A few hundred feet from the Tavern is located a Government Weather Bureau, and in its proximity is to be placed the seismograph now being made in Strasburg, Germany, by order of the Weather Bureau Department in Washington. The instrument is said to be on a more elaborate plan than any in this country except the one in Washington, D. C., of which this will be a counterpart. Some time is required for its completion, so, presumably it will not be installed and ready to receive earthquakes until early next year. [Illustration: Turning Innumerable Curves.] Descending the mountain on the train to West Point, we alighted and after lunching at the Inn, mounted the stage which was bound for Bolinas. The air on these mountain slopes is most exhilarating, and as we sped along down the gradually descending roadway, the breath of azaleas was wafted on the breeze from the canyons, while at each bend of the road the salt zephyrs from the Ocean became more perceptible. [Illustration: From the Crest of Mt. Tamalpais.] Leaving the Monarch of Marin we soon came in sight of the white sand-spit with Dipsea, the new resort on the beach, and the glorious Pacific stretching thousands of miles beyond the horizon. [Illustration: The Tavern.] Alighting from the stage we embarked in a steam-launch which glided rapidly across the Bolinas Lagoon. Steep, massive hills encircle the Lagoon on the right, while on the left, becoming more apparent at each glide of the launch, lies Bolinas, the town, and our destination. [Illustration: The Marine Observatory.] Owing to its small size and remote location we expected the usual hardships which accrue from a country hotel and its numerous incongruities; imagine our surprise therefore, when arriving at this little town, which is a stranger as yet to railroads, to find a cozy hostelry awaiting us. Though unpretentious in appearance, the Flag Staff Inn proved as orderly and neat as any of its English prototypes. Whether it was due to the landlord's being a Briton or not, I can not say, but there was undoubtedly an English atmosphere about the place, and if honest Mrs. Lupin or Mark Tapley had issued from the porch to welcome us, I should not have been in the least surprised. West of the little settlement of Bolinas a neck of land extends for a mile and a half out into the Ocean, the top forming a mesa. Owing to the fogs abounding in this region, it is green almost the entire year and makes splendid grazing, as in fact does all the land in the vicinity. [Illustration: The Bow-Knot.] At the end of the mesa, some oil prospecting was being done, and at the time of our visit there was one shaft sunk. Although there are numerous deposits of oil to be found in and about these cliffs, the output thus far has not exceeded a barrel a day. Yet who can tell what rich veins may lie beneath this mesa.