[Illustration:  Chinese dinner.]

During my stay in California, I visited the principal gold, copper, and quicksilver mines in the state, not omitting the famous or infamous Mariposa tract.  In company with Mr. Burlingame and General Van Valkenburg, our ministers to China and Japan, I made an excursion to the Yosemite Valley, and the Big Tree Grove.  With the same gentlemen I went over the then completed portion of the railway which now unites the Atlantic with the Pacific coast, and attended the banquet given by the Chinese merchants of San Francisco to the ambassadors on the eve of their departure.  A Chinese dinner, served with Chinese customs;—­it was a prelude to the Asiatic life toward which my journey led me.

I arrived in San Francisco on the thirteenth of April and expected to sail for Asia within a month.  One thing after another delayed us, until we began to fear that we should never get away.  For more than six weeks the time of departure was kept a few days ahead and regularly postponed.  First, happened the failure of a contractor; next, the non-arrival of a ship; next, the purchase of supplies; and so on through a long list of hindrances.  In the beginning I was vexed, but soon learned complacency and gave myself no uneasiness.  Patience is an admirable quality in mankind, and can be very well practiced when, one is waiting for a ship to go to sea.

On the twenty-third of June we were notified to be on board at five o’clock in the evening, and to send heavy baggage before that hour.  The vessel which was to receive us, lay two or three hundred yards from the wharf, in order to prevent the possible desertion of the crew.  Punctual to the hour, I left the hotel and drove to the place of embarkation.  My trunk, valise, and sundry boxes had gone in the forenoon, so that my only remaining effects were a satchel, a bundle of newspapers, a dog, and a bouquet.  The weight of these combined articles was of little consequence, but I positively declare that I never handled a more inconvenient lot of baggage.  While I was descending a perpendicular ladder to a small boat, some one abruptly asked if that lot of baggage had been cleared at the custom house.  Think of walking through a custom house with my portable property!  Happily the question did not come from an official.

It required at least an hour to get everything in readiness after we were on board.  Then followed the leave taking of friends who had come to see us off and utter their wishes for a prosperous voyage and safe return.  The anchor rose slowly from the muddy bottom; steam was put upon the engines, and the propeller whirling in the water, set us in motion.  The gang-way steps were raised and the rail severed our connection with America.

It was night as we glided past the hills of San Francisco, spangled with a thousand lights, and left them growing fainter in the distance.  Steaming through the Golden Gate we were soon on the open Pacific commencing a voyage of nearly four thousand miles.  We felt the motion of the waves and became fully aware that we were at sea.  The shore grew indistinct and then disappeared; the last visible objects being the lights at the entrance of the bay.  Gradually their rays grew dim, and when daylight came, there were only sky and water around us.