and dust, that
accompany the summer, or the "dry season," as it is more appropriately
called in California, it is emphatically a season of discontent. In the
mountains of the State only are these conditions not found. True, you
will find dust even there as the natural consequence of the lack of
rain; but that is not, of course, so bad in the mountains; and with no
persistent, nagging wind to pick it up and fling it spitefully at you,
you soon get not to mind it at all. But of summer in the coast country
it is hard to speak tolerantly. The perfect flower of its unloveliness
flourishes in San Francisco, and, more or less hardily, all along the
coast. From the time the rains cease--generally some time in May
--through the six-months' period of their cessation, the programme for
the day is, with but few exceptions, unvaried. Fog in the morning
--chilling, penetrating fog, which obscures the rays of the morning sun
completely, and, dank and "clinging like cerements," swathes every thing
with its soft, gray folds. On the bay it hangs, heavy and chill,
blotting out everything but the nearest objects, and at a little
distance hardly distinguishable from the water itself. At such times is
heard the warning-cry of the foghorns at Fort Point, Goat Island, and
elsewhere--a sound which probably is more like that popularly supposed
to be produced by an expiring cow in her last agony than any thing else,
but which is not like that or any thing in the world but a foghorn. The
fog of the morning, however, gives way to the wind of the afternoon,
which, complete master of the situation by three o'clock P.M., holds
stormy sway till sunset. No gentle zephyr this, to softly sway the
delicate flower or just lift the fringe on the maiden's brow, but what
seamen call a "spanking breeze," that does not hesitate to knock off the
hat that is not fastened tightly both fore and aft to the underlying
head, or to fling sand and dust into any exposed eye, and which dances
around generally among skirts and coat-tails with untiring energy and
persistency. To venture out on the streets of San Francisco at such
times is really no trifling matter; and to one not accustomed to it, or
to one of a non-combative disposition, the performance is not a pleasant
one. Still the streets are always full of hurrying passengers; for,
whether attributable to the extra amount of vitality and vim that this
bracing climate imparts to its children, or to a more direct and obv