is in a fine situation on the shore of the bay and the steep hills to the westward, and is gradually spreading across the peninsula towards the ocean. It is, in fact, built on a succession of hills, of which a group extends westward from the bay, varying in height from less than two hundred to over nine hundred feet. Conspicuous among them are the Telegraph Hill, Nob Hill, Park Peak, the Mission Peaks and others. For the purpose of readily climbing these hills, the cable street railway and its peculiar "grip" were invented and first put into successful operation, and a British visitor writes of San Francisco that "one of its most characteristic sights is the cable cars crawling up the steep inclines like flies on a window-pane." The country around is treeless, with little fertile land, owing to the copious rivers of sand which steadily flow over it, being blown from the seashore by the strong westerly trade-winds. Thus have naturally come the historical San Francisco "sand lots," the scene of public meetings and not infrequent disturbances in former times. An immense amount of grading, cutting down hills, filling gullies, and reclamations of overflowed lands was necessary in building the city; and over $50,000,000 has been expended in improving the site which, as nature fashioned it, was so illy fitted for a city. The great charm is the spacious bay environed by mountains, furnishing such an admirable harbor, and across it the ferry steamers ply in all directions. Upon it, guarding the Golden Gate entrance, are Alcatraz Island, Goat Island and Angel Island, strongly fortified, while Fort Mason is on the heights north of the city, overlooking the famous strait. The charming waters of the noble bay are thus rhythmically described by Ada Abbott Dunton: "How beautiful the waters of the Bay Lie shimmering, gem-embossed and turquoise-blue, Rippling and twinkling! Emerald shores in view Reflected from its surface. This calm day Utters no note of discord. Far away And overhead, the tireless, winged sea-mew Skims languidly the air, sun-warmed anew And freshly blown with each succeeding day. "O San Francisco Bay! Upon thy shore, What wondrous argosies are anchored here! What giant masts are silhouetted fair 'Gainst the eternal blue which bendeth o'er, As though a Titian hand were carving clear, Majestic monuments in upper air."