There could be no greater contrast possible than that between the Presidio of Spanish days and the Presidio of the present time, both as to the place and the personnel of the officers and men of the garrison. As you look around you now your eyes rest on wide and handsome parade grounds, on beautiful gardens where flowers bloom in luxuriance, on groups of the Monterey Cypress, on neatly trimmed hedges, on walks in many places bordered with cannon balls, on attractive buildings which have a homelike aspect with vines climbing the walls, on barracks where the soldiers are made comfortable. The Presidio looks like a settlement in itself, and is very picturesque. I will not soon forget the beautiful, balmy afternoon, when I walked through the grounds on my way to the hills above the ocean. Here everything was suggestive of forethought, of care, of order, of dignity. The Reservation stretched out on every hand and over to the shore of the Bay northward where it has a water frontage of at least a mile and a half. In all its area it embraces a landscape, varied and undulating, of one thousand, five hundred and forty-two acres. It is a noble park in itself and well may the nation be proud of it. The Presidio was first occupied by United States troops in 1847, on March 4th, when the sword was trembling in the weak hands of Spain. On November 6th, 1850, President Millard Fillmore set these grounds apart forever as a Military Reservation. As I walked on, before me to the west, rose hundreds of tents in which were soldiers, some of whom had returned from the Philippine Islands, and others of them were soon to embark for the Orient. Yonder too is the cemetery, where, as on Arlington Heights above the Potomac, sleep the Nation's dead; and "There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay." After your visit to the Presidio you will naturally desire to go to the Cliff House, that world renowned resort on Point Lobos south of the Golden Gate, and about seven miles distant from the City Hall. Thousands frequent this favoured spot annually, and especially on Saturday afternoons is it thronged. You can reach the Cliff either by the street cars going by Golden Gate Park, or by the electric railway which skirts the rocky heights of the Golden Gate. This last was our route, and the return journey was by the street railway. A Mr. Black and a Mr. Norton, two of San Francisco's prosperous business-men, were going thither also, and, seeing that we were strangers, they with true California courtesy gave us much information and showed us favours which we valued highly. As we sped westward, on our right was Fort Point just rising above tide water with its granite and brick walls and strong fortifications and powerful guns guarding the entrance to the Bay of San Francisco.