On the 7th day of April last, I found myself stepping from the good ship Oregon upon Long Wharf, and for the first time stood upon the soil of the far-famed Queen of the Pacific, San Francisco. The pleasure with which I walked about your beautiful city I shall not soon forget. Her broad, clean streets — her long rows of substantially built buildings — her numerous and spacious markets, abounding with all the productions of California's most productive soil — her extensive, comfortable and well kept hotels and restaurants, whose tables were groaning beneath the weight of good things for the inner man — the bustle and activity every where observable, particularly about the wharves — the forest of masts, and the number and size of the noble vessels lining her piers or riding peacefully at anchor on the smooth waters of this noblest of harbors, and the energy, activity, and intelligence of the busy, well dressed throng in her streets and shops were viewed with feelings of mingled surprise and admiration and were calculated to induce a belief in the mind of the beholder that he was standing in New York rather than in a city which but yesterday was a mere collection of Mexican huts; an obscure sea-port town, scarcely known to the civilized world.
Nor was my surprise lessened when I became aware of the number and size of the public journals of this city. And here permit me to remark, en passant, that in my humble estimation, the Press of San Francisco, both as regards the tone and nerve of its editorial conduct and the number and size and general typographical appearance of its sheets, is a feature of which it may well be proud, and merits the commendation of the young and rising State over whose destiny it wields so mighty an influence.
Such were some of the impressions with which, on the morning of that beautiful April morning, I took my first survey of this world renowned city. Since then I have passed over a good portion of Northern California, and the sights I saw, together with the "moving accidents by field and flood" which befel me during that memorable pilgrimage have well convinced me that there were more things in heaven and earth
Than were dreamt of in my philosophy.I may yet offer your readers some of those inklings of adventure and though I may not be able to say
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest wordyet perchance the record may not be utterly devoid of interest.
Would harrow up thy soul,
After an absence of eight months, I find myself again in your city. Time has been busy with many things pertaining to her, but not for the worse. "Every breeze whispers change," but the change is all to the improvement of San Francisco. Your wharves have been lengthened and increased in number; the forest of masts in your city is denser and broader; stately edifices have been reared, and your population had steadily and largely increased. The hum of business in your streets and along your wharves has grown louder and deeper, and on every side I see evidences of the rapid strides you are making towards commercial greatness. The public spirit of your citizens is manifesting itself in unmistakable forms, and in now city of its size, I venture to assert, will you find an equal number of wide awake go-ahead business men as in this.
And now I come to seek a home in San Francisco. The weary wanderer in the Northern mines comes to beg for some quiet place in your beautiful city, where in rest and security he may forget the toils and privations of other days; and, sitting in his easy chair, recount to listening friends the oft told tale of by-gone months, finding, like veterans of old, his greatest enjoyment in turning back
To fight his battles o'er again
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