California is noted for its beautiful, even climate. There are two seasons--the wet and the dry. The former sets in about November first and continues until about April first. During this season it rains almost every day, and the sun is hidden sometimes for several weeks at a time; and except in the mountains, it seldom gets cold. During the dry season there is no rain, and crops are nourished by the heavy dews. This is the reason corn does no good here. The summers are usually warm. The temperature has been known to reach 120°, and little birds have been seen to drop suffocated from the trees. The mornings and evenings of the warmest days are usually so cool, from the sea-breeze, that fire is comfortable and persons can sleep under a pair of blankets. It is usually about ten o’clock before fog clears away sufficient to let through the rays of the sun. Of course there is some difference between the climate of the northern and the southern parts of the state. The ocean, to us, was the subject of great attraction; and we loved to sit upon a bluff at the beach and see the tide come rolling in and hear it roar as the briny spray was lashed up against the rocky shores and tossed back into foam, and see the multitudes of ships anchored in the bay, whose rigging looked like a vast net-work. We saw ships here nearly five hundred feet long, which drew twenty-three feet of water and were twenty feet out of the water. To see these great ships going out and coming in is a grand sight indeed. As they plow through the water the brine is churned into foam and the waves roll several feet high behind them, and the surface is left disturbed far in the rear. It is pleasant to see a ship from a foreign port draw up to the wharf and hear the warm greetings of friends. The wharf is all lined with persons,--many anxious to see some one,--and when the planks are thrown out they rush on board; and to see the warm embraces and affectionate salutes of dear friends whom the briny waves rolled between for perhaps several years is enough to hurry the blood in one’s veins and lift his heart high in his bosom. But, on the other hand, oh! how sorrowful to see friends part. The ship is loaded and the time is set for starting; and persons taking passage gather on board; and their friends sit by their sides talking and telling messages to carry to friends beyond. The minutes fly like seconds, and the time comes nearer and nearer; and at length the order is given to draw in the planks. Quivering lips are then touched and trembling hands are shaken, and with a sorrowful “Good-by” those not going rush ashore. The planks are drawn in, the moorings are cut loose, the great ship is hauled out into the open bay by a tug-boat, and when she is whirled about and her bow pointed toward the Golden Gate the cannon is fired, the great wheel begins to roll, and the great monster, looking like a planet upon the waves, moves gracefully away. Then comes the affecting scene. Friends