irt gaping holes in the planked wharf,
exposing the dark water lapping the supporting piles, and are assailed
by bilge-like odors that escape. Two dejected horses await us. Entering
the car we find two lengthwise seats upholstered in red plush. If it be
winter, the floor is liberally covered by straw, to mitigate the mud. If
it be summer, the trade winds are liberally charged with fine sand and
infinitesimal splinters from the planks which are utilized for both
streets and sidewalks. We rattle along East and intersecting streets
until we reach Sansome, upon which we proceed to Bush, which practically
bounds the business district on the south, thence we meander by a
circuitous route to Laurel Hill Cemetery near Lone Mountain. A guide is
almost necessary. An incoming stranger once asked the conductor to let
him off at the American Exchange, which the car passed. He was surprised
at the distance to his destination. At the cemetery end of the line he
discovered that the conductor had forgotten him, but was assured that he
would stop at the hotel on the way back. The next thing he knew he
reached the wharf; the conductor had again forgotten him. His
confidence exhausted, he insisted on walking, following the track until
he reached the hotel.

In the present instance we alight from the car when it reaches
Montgomery Street, at the Occidental Hotel, new and attractive, well
managed by a New Yorker named Leland and especially patronized by army
people. We rest briefly and start out for a preliminary survey. Three
blocks to the south we reach Market Street and gaze upon the outer edge
of the bustling city. Across the magnificently wide but rude and
unfinished street, at the immediate right, where the Palace Hotel is to
stand, we see St. Patrick's Church and an Orphan Asylum. A little
beyond, at the corner of Third Street, is a huge hill of sand covering
the present site of the Glaus Spreckels Building, upon which a
steam-paddy is at work loading flat steam cars that run Mission-ward.
The lot now occupied by the Emporium is the site of a large Catholic
school. At our left, stretching to the bay are coal-yards, foundries,
planing-mills, box-factories, and the like. It will be years before
business crosses Market Street. Happy Valley and Pleasant Valley,
beyond, are well covered by inexpensive residences. The North Beach and
South Park car line connects the fine residence district on and around
Rincon Hill with the fine stretches o