Here we were driven out fifteen miles to one of the great ranches,--a visit of two nights and a day,--that of Mr. Cooper, a very refined family; the whole ranch flanked on the windward sides by eucalyptus groves, apricots, almond, peach-trees, etc., by the dozens of acres; but the produce on which the enthusiastic owner has set his heart is that of the olive, and he makes the best of olive oil, and in a large way. Hollister’s ranch is still larger, miles long every way; both reach from mountain-top to sea, and have fine drives up cañons, in these fine oaks and plane-trees, occasionally an Acer macrophyllum and an Alder. Avoiding the sea, which gives a short route, we reached San Francisco by a lovely drive, in a hired wagon, over a pass in the Santa Inez Mountains to the coast (south) at Ventura, and so up the broad and long Santa Clara Valley to Newhall, on the Southern Pacific railway, not very far above Los Angeles (two days’ drive, most pleasant), then by rail overnight and to this place to breakfast, and on to San Francisco. We stopped this time at the Lick House, where we had, European-wise, a room, not quite so good as we had at the Palace Hotel eight years ago, and fed at the restaurant, very nice and reasonable, when we were not visiting or invited out, which was most of the time. So it was not expensive, our room (parlor, bedroom shutting off, and a bathroom) costing only about 12 shillings for us both. Harkness looks the same, but older; is absorbed in fungology. Here again we were made much of for twelve days, most busy ones. General McDowell, who you remember dined us at the “Palace,” is ill; we saw him twice, and he has since so failed that we daily expect to hear of the end. May 4. In Farlie’s Chalet hotel in the Grand Cañon of the Colorado.